Enjoy the second of three free installments of Fragments.
I’ve been grieving a loss lately, one that has left me with an emptiness I still can’t fully conceive or articulate. One that coincided with a few life-changing blessings. And I, honestly, haven’t been able to reconcile the spoils with the carnage. In the simplest terms, a chapter ended, and a new one has begun. That’s life, but life has been life-ing awfully hard. Now I’m on a page where my only concern is myself, and, for some reason, I’m channeling that energy into redecorating my home.
It’s how I avoid actually focusing on what is going right and excuse wallowing in how much I’m desperately haunted by what went wrong. Home curation provides structure to these conflicting energies. Suppose I’m going to spend my downtime walking around my apartment, muttering to myself about how loss eats at the soul while offering no immediate benefit. In that case, I might as well source a new table on my iPad—and ensure the wood stain matches my aesthetic—since I’m taking the trip anyway. On both journeys, everything is ahead of me (new benches, barstools, and, at some point, relief); my present is beautiful (gainful employment, beautiful face, snatched like bandit); and I’m sitting on the ground praying I can snap the last zip tie tethering me to what was left behind.
What kinda shit is that?
I’m fighting through my grief by trying to strike as many reminders of its source from my home as possible. A new mattress, sheets, dishes, drinking glasses, towels, and art—but no photos, please, no photos—have been checked off the list. I complete a daily walk-through to ensure every decor item, art placement, and curated piece feels so much like me that seeing myself reflected so honestly in my environment knocks me off balance. In this effort, I got a new rug for the bathroom, one I didn’t realize the person I lost would have loved until it was lying in the middle of the floor and I was standing over it. It was peculiar to see that they imprinted on me in this way. I didn’t purchase it with them in mind, but there they were, staring up at me, vulnerable and without my armor.
I considered returning it, but I can’t let them take anything else. And I don’t want to miss the rug, too.