Let It Be

I recently held a party at my house and for the first time that I can remember, I actually enjoyed it.

It’s not that I don’t usually take pleasure in having people over to celebrate special occasions, reunite with family and friends, or simply hang out. It’s just that I obsess too much about the details.

I start cleaning days beforehand then freak out when my family decides to utilize the kitchen and family room on party day. “How dare they live their lives and wrinkle the couch cushions?!”

I make lists of all the major house projects that should be completed in time for the event (ignoring the fact that many of them have been on my to do list for months if not years), then berate myself when they don’t get done.

I plan to make new foods rather than the same old boring snacks, and in the haste of party day, I forget some key ingredient that renders the dish “interesting” if not completely tasteless.

At the end of the night I feel like I’ve said just “hello” and “goodbye” to each guest, and I’m exhausted and hungry, having not taken a moment to sit down or sample the food.

Without even trying, I take note of every flaw in the day, whether uncontrollable, like the weather, or controllable, like running out of cups, and consider the party ruined. I’m in shock when anyone tells me it was a nice party, assuming they are just being polite.

But this time, I didn’t do any of the above. I had seven people staying over for the weekend, so keeping people from using the house before the party was impossible, if not rude. So I got their rooms ready, and left the prep at that. I ordered food from a deli and stocked up at Costco. I still had the to do list from years back, but this time I shrugged it off. I left the breakfast crumbs on the floor, with the justification that guests would think they were created at the party itself.

And perhaps the biggest change of all was that when people asked if they could help, I said, “Yes!”

In the past, I’ve always said, “No, thanks, I’ve got it,” then spent the afternoon scurrying around slicing cheese and mixing dips, laying out plates and picking up cups, filling baskets and pouring drinks. But this time I let others do it. I was surprised by how light the workload became when it was shared and how enjoyable it was for all of us to work together.

At this party, I finally got to converse with the guests instead of just greeting them. I even got to eat, although I did miss some special appetizers brought in by my Italian relations.

Now, I’m not going to lie. In the week following the party, I did review the day in my head. I noticed the flaws in my home – the untidy porch, the paper pileups, the front window my son had covered with post-it notes full of 6-year old thoughts that I had meant to take down. I realized that I had forgotten to put soap in the showers for my overnight guests, had no trash cans or towel hooks in some of the bathrooms, had left some food unserved. But this time I let them go.
Why was it different this time? Why was I finally able to free myself my frankly unhealthy obsessions and be a happy, healthy, host? I don’t really know. Maybe a recent birthday sent me into the age of reason. Maybe the birth of my second child left me with too few hands, too little sleep, and not enough time to even attempt perfection. Maybe I just finally realized that true friends aren’t looking for dust bunnies, chipped plates, or couch stains, and if they see them, they are relieved to know that my house is just like theirs.

Recently, my brother and I received one of those email quizzes from a relative. At one point in the quiz, we had to think of a person, and later a song, which you later find are to be matched up. My brother had chosen me and The Beatles’ Let It Be. “So, Let It Be connects with you?” he emailed me quizzically, perhaps surprised at the uncharacteristic label.

“Yes, finally, I think it does,” I replied.