Category: Anxiety and self-discovery

I haven’t been able to sit down for four days.  I have this nervous energy buzzing in my veins.  I’ll try to relax and watch TV; within 5 minutes, I’m up again.  Washing some dishes, checking on the kids, cleaning out the junk drawer.  In my mind, I’m planning to sit and crochet.  I pick up my yarn and hook and I can stick with it for about 8 minutes before I’m itching to get out of the house.  

This weekend, Jack and I did SO MANY lovely things.  We went out to dinner.  We did some furniture shopping.  We spent a morning in Coolidge Corner, shopping and walking and chatting and eating.  We visited friends. We went to church and facilitated a really important meeting about a really important mission.  We cooked and cleaned and did the meal planning and paid the bills.  He watched a football game, but I couldn’t make myself sit.  I did some lesson planning.  And even then, as it was getting dark outside, I called him upstairs to chat with me as I was changing the sheets.  “I need to get out of the house.  I have this itchy, spinny feeling, and I just cannot sit right now.”  We went to the grocery store, instead.  At 5pm.  Who are we?  Groceries are for 7am.  About that, I am sure. 

So now it is nearly 7am, and I don’t have any groceries to buy.  I have already sent three emails organizing a fundraiser.  I have put in a load of laundry and made the bed and fed the dogs and had my first cup of coffee. I have removed Facebook from my phone because I think scrolling might be chipping away at my sanity. 

And the itchy feeling won’t go away.  It feels like my soul knows that something NEEDS TO BE DONE and nobody has informed my poor, sweet soul that no amount of folding laundry is going to fix this. 

*********

Several years ago, I first mentioned the idea of a drop in center for LGBTQIA+ teens to my then-pastor.  She thought it was a great idea.  Then COVID hit.  

I mentioned it again when our new pastor started.  She loved the idea.  And then she got sick. 

I brought it up again at a church meeting in the Spring.  People seemed open to the idea and suggested I explore it further. 

I did.  I connected with a local agency.  We met.  We chatted.  We formed a partnership.  We talked to other community members.  There was a lot of enthusiasm.  

And yesterday, we had a church meeting.  The support was overwhelming.  And the pushback was frustrating.

To be honest, nobody has outright said they don’t support the idea.  We are, after all, an Open and Affirming church.  Obviously.

But I feel sad that we’re getting bogged down in details.  Permission slips.  Insurance.  Waivers.  If I dig deep enough, I can appreciate that there are people who are looking out for our congregation.  But inside, my heart is wailing, “Who is looking out for these KIDS?”  

*****

A family with a trans teen in Florida travels to Massachusetts every six months to see a doctor who can legally prescribe puberty blockers and hormones.  

A trans adult has a dream college in a deeply red state.  He won’t go there for fear of violence.  

A young adult just gleefully changed the gender marker on their birth certificate to ‘x.’ The family lawyer sadly advised them to change it back because it makes them a target if laws change.  

Trans people across the country are stockpiling their hormone medication, because there is a very real chance that it will become unavailable or unaffordable with legislative changes.  

Surveys tell us that 41% of LGBTQ+ young people seriously considered attempting suicide in the past year, including roughly half of transgender and nonbinary youth.

******

Is it something about the human condition that draws us to hatefulness?  Do we need to have a target or a common enemy in order to feel like we’re part of something?  Does there have to be an other for us to be in community?  The group keeps changing.  Black and brown people.  Jewish people. Gay and Lesbian people.  Refugees.

And as it becomes socially unacceptable to be hateful toward one group, do we just arbitrarily choose another?  We look around at who seems most different, and we put a target on their backs? 

My deepest condolences go out to the trans community.  You are officially the new target. Well… you and refugees.   

*****

Jack voted for Trump the first time.  Some of our worst fights were about that election.  I was focused on abortion.  He rolled his eyes at me.  “They’re never going to reverse Roe v. Wade,” he confidently proclaimed.  

His world shook when it happened.  He kept apologizing.  “I really never imagined that we would vote to go backwards.” 

He won’t vote again for someone who doesn’t support a woman’s right to choose. I’m so glad to be married to a man who can change his mind. 

