I’ve never really been a “material girl,” per se – never had much of a desire for swank accommodations, plush surroundings, or the latest trendy accoutrements collecting dust on my mantle.
I try to decorate with photos.
And adorn my shelves with books.
And maybe someday fill my walls art.
It’s not like I was ever trying to make some conscious stand against our commercialized society – it’s just that the thought of frivolously spending money never even occurred to me. I was the girl who, at the tender age of six, would hoard Halloween candy to the point where I could still use it as trading leverage the following year.
I saved my money. For what, I don’t know.
But now? Now it’s like I can’t stop spending it. We bought this fixer-upper with the doe-eyed excitement of having it fully renovated and resale-worthy within a year, maybe two.
It’s not until recently that I became motivated enough to actually start finishing some of the projects and rooms we’ve started around here. Blame it on Spring… blame it on the fact that we’ve lived here for 3 years already (that’s a long time for being in the Air Force).
Now, not only do I want to finish the large renovation products, but I actually want to make my home “cute” – not just livable. I find myself wanting to stack random books with pretty bindings on my coffee table and place assorted rolled-up washcloths in adorable metal containers on top of my toilet tank.
I’m decorating my toilet, for crying out loud.
This doesn’t change the fact that I want to actually read all of the books that come into my home (with the exception of pretty much anything the hubs buys – Star Wars just ain’t my thang), or that I want to continue to better myself by learning a foreign language, giving someone a compliment every day, or making increasingly sizeable charitable donations every year to a meaningful cause.
The way I see it, I’m just trying to make our home more comfortable. Finishing projects de-stresses me. It calms my nerves and slows the racing thoughts that swirl through my head minute-by minute.
When I see the rolled-up towels, I feel a bit more content. Does that make me a bad person? Elitist? Spoiled?
It is, after all, a material world. Would Madonna ever steer me wrong?
What de-stresses you? Cleaning? Watching TV? Drinking several cocktails and passing out at 8:00 p.m.? Most importantly, have I become shallow?