I’m a clinically diagnosed homebody. My friends and loved
ones can tell you I’m less than pleasant on a road trip. Travel, though a necessity
sometimes, gives me hives. I just prefer to be home. I must have been a hobbit
in another life. Not one of the weird ones who embarked on an epic quest for a
piece of friggin’ jewelry. I’m the one happily snapping peas in front of the ol’
hobbit hole and trying to convince her fuzzy-footed husband to repaint the
hobbit domicile for the third time in a year.
With all this home-love, some might say that my house is
over-decorated. I can’t help it. Empty walls cause me anxiety – and creative
spark. I don’t see blank walls – to me they are a canvas waiting for
embellishment. Should an empty wall
appear in my house, I don’t admire the negative space, in my head I’ve already
painted it and hung up framed photos and objects de art.
My friend Kaleigh and I are opposites. But we’ve been best
friends since we were 14. Where she is meticulous and patient, I’m impatient
and impulsive. When she moved into a new house a couple years ago, she told me
that she was afraid to commit to a paint color. She had pieces of art, but
being afraid of making a mistake, it just leaned up against the wall for months.
That’s okay. That’s Kaleigh. She’s organized and meticulous. She wants to know
that the decision she makes is going to be the right one. I appreciate that
about her. But every time I saw that the décor just sitting against the wall it
stressed me out.
Kaleigh finally decorated her house. And it looks great.
Very modern farmhouse. She even let me help finish her bedroom design. I
considered it an honor. But it was probably her kind way of shutting me up and
stopping the barrage of Pinterest pins I would send to her in droves. But she still admits that she's not so sure about her choice of paint color.
Decorating my home has always been very important to me.
Maybe it’s because my mom always had our house artfully decorated. Our bedrooms
always had a theme. From rabbits, to fairies and castles to Monet’s garden,
everything had a theme. I always pay attention to how someone decorates. I
learn things about them without them saying a word. My friend Shannon loves
giraffes, and they adorn her bedroom. My friend Bridget loves the color navy,
and she has awesome prints of local birds in her living room. Her kitchen would
make Chrissy Tiegan jealous. My friend Megan is a vintage lover like me and decks
her house in cool finds from local shops, and the treasure trove that is her back
shed. She and her husband Stan live in his grandma’s old house. I admit, I’m
jealous of the amount of milk glass she has discovered on the property. My
other friend Meghan has amazing works of art all over her house that were
painted by her great-grandmother. My sisters also each have their own style.
Betsy is old world glamour with a little bit of Dolly Parton thrown in. Eve’s
home is gorgeously decorated with elegant simplicity and Wedgewood blue.
I would describe my own style as . . . eclectic mayhem. I
love bohemian accents and cozy corners. Keeping with my love of things
hobbit-y, I love earthy tones of green, plum, charcoal and orange. I love
stacks of books and a sleeping cat. I love florals and colorful pieces of art.
None of my dishes match. And that’s the way I like it. I love natural elements
and a bar cart stocked with wine. I love throw pillows. I love throw pillows so
much that it’s become somewhat of a joke among my family and friends. I have
them on every surface and shoved behind every bed. Comfort is not lacking in my
home. I want my house to tell a story. The little brass figurine of a man I
keep on my rattan book shelf? That was my grandfather’s. My coffee bar was my
aunt’s old dresser.
I guess that’s why I over-decorate. I just enjoy surrounding
myself with a visual history and it’s a representation of what’s going on in my
head. I’ve got plans and ideas stuffed behind ideological beds in my brain. My
entire subconscious is over-decorated. It’s who I am.
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