*****

I woke my son up with tears in my eyes on November 6th.  “I kinda figured,” he replied, with sadness and resolve. 

*****

“Our country is cooked,” mumbled a quiet, shy, hardworking 8th grader, as he walked into homeroom.  He only had the nerve to say it because our vocal Trump supporter was absent. 

*****

“It was a hard day, mom.”  His technical high school is full of Trump supporters.  He’s been hesitant to go against the crowd. “In History Class, I said I was rooting for Kamala.  I kept getting side-eye from the football team, until the teacher said, ‘Me, too.’ That helped a little, but I don’t know if those guys are still my friends.” 

*****

My tears were ridiculous to my husband.  He thought I was overreacting.  “It’s just politics. It’s not going to affect our day to day life.  The only place politics have ever hurt me is in my wallet.”  

And there it is.  That’s the whole damned explanation, right there.  I looked at him with sadness.  “You understand why that is, don’t you?”  He paused, but didn’t offer a response.  “It’s because you are a middle class white man.  Nobody has ever passed legislation about your body.  About your medical care.  About your marriage.  Don’t you understand?  That’s the WHOLE POINT.  You have nothing to worry about. Must be nice.” 

I am guilty of it, too.  The word ‘privilege’ is so overused.  But that’s what it is.  It is a privilege to be able to focus on the economy as your highest concern.  You can do that if you’re not worried about someone taking away your basic rights.  For a long time, I wasn’t worried about that.  

I worry all the time now. 

*****

Yesterday, as we left the grocery store, I sighed.  “I probably just need to write.  I need to take all of these buzzy, frenetic thoughts and get them out of my head and onto a page.” 

 He held my hand and smiled.  “Probably not a bad idea.” 

*****

So here I am. Finally sitting. Buzzing just a little less. But maybe some buzzing is a good thing. Maybe we all need to be buzzing just a bit, so that we’re motivated to go out there and do something that makes the world just a little bit better today. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.

As I parked my car in the school parking lot, a police cruiser pulled in behind me.  We parked and walked in together, making small talk, but avoiding the discussion of why he was in our building today. 

 I walked up to the door, using my keycard to buzz us both in.  I walked him to the office (as protocol dictates), and found the principal and assistant principal there, making small talk with a second officer.  Everyone was smiling and pleasant, trying to pretend it was just another day. 

This morning, I had an email from the Superintendent.  And another from our director of Social Emotional Learning.  But, sadly, the contents were familiar, because we’ve been here before. 

*****

Here’s what we need to do today.  

Reassure students that schools are safe places.  (Are they?)

Talk to students in a developmentally appropriate way.  (When does mass murder become a developmentally appropriate topic?)

Be mindful of your own feelings about school violence.  (Translated as: Don’t cry.  Don’t panic.  Don’t let them know you’re scared, too.)

Empower students to take action. See something, Say something.  (Why can’t the adults take action, so the students don’t have to?)

*****

It’s not just another day, but we all go on as if it is.  Truthfully, most of our students are blissfully unaware.  They spent their evenings playing Fortnite, not watching CNN.  But there are a few who are reeling.  Who are scared.  Who feel vulnerable. 

And when you make eye contact with another adult in the hallway, there is a brief flicker.  We’re not okay.  We’re pretending, and maybe we can convince the kids, but we can’t convince each other.  

*****

We speculate on our lunch breaks.  And we imagine.  What if it were us?  How would it have looked here?  Are our protocols enough?  What would we have done? 

Would we recognize a kid as not being a student?  Would we stop him? Could we stop him?  What would we use to break the window and climb out? 

*****

The kids thought we would do an active shooter drill today.  I promised them we wouldn’t.  It would be too traumatic.  Too insensitive.  Too close to reality.  

But what if I’m wrong?  Or what if something does happen?  Have I told them too much? Am I being too reassuring? 

What’s the balance?  Is there a balance?  Damn it.  

*****

More silent speculation on my prep period.  Have we had students capable of this?  Did we see it?  Did we help them enough?  Did we make it worse? Who might have fallen through the cracks?  Who might be a target?  It’s so much easier to see red flags in hindsight. 

