I don’t miss the material stuff. Any of it. As I take in the simplicity of the space around me—the blue, puffy-topped ottoman and the long, narrow dark oak table with two chairs neatly tucked against its bare surface—my mind drifts to the version of me from a few months ago. The cross-country move brought the weight of pressure to purge my life of excess. I think I did well. The spaciousness of these open walls and floors feels like an invitation for my inner designer to emerge, blending functional, quality, and quirky elements that let me color inside and outside the lines as I please.
The space to the right of the pocket doors leading into the kitchen has made its intentions clear: it wants to house a cozy, pillowy bench nook. After watching a few YouTube tutorials, Dave peeked over my shoulder. Together, we agreed—it doesn’t look too hard to tackle ourselves. Maybe tomorrow or Sunday, we’ll measure everything, grab some boards at Lowe’s, and start constructing it.
But there’s a duality to these creative pursuits and minimalist victories. Beneath them, I sometimes wrestle with shame for certain actions I’ve taken. The aftermath of those actions can feel all-consuming, like being left beaten and disoriented in a grimy alleyway, surrounded by the stench of a dumpster’s decay.
Why is it that, even with all the signs—literal and metaphorical—screaming warnings, I still find myself strolling down these paths? The cobwebbed alleys, the puddles that soak too deep, the glaring “No Trespassing” signs glowing like the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree… yet I whistle my tune and press on.
The reason why, I’ve come to understand, defies logic. Applying reason to emotion often leads to frustration rather than clarity.
Combatting shame is a challenge I’ve taken on, so I’m focusing so intently on intentionality. I listened to episode four of the Being a Better Human podcast. While there weren’t any groundbreaking nuggets to nibble on and spit back your way, it still gave me a few things to think about.
Now, onto gratefulness…
I’m grateful for the beautifully smooth concrete poured today. It’s hardening around the pool and seamlessly connects it to the back steps.
I’m grateful for finding my new favorite Spanish teacher on YouTube. He’s animated, funny, and speaks with a repetitive, easy-to-understand accent that I know I’ll enjoy returning to for practice.
I’m grateful for Terry Pratchett’s The Color of Magic, the book club’s pick. I’ve only read a couple of pages, but what a playful style and delightful escape his writing offers.
Thank you for stopping by!
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 