Whether it’s the looming romanticism soon to be writ across the social media world in accordance with Valentine’s Day bollock-y “traditions,” or the injection of a little instability in my professional life, I’ve been contemplating the little things.
Like the three miniature Buddhas Andy snuck into our bedroom yesterday.
Two of which I sweetly recommended be removed from my sight. Immediately.
(Not really. But I let one stay.)
Actually, with my horrible job soon ending, and the great unknowns of the future looming, I’m finding that I’m embracing all things familiar and leaning on them like a crutch.
All things I associate with home. Our apartment. The oasis Andy and I rush to at the conclusion of every single workday–that end point of our intensely agonizing commutes.
It’s not much, and it’s not a palace.
But I find comfort in its cracked plaster.
Its worn, shiny hardwood floors and how they reflect the morning light.
Its solid doors and their glass knobs.
The bits and pieces that distinguish it from the boxes-o-junk popping up mere blocks from us, and which will likely, one day, splinter it asunder.
And while our things add a bit of decorative boom!, it’s the space itself–enclosed by the cracking walls–that I most value.
That same sort of space (albeit a wee bit tinier) that we’re seeking as we Internet stalk California digs, salivating over apartments dripping with built-ins, amazing views, and Hollywood addresses.
The same aesthetic that our grandparents’ neighborhood blocks had–amalgamations of mortar and brick and clapboard and stone, all painstakingly nourished into sturdy, beautiful homes.
It’s the collision of the past with the present, with glints of the future in the rippling window glass.
It’s the familiar and the alien all wrapped into one.
And I guess I’m doing a poor job of drawing parallels between buildings and myself–that as life unhinges and shifts, I find myself gutting some of the old and trying to figure out what to fill the vacancies with.
I want to blend character and warmth with a bit of modern pizazz.
To keep my foundation and worn facade, but blow out a wall or two.
I guess I just want change.
With a little sepia curled around the edges for good measure.