I flip through social media on my break.  Already the posts have become polarized.  Gun control.  More mental health supports.  Police in schools.  

And I can’t argue about it because I feel like screaming.  SOMETHING.  TRY SOMETHING.  And then if it doesn’t work, TRY SOMETHING ELSE.  But stop talking.  Stop posting.  Stop bickering and DO SOMETHING.  

The teachers have done all we can.  We have ID badges and keys and checkpoints and cameras and intercoms to ensure that we know who is in the building.  We have social emotional curriculum and bullying protocols and zero tolerance policies.  We have close connections with community resources so we can refer families for help.  We run active shooter drills.  We practice barricading our doors, hiding, running away, throwing things at an intruder.  

Many of us would literally sacrifice our SELVES for the safety of your children.  

And our elected officials just keep sending thoughts and prayers.  

It’s a little dreary outside, and we’re in for a heat wave today.  I’m sitting in my favorite corner spot on our new sectional, watching the birds through the picture window, sipping coffee, and listening to Garth Brooks’ most recent album.  

My birthday was in April, but I’m getting my gift today.  After 25 years of waiting, I’m finally going to see Garth in concert.  I’m little-kid-at-Christmas excited.  Foolishly excited.  

I bought not only one but TWO new shirts for the occasion.  They both read, “Blame it all on my roots,” because I’m THAT obsessed.  I bought two in case one didn’t fit right, but I’m glad I did because I’ll probably sweat right through the first one before we even get into the stadium.  

I mean, I would prefer it to be 70 degrees, but I’m not going to let a heat wave ruin my good time.  I’ve got a cooler full of water bottles and hard lemonades, and we’ll grab some sandwiches and chips from the local sub shop.  We’ll arrive early with our chairs and our cooler and our Garth playlist.  We’re doing this one right.  

*****

I’m seventeen years old; a newly licensed driver, relishing the freedom that comes with my own car.  I’m perched on the edge of the bed in my best friend’s room, letting her do my makeup.  Country radio is playing in the background, and when Garth comes on, the two of us grab hairbrush microphones and sing “Ain’t Going Down ‘till the Sun Comes Up” at the top of our lungs.  We’re jumping on the bed with the excitement of toddlers, gearing up for a bonfire in the woods.  

*****

I’m a freshman in college, with my fake ID in the back pocket of my low-rise jeans.  My tank top slips off my shoulder as my friends and I embrace and sing along to “Friends in Low Places” at the local bar.  We are young and foolish and full of possibility. 

******

I’m sixteen, in my tiny basement bedroom.  I’m just learning about betrayal, and my emotions are raw.  I’m proud of my new tape/CD player with detachable speakers, and I crank up the volume and play “The Thunder Rolls” on repeat, beating that iconic drum part with my concert band drumsticks on my twin mattress.  

*****

I’m fourteen years old, and mostly clueless about life.  But I’m full of teenage angst and optimism.  “The River” paints a picture of a life well-lived.  It feels like I’m learning a lesson from this song that I don’t fully understand yet.  But I sing along, dreaming of what the future might hold.   

*****

I’m eighteen years old, sitting with my bare feet on the dash of my boyfriend’s pickup truck. We’re sharing a gas station soda and a bag of gummy bears, singing along to “Wrapped Up In You.” I feel the warm wind blow through my hair and I can’t imagine a moment better than this one.

*****

I started dating my first boyfriend in 10^th grade.  We were together for nearly three years, and when we broke up during my freshman year in college, “Unanswered Prayers” was the anthem that I used to heal my broken heart.  

*****

Sevens came out during my senior year in High School.  It was one of Garth’s less successful albums, but the heartbreak spoke to me.  The ballads were different than the honkey-tonk music he was famous for, but the track, “You Move Me,” did just that, and I couldn’t stop listening.  “In Another’s Eyes” was heartfelt and brutal and beautiful (and his first duet with Trisha).  To this day, I can sing every word on that album, because I listened to it on repeat for so long. 

*****

I’m a words girl. Lyrics speak to me.  In my teens and twenties, when I bought a new CD, I would slide the sleeve out of the plastic case and listen to the entire album, reading along with the printed words, to make sure I got the full impact of the song.  “Belleau Wood” was the last song on the Sevens album, and the first song that ever brought me to tears.  I played it for everyone I knew, moved by the idea that it was possible to find beauty in the tragedy of war.  

