I didn’t plan on posting again so soon, but I was running some errands today and this story started coming together in my head. So…a couple of years ago I became somewhat obsessed with the idea of minimalism. I researched the concept, perused endless blogs about simplifying, and wondered at folks who got rid of everything and traveled around the world with all their worldly belongings in a couple of backpacks. Please don’t misunderstand – I think it all sounds amazing and I admire them for doing so. I was even envious for a bit.
My own life, in contrast, seems incredibly mundane. I’d like to be living in a cute little vintage cottage with an English style garden, dressing like an artist in organic cotton and linen. Oh, and the house would always be clean and tidy because there would be no clutter whatsoever! In reality, I’m a stay-at-home mom, married 30-something years to the guy I met in college, and living in a manufactured home in a working class neighborhood. Said home is very “lived-in” because there are a bunch of us living in it.
But, back to paragraph one…I spent a considerable amount of time and energy de-cluttering and organizing our belongings. There might of even been a bit of nagging and grumbling about other peoples’ stuff interfering with my vision. I wondered about the possibility of moving into a R.V. and traveling the United States living life with carefree abandon.
The reality is…that story belongs to someone else. I had a somewhat insecure childhood. We moved every year of my life until high school – sometimes more frequently. I was always the new kid in class. As a result, I’m a homebody, a nester. And I’m learning to be comfortable with that. All those travelers need a place to come home to at some point. There is lots of stuff in my nest because I need to be ready to welcome whoever shows up.
That may be what this blog is about…writing out my own story for you…and for me.