dust
I’ve been thinking a lot about dust lately because there has been ongoing construction on the main avenue near my apartment, which not only makes my commute to work many decibels louder than it usually is, but also creates clouds of jackhammering dust that you can see from the next traffic light over. I do this thing where I try to hold my breath when I get close to it, but even so it still feels like I have bits of the big apple floating around my lungs. Not sure if this is the case for everyone, but this also means that when I leave my apartment windows open, everything is covered in a fine layer of black dust that gives me mild health anxiety whenever I wipe it up. Too bad it isn’t as easy to take a clorox wipe to your windpipes.
It’s kind of interesting to think about where we draw the line between dust and…not dust. The sidewalk is the sidewalk when its all connected and people can walk on it, and then it turns into rubble when the jackhammering starts, and then turns into smaller and smaller pieces of concrete until some part of it becomes so small it can float away - dust. But when we talk about dust, we don’t really associate it with what it actually is. For example, concrete is still concrete, technically speaking, whether it’s in one large sheet or whether it’s ground into powder. Clay is still clay, whether it’s wet and moldable, baked into a solid shape, or ground into particles. So it seems that we identify dust by particle size, rather than composition. But there are lots of tiny specks of things that we go out of our way to identify: microplastics, ash, any number of dry ingredients that live in the pantry. And just because we have a light coating of flour over the counter doesn’t mean that we no longer consider it flour. So it feels like dust isn’t just about size or composition, but about utility. When something becomes small and scattered enough that it can no longer be gathered efficiently, then we deem it (at least) useless and (at most) a nuisance.
I wonder if that applies to the intangible things in our lives too - memories, feelings, emotions, failure, success. Those things, however small and disparate, seem a lot harder to sweep away than spilled flour or cigarette ash. Mental maelstroms, whether positive or negative, have a way of distracting us in the moment, but never seem to really wash away the sediment of past experiences. Even if you experience periods of intense joy or sadness, that doesn’t mean you forget about the bits and pieces of what you felt before. The good and bad of the past might be rearranged by whatever situation you are currently going through, but it all eventually settles like a layer of dust over your mental attic. And to stretch the metaphor even farther, I guess things like therapy and self-help can help you sweep up and organize your brain dust, but the specks don’t disappear until you fully forget about the experience(s) associated with them.
All of that to say, I guess this spring it feels a bit like I’m covered in dust - inside and out, metaphorically and literally. I might buy an air filter for my living room, and it would nice if I could find one for my attic too.