*****

As I started to understand that the world was full of injustice and tragedy, “We Shall Be Free” came out.  It was a social justice anthem that spoke to me before I even knew what social justice meant.  

***** 

I’ve always been attracted to guys with a wild side.  But I’ve mostly been a straight and narrow kind of girl.  “Cowboys and Angels” made me feel understood and seen, and I would blast it on my discman, precariously balanced on the passenger seat of my 1984 Mercury Marquis and plugged into my car speaker.  Every time I hit a pothole, I would have to start it over, and it didn’t even make me mad. 

*****

Garth Brooks wrote the soundtrack to my teens and early twenties.  His music helped me to figure out who I was and imagine who I wanted to be. 

Music.  It changes us.  It speaks to us.  It brings us back.  It helps us dream. 

Tonight, I’m going to drink some hard lemonades and eat potato chips on the tailgate of my husband’s truck.  I’m going to sweat my ass off and sing at the top of my lungs and pack into a stadium with thousands of other people.  I’m going to see Garth Brooks LIVE and make a new memory to add to the list.  

I can’t wait. 

I’ve been a ball of nerves for two days.  It’s been hard to pinpoint one reason why, because the reasons wouldn’t stop swirling around my head long enough for me to pin them down. 

I think a lot of it was related to my ‘to-do’ list, so I started knocking things off, one by one.  Prepare a children’s message for church.  Fill out the spreadsheet for work.  Write that IEP.  Pay that bill.  Buy the snacks for that event.  Send that email.  Wash those dishes.  

As I get closer to the bottom of that list, the anxiety dissipates a little.  But I’m still a little off-kilter.  In that way that feels like I’m forgetting something. 

I think it happens when my compartmentalizing fails.  

When I left my classroom on Friday afternoon, I knew that I still had some work to do.  I was concerned about two big meetings coming up on Monday.  I still had a little prep to do for that.  And I hadn’t QUITE finished my lesson plans for next week.  There was also some prep to do for MCAS testing, which starts on Wednesday.  But I left my classroom anyway, trying to map out a schedule for how to get it all done.  I still squeezed in a few drinks with some colleagues and a movie with my family.  I knew there was a lot to do, but I didn’t want to give up the things that make me feel whole.  

This weekend, I also had a lot of church stuff going on.  And the church stuff is, quite literally, my second job.  I’m in charge of our Sunday School and Faith Formation, which also means some coordination of special events.  We hosted an event on Saturday, which required some prep and planning.  It was fun, and it went off without a hitch.  PLUS I got most of the work for Monday taken care of, so I was stressed but productive.  And then we had a fun, social event and I had some time to connect with friends and church members who bring me joy. 

This morning, I was in charge of the children’s message and a Sunday school lesson for church, which takes me more time than it probably should.  Yesterday, I had gathered some ideas, but this morning I got up early to work out the details and the kinks.  Mission accomplished. 

But the weekend isn’t over, because it’s also Mother’s Day.  So I’m hosting my husband’s family at my house this evening.  Jack and the kids are doing most of the work, but they still need a little supervision and direction.  I sliced the strawberries and prepped the potatoes and cleaned the upstairs bathroom.  And then I poured myself a glass of wine and headed up to my office.  

And here we are.  I’m writing instead of reviewing the MCAS accommodations one more time.  I’m sipping wine instead of sweeping the floor.  I’m resting instead of checking my work email.  

When I have to focus on all of the things in the short span of a weekend; the family stuff and the work stuff and the church stuff, the busy-ness takes over.  The doing takes over and I forget that it’s okay to just be, well… be-ing.  A human being instead of a human doing. 

But this weekend was good.  I feel like I tried to add balance.  I did some being.  I spent some time with family and friends.  I spent some time in prayer.  I spent some time writing.  I spent some time connecting.  

And now it’s time to spend some time relaxing.  Because, after all, it IS Mother’s Day.  The rest of it can wait.  It will all get done.  It always does. 

