I am not an interior decorator.
It really is a fact.
I salute all who are, man, what a gift and EXTREME sense of patience.
I feel so overwhelmed by the process of putting things up on my walls, positioning furniture, picking colors. AH! All of it gets to my head. I second guess every choice that I make until I just simply quit making choices.
Does it look cute? Do they notice the tacky wall paper that I didn’t have a choice about when agreeing to live in my apt? Does it smell nice? Are people comfortable here?
The list of questions I battle in my mind about my home are endless. I become so obsessed with trying to accommodate what I think others expect my home to look like, instead of making it according to my taste. In fact, I think my taste buds change for every person that comes over.
But yesterday, help came to the rescue in the form of my sweet, precious, barely five foot tall aunts. These two know me. If they walked into a room and had to decorate it “La” style (nobody in my family actually calls me Laura Jean), they would knock it out of the park.
They walked into my apartment with a bag full of fun things and sat me down at my kitchen table. My Aunt, Kathy, started to give me a little pep talk, well at least I viewed it as that. She talked right through my heart without even knowing it. She said, “When it’s all said and done, fill your home with things you love, things that have meaning to you.”
We got to work.
I mean, they were at my apartment for hours. Not a dime spent, just simple rearrangement, hanging items in different places, finding things that hold a deeper purpose and exposing them within my home.
We filled my walls and my bookshelves with items that have meaning, a real story behind it. I am pretty sure a story was told for every nail hammered.
In the whole process I started to feel this notion of how my home can be such a representation of my heart.
How many decisions do I NOT make because of my fears of not measuring up, my fears of others not liking what I have, or simply my fear of finding out what I am not. If I simply don’t make a decision I never have to find out if I am really not good at something. So, I stop. I quit. I don’t pursue. I let others who know they are good at something pursue their wildest dreams and I stay content being their cheerleader, and not really having a “thing”.
It’s easier right? Never exposing your deepest dreams or gifts, that way nobody will find out who you really are, nobody can shame what you really love, you stay protected, you stay safe.
OR better yet, you never expose yourself to yourself.
“Better to be a fake somebody than a real nobody.”- Matt Damon
But I wonder, how many things in this world HAVEN’T happened for that exact reason?
That’s a chilling thought.
I had a professor in college who gave me 57 on a 15 page research paper. The only notes or corrections made on the paper was this “You could stand to use better vocabulary”, and a 57 in bright red, circled.
So, I doubt.
I doubt my abilities. I doubt if I really am good at the things that I actually love or if they are just little things I will never be a master of.
But here is what decorating my apartment brought me:
I love writing
I love reading
I love talking (seriously it’s the best)
I love people
I love running
I love coffee
So this morning, the decision to stop obsessing over what others believe I should be and the start to being who I know I was created to be has begun. I have my list of what I love, and I am done being afraid of myself.
*for real, my coffee addiction is real, that’s why my husband and I make our own. Buy some Bell Blend today :)*