I have a lot of things on my walls. A 1930′s ostrich feather dress for someone with a 22 inch waist, collage of old black and white photos, chalkboard, souvenirs from countries I have visited, large paintings, a favorite book, a decorative wooden grate, a puppet, mirrors of all shapes and sizes, plants…..If I can stick a nail in it, or figure out a way to hang it, I will.
It’s not deliberate. I aspire to be a minimalist. Each time I redecorate, I take it all down, and promise myself I will keep the walls clean and open; more simplistic and calming. I have thoughts of soft creamy walls, slate gray sofas and a single, gigantic red poppy on the wall. Then, gradually, reality takes over and I add back more of my “stuff”, always seeing gaps that just have to be filled. As the room fills up, I feel comforted. I like seeing what I have, and being reminded of who gave it to me.
To some, it is clutter. My sister could not live in my house. She decorates in a way that I aspire to be. She is a creative soul; always changing her home with paint or new ideas, but she doesn’t need to have everything out for her to see. She wants the serenity of an uncluttered space, with a few, very meaningful things out for her to love. That is what makes her happy, and her home reflects that part of her. When things get crowded it feels claustrophobic and messy. She likes her walls to be quiet.
For myself, I always seem to exist in a gray area, slightly hovering between neatness and eclectic chaos (I find eclectic always sounds so much kinder than messy). I have accepted that, while I yearn for more sparse surroundings, it wouldn’t be possible for me to live that way. It does not suit who I am.
It’s important for our peace of mind to live within our own category. If where you are begins to feel uncomfortable, change it. We should live in a home that nurtures and replenishes who we are, not who we think we should be.
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