Happy Mother’s Day to those who are celebrating.  I hope you get to spend at least some of your day just being.   

It’s 5:30 in the afternoon.  I worked a full day, stayed after school to help a few struggling students, and then spent an hour sitting in the car on the phone with my therapist.  

Now I’m home.  I’ve changed into my leggings and one of my favorite, soft, baggy shirts.  The text on the front reads, “Kindness Matters.”  I’ve got a third of my afternoon Dunkin Donuts coffee left in this plastic cup by my side, and the steak I just sliced for dinner needs to marinate for 30 minutes.  

So I can write.  Or I suppose I could read.  But I need one or the other.  Because words are the thing that can best soothe my soul.  

It all feels a little bit overwhelming right now.  You can tell because I haven’t posted anything in a while.  

What’s new?  Absolutely nothing.  And everything.  Isn’t that the way it always is?  I live the same day; variations on a theme.  I feel trapped.  I liberate myself.  Things get better.  Then worse. 

I get terrible news.  Followed by an inspiring email.  The sun shines.  The sleet falls.  Such is spring in New England.  

I don’t have any insight today.  I just have so many damned feelings.  I’m overflowing with them.  Fear.  Regret.  Joy.  Peace.  Frustration.  Contentment.  In waves, they just keep coming.  They tug me under.  Throw me against the rocks.  Bring me to shore.  

All I can do is roll with them.  Try to feel them instead of analyzing them.  Try to be in the moment instead of above it all.  

My shirt is soft.  My drink is sweet.  My dog is snoring at my feet.  The wind is blowing outside.  

I tell myself to stay here.  To stop following that voice in my head that wants to ruminate or anticipate.  

Notice it all.  Stay in the moment.  My house is warm.  My fridge is full.  The wind is blowing and the sun is shining. 

There is nothing to fear in this moment.  Why do I find it so hard to just stay here?  

There’s a shot of Bailey’s in my coffee this morning; a rare treat reserved for the days when I don’t plan on going anywhere.  We’re hunkered down for a snowstorm like the hardy New Englanders we claim to be.  Stocked up on batteries, gas for the generator, and wood for the fireplace.  We’ve got plenty of food in the fridge. While there tends to be a rush for bread and milk during a blizzard, I’m more focused on making sure we have coffee and wine.  And something to simmer in the crockpot all day.  We’re good here.  

I promised myself I would write today.  It’s been way too long.  

When I don’t write, there’s usually a reason.  I like to write something and wrap it up with a little bow at the end.  That’s my style.  I like things to be neat. 

When I’m not publishing, that doesn’t mean I’m not writing.  I’m ALWAYS writing.  It’s how I process things.  It’s how I work through my emotions and talk myself off the edge.  It’s how I think things through and figure things out and make hard decisions.  But when I’m not publishing blogs, it’s usually because I’m still working on it.  I haven’t figured it out.  

But when life is messy and things are ongoing and I can’t find a neat little bow, my writing becomes 18 unfinished, typewritten diary entries sitting on my desktop.  That’s what I’ve got now.  The last three are titled, “Fractured Family,” “Stealth,” and “The things I’ve done wrong.” 

I started them all, hoping to find a happy ending.  I was writing to get to that neat little bow at the end.  And I couldn’t find it.  

*****

Here are some things that keep swirling around in brain and in my writing.  I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give them neat little bows. 

– Bea is gone.  I may have lost her forever.  For five years, she was part of our home.  To me, she will always be family. But she needs space and she’s disconnected and there’s really nothing I can do about that.  It hurts.  

– My sisters are fighting.  Not just regular ‘sister-drama,’ as my husband calls it.  But real, “We haven’t spoken in a over a year” fighting.  And it’s affecting us all.  My dad is sick.  My other sister is pregnant.  We need our sister connection more than ever and it’s splintered in a way that breaks my heart.  I wish I could fix it, but I can’t.  

– Work is a minefield.  I still love my job.  There are still beautiful moments.  But the joy is hard to find, and the trauma is lingering just below the surface. We are all overwhelmed by new and ever-changing rules.  Mental health is deteriorating and our efforts to build resilience and joy are often met with apathy.  It’s exhausting.

