I have a room in our home that I can call mine. I am free to decorate it with things for only me. When I got married and moved into a house to share, I lost that “My Room” experience. It really made me recognized the gift that my parents gave me when I lived with them. I got a room to myself and was encouraged to express myself in the decor of it. Even though they had to literally close the door at times because of my lack of cleaning skills, and my dad had to repair and paint the walls because I had left a million holes from the tacks that held my posters and magazine pages. My parents never forced me to have anything in my room that I didn’t want. They never told me to take out anything that I wanted to keep. I am so thankful for that and what it inspired inside of me.
Not having that anymore never really bothered me until recently when I started to really discover my need to be me. To personalize a space just for the interest of my desires. A place to put the things that mean something to me, and that I don’t want to share. To express myself freely. I love being able to have things surrounding me that inspire me in beautiful ways while I work, or just relax.
This is something I need and treasure in my life.
It is something that I am truly grateful for.
The glimmering plush look of the petals takes my breath away every single time I look at it.
It once was alive. Fresh and bright. Green and brown.
Like a star, exploding with light and life.
…with spring and light and warmth.
Fresh and clean and new.
Bright and deep and promising.
I am in love.
…..this is what we get. As if the storm itself wasn’t enough.
Beauty for the eyes, after the sounds and smells and touch.
Wow, thank you.
This was completely hidden from view a couple weeks ago. Before a neighbor started a wildfire that burned a huge amount of the dry grass and brush around our house.
I love the barren, obviousness that this makes me feel.
HI! I am back. My time away from this is over. I had to honor my need to go with the flow.
But I am back, for now, for who knows how long.