The first years I was away from home, in my own place, it felt very important for me to gather things of my own. I spent my tiny pay cheques on pillows, candles and artwork, and felt terrible that I couldn't afford a new mirror for the hallway, or the couch I thought would be perfect for the living room. I saved for a massive rosewood dining table, and bought it . . . and got tired of it . . . and sold it for a quarter of it's original price years later. I even cried in an Ikea more than once, and I don't cry much - stuff drove me crazy! So many of these things I desired. Some of them I got, and almost all of them I don't have any longer. Why? Because they were just things, and they didn't really matter.
When Luke was a baby, we had all the toys. Some of it was borrowed, a lot of it was gifted, and all of it was a huge space sucker. If you have kids, you know what I mean when I say, kids don't play with the toys you buy. Toddlers like the pots in the drawer, or pulling tissues out of a box while the fisher price blinking flashing thing lays in the lonely corner. At a young age, they know the secret that experiences are important, discovery is fun, and stuff is boring! That is, until we convince them otherwise.
It's a behavior hard to unlearn, but over the past few years, I've been trying. I'm starting to see how much it's changed me. I feel in control of my buying and collecting habits, not as though they are being dictated to me by someone who has no care for my happiness, and cares only about their big bottom line. Living with less feels good.What I do live with tells a story, and that's where vintage comes in, but I'll talk about that another night. Right now, I'll go rest my head.