*****

That little list makes it seem like life is awful right now.  But, the thing is, it’s NOT.  Our little family of four is connecting better than ever.  Our home is full of laughter.  The boys are doing well in school and exploring new hobbies and Lee has a job.  I’m using YouTube tutorials to learn how to crochet, and there are moments when we’re all gathered in the living room watching a movie and I’m making a blanket, and there is a log burning in the fireplace and I think, “Hold on to this moment.  It doesn’t get any better.” 

 We’re financially stable in a way that is unfamiliar and entirely liberating.  We’re planning a trip to Florida soon.  My mom has lived there for more than a decade, and we keep saying we’ll save the money to come.  We’re finally doing it.  I can’t wait. 

We have good friends.  We’re so blessed to have friends to celebrate with us and cry with us and share the burdens and the joys.  I don’t take that for granted.  

We have our families.  Our beautiful, complicated, messy, connections that bind us forever, whether we want them or now.  

We are bound. 

We are connected.  

Maybe that’s the neat little bow for this post. 

I reread what I’ve just written.  What’s the theme?  What am I supposed to realize?  What am I meant to learn?

We are interconnected.  We are woven together in a way that is divine and holy and beyond our understanding.  

My student’s anxiety doesn’t just belong to them.  It belongs to all of us.  My sisters’ argument isn’t just theirs.  It radiates through our family.  Bea’s choices aren’t just hers.  They ripple through to touch all of the people who have ever loved her.  But the joy affects us all, too.  My children’s laughter strengthens me… which supports my students.  Our friends hold us up when things get tough; so then we can lift and support others.  That fire in the fireplace and the Bailey’s in my coffee lift my spirits, and there is purpose in that, as well.  Maybe all the time that I spend trying to solve unsolvable problems is better spent seeking joy and strength.

Let go and Let God, right?  You can’t fix it all.  You can’t wrap everything up with a neat little bow.  But you can shift your focus to the things that help you weather the storm.  A fire in the fireplace.  Soft yarn against my fingertips.  A shot of Bailey’s in my coffee.  

May we all be blessed with a little bit of beauty and joy as we weather this storm together.   

I had my own room for a time in my teens.  I had my own apartment for a few months in my 20s.  But for most of my life, I’ve shared space with various siblings, roommates, and friends.  When Jack and I started dating, I didn’t consciously consider the reality that I just signed up to share a room for the rest of my life. 

I’m a pretty social person.  I enjoy people.  And for the most part, I like sharing space.  I love having someone to talk to, someone to cuddle with, someone to laugh with.  I especially love that that person is my husband.  I want to share a bedroom with him forever.

But I’ve always wanted my own little office.  Since I was a kid, I’ve been slightly obsessed with pretty stationery and pens, post-its and colored paperclips.  I love the feel of a solid stapler in my hand, and the smell of a brand new notebook. The click of my fingers on the keyboard is a calming sort of background music to my thoughts.  An office. A quiet space for working and reading and writing.  Wouldn’t that be lovely? 

Turns out, it is.  It is SO FREAKING LOVELY. 

It’s not entirely finished, but over the past few weeks, I’ve been assembling my office.  With Bea gone, we have an extra little bedroom.  It’s just barely large enough to fit a full size bed, so it wasn’t ideal as a kid’s room.  But it is the perfect size for this.  

*****

When I first started this project, I had a vision in mind.  I wanted a comfy chair.  I wanted lots of shelving.  I wanted calming colors and pretty patterns and knickknacks and tchotchkes that made me smile.  I imagined pretty candles and soothing scents and fabric-covered boxes to hold my memorabilia.  

I have a canvas print of a photo that Cal took on the beach.  The sun is setting and the water is coming in and Lee is a blurred figure in the foreground of the shot.  It’s beautiful.  And I could picture it clearly on the wall in this room in my imagination.  

*****

The first thing I bought for the space was a teal, wire wall hanging shaped like the side of a birdcage.  It came with a few small clothespins on it, and it functions as a pretty sort of corkboard for hanging photos and reminders and business cards.  I bought it at a local antique shop when the office only existed in my imagination.  It felt frivolous.  I was buying something I didn’t need for a room that didn’t exist.  But I LIKED it.  I REALLY liked it.  So I splurged a little.  

