It took me about five months of living in my old home until I was ready to post a home tour… it was something unplanned. Everything slowly came together…. and then one day I looked around and thought “I love my home, I should share it”. This home… well, I love (love) it, of course, but it doesn’t feel ready to be shared. I’ve been here about two months? I think so. And boy, ohhhhh boy have I made a lot of progress in this house. I found myself saying a few weeks in “I don’t think I’ll ever have this house done” the response returned (by an interior designer friend) was “No. A house is never done. It takes time to develop”. I know that. Each day I’m adding small touches here and there, that all seem to make a big difference.
I’ve got to be honest. I’ve been sitting with this post open for three days. Three days I’ve been trying to find the words to write. And not just about my house, but about everything. My life. So many times I just want to come here, open up, and let every thought spew out of my head. (There are so many). But much of the time, I just want to come here, and shut it all down. When all is said and done, I know I’ll keep going… but I’m just, finding it hard to find the words I feel safe to write. I share so incredibly little these days. Not just here, in this open and public space, but even with some of the people closest to me. I wonder, is this how most people live their lives? Not with secrets… but not as an open book? Probably. It’s not that I plan on closing off forever… it’s just that… this thing I’m doing… this writing.. and sharing (on the blog and in life), it’s a process, and I’m heavily editing these days. Not to change a story, or make something up, but to… well… I don’t know. I’m figuring it out. I came here to write about my home. I came here to say, I would be posting, room by (unfinished) room, a tour into my house. And I’m realizing that I’ve been sitting here for three days, because this house post…. subconsciously, has been a metaphor for my life. I don’t want to share anything that I’m not completely comfortable with. I feel uneasy sharing my home when there are windows with missing drapes, artwork missing frames, baseboards falling off, and touches of love that are still waiting to be made, and placed upon a dresser or shelf. Why is it that my perfectionism picks and chooses it’s own battles? I never, not once, started this blog to portray a picture perfect, idealistic life. My story is messy, my past is messier, and well, I’m a control and a neat freak, with my own varying idea of what “perfect” is. I wanted to show something real, a work in progress, and a story that (hopefully) touches some, resonates positivity with many, and organically unravels to create a novel that I can close one day, look back on, and think, “well, that was something worth reading.”
This house, this home, it has scared me a bit. It has pushed me to want and feel like I need more. I’m trying to work towards a lot of things right now. And yes, I’ve been doing much of it, behind closed doors. I’m going to start sharing again: one unfinished room at a time and one incomplete thought and unfinished storyline at a time. I function differently than most, in how I move forward. Its either really quick or it’s not at all. I don’t work well in the middle so I need to stop forcing myself to try to sit in the middle. And I need to stop letting my fear slip me up. I need to trust that my wants, needs, plans, and goals are credible, strong, and worth something, because they are. I’m a controlled perfectionists, that loses control often, and that’s okay. So, right now, my goal, my plan, for this very moment, today, and for how ever long it takes in the future, is to let go of my fear. When life hands you lemons, you made lemonade, right? I’m trying to make my life the best damn lemonade stand you’ve ever seen.