Does your home make you happy? In my home, I create little vignettes that tell meaningful stories. This photo alone captures half a dozen tales that bring me joy or strengthen my heart.
Let's start with the toes. Technically, these socks are grip socks and are intended to be used for Pilates classes. Keep it between us, but I don't care much for Pilates (yawn!). However, I freakin' LOVE these socks. They make me happy and are obnoxious in just the right way. Bumble bees and their accompanying buzzing energy come to mind. The freedom to wiggle my toes, each sleeved with cozy care, tickles my happy. (Happy is a noun to me. Keep reading my blog and you'll find out why.)
The book on the table is from the yoga certification that I acquired over ten years ago. Rarely have I experienced a group of strangers so quickly bond through a shared activity as deeply as my fellow yogis-in-training did. The book itself is beautifully illustrated. I love learning about the human body. And yoga is my favorite form of exercise because all you need is gravity and a flat surface to get a bomb-ass workout while calming the mind simultaneously.
The Chinese checkers are on display in the hopes that one day somebody may actually play a game. It's an invitation for old-fashioned human-to-human engagement. But what makes me happy about this is that I had originally displayed the checkerboard with all the marbles laid flat, as if game-ready. One of my kiddos thought outside of the box and built them in a three-dimensional pyramid. THAT makes me happy. To me, it represents living beyond the superficial plane of life. Thinking beyond. Doing beyond. Never accept the status quo.
Hydrangeas have been my favorite flower my entire life. Fun fact: My middle name is in honor of my great-aunt Letitia Eubank, who went by Tish. Aunt Tish had burgeoning hydrangea shrubs outside of her little 1922 bungalow. Having a cup of hot tea on her screened-in porch, using little demitasse cups with lumps of sugar are sacred memories. Having hydrangeas in my home makes me feel connected to her and to a world that doesn't exist anymore– when people sat down together solely to visit.
She was a spinster technically but the word in the family was, she never met a man who was good enough for her. Unlike Aunt Tish, I've been married not once, but twice. (I took one for the team in round two.) But sometimes I wonder if I'll spend the rest of my life, like her, in solitude.
All of these objects and my crossed feet are resting on a coffee table that I acquired during my second divorce, whose ramifications have continued to unfurl pain on my children and me. The beauty of this coffee table is that it is both heartily well-constructed and made from reclaimed wood. This table has weathered the ups and downs and in-betweens with my little family for over twelve years. It's a symbol of life. Humans often feel used and discarded but we have the power to reclaim ourselves and choose to uphold joy.
There's more than meets the eye in my home. While I'm propping up my feet and watching Netflix, I am surrounded with invisible, life-affirming energy and transcendent connection to my ancestor, whose grace and resilience I hope to channel. A little scene that is simple but powerful. Intentional and meaningful.
What stories does your home tell?