A few weeks later, the work began.  We started to empty that little room.  The closet was full of Legos and Light Sabers and Avengers paraphernalia. Cal and I painstakingly sorted it all into piles.  Keep.  Gift.  Donate.  Trash.  To make this new space for me, we had to wade through so many of his memories.  It was bittersweet.  

Once the room was cleared out, I wanted to maximize the space.  The doors came off the closet and Jack removed the built-in shelving.  Now I had a cubby.  The old closet was about 7 feet wide and a little more than 2 feet deep.  I imagined a desk in that space, surrounded by shelves for books and photos and pretty, useless things.    

But if I was planning to sit in that little cubby and create something beautiful, I wanted to look at something beautiful.  Instead of painting the wall, I decided I wanted wallpaper there.  I wanted something that would pop a little.  I wanted something happy and colorful.  

I started at Lowe’s.  Jack and I looked at wallpaper, and while there were some perfectly nice things, I didn’t find anything I loved.  And I wanted to love it.  

That was a new feeling.  I have always shopped for the best deals on the most useful things.  I typically pick the ‘good enough’ version of what I need because it is less expensive or more functional or whatever.  I’m quick to compromise. 

When shopping for new bedding, I chose something with a mandala pattern because Jack didn’t want to sleep in a flowery room.  I went easy on the throw pillows, because he doesn’t share my affinity for decorative fluff.  It wasn’t that I didn’t like what I was choosing; it’s just that everything was a little bit of a compromise. 

The couch that I really loved was crazy expensive, but we found this set in the clearance section that would work just fine.  I don’t love my dining room table, but it is a huge, hefty, functional antique and it was free.  

And so the story goes…

But as I sat there looking at that wallpaper, I thought about my little birdcage.  I love that birdcage.  And I wanted it to sit against wallpaper that made me smile.  

So I didn’t buy wallpaper in Lowe’s that day. I did buy a lovely hanging light covered in crystals to replace the single bare bulb in the closet.  It was sparkly and girly and perfect.  

And then I went home and spent two weeks shopping online for just the right wallpaper.  It was a little expensive.  But it was exactly what I had hoped to find.  A pretty blue and gold floral pattern.  The colors were just right.  The pattern was delicate and light but interesting.  I loved it. 

My canvas print.  My little birdcage.  My sparkly light.  My pretty wallpaper.  I was beginning to gather lovely things.  I was choosing without compromise.  I didn’t have to consider anyone else’s preferences.  I wasn’t limited by a shoestring budget.  

It was a brand-new feeling, and I loved it. 

Jack and I found a chaise lounge in the clearance section at the furniture store, but this time it didn’t feel like a compromise.  It was exactly what I wanted.  A comfy chair with a corner, perfect for reclining and reading and relaxing.  It was the perfect size and shape and color and it was only a hundred bucks.  We loaded it into the truck. 

I found an adorable little clock at a craft store.  I picked it up and put it down and  walked away and came back three times before I finally decided that I needed to have it. I finally bought the paper shredder that I’ve wanted for years. I ordered a cute little spinning organizer for my pens and pencils and paperclips and post-its.  I got candles and fabric covered boxes and pretty throw pillows.  I hung Lee’s paintings and Cal’s photo and filled a basket with yarn for crocheting.  

Lovely things.  All lovely things.  But it’s more than that.  When I sit in this room, I don’t just love it because it’s full of lovely things.  I love it because they’re MY lovely things.  I love it because I had a vision and I made it a reality and I didn’t compromise.  I love it because it is totally and utterly MINE.  

I still haven’t gotten my shelves.  Because I haven’t found ones that are exactly right.  I’m still looking for the perfect curtains.  I want to add some plants.  And all of that will come in time.  

For now, I’m going to sit here and sip my coffee and listen to the ticking of my adorable little clock.  I’m going to breathe in the scent of this candle and admire my kids’ artwork and cuddle up on my chaise lounge with a book and a homemade crocheted blanket. I’m going to pay attention to the feel and the sound of my fingers on the keyboard as I edit this piece and write down my thoughts in a room of my very own.