My sister and I recently spent a week peeling wall paper in my daughter's new house. We worked in the large entry hall taking down three layers of paper before discovering a white layer that we first assumed was plaster. Unfortunately, it was a layer of enamel paint which covered four more layers of paper in a gooey mess once we steamed it.
The house was built in 1931 which means the room likely received a make-over every decade. With this in mind, it became fun to spot the ways tastes changed over time and to imagine the room cloaked in each paper. The 1960s and 70s choices were awkward--white paint with cherry borders top and bottom followed by a barn wood look, but all the others had a certain beauty all their own.
What if we could strip away decades from our lives? What would each layer reveal about the person we once were? My 1960s and 70s layers would likely as awkward as the ones in the house, but I believe there might be a layer or two that possessed some beauty as well. Beauty born both of challenges faced along with the happiness and blessings that have filled my life. My hope would be that each layer would meld seamlessly with the next, the effect of the whole leaving a pleasant impression on my surroundings.
What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. Thoreau