The Difference of Our Home

My home is a guest house I rent on my parent's property. It is the art work I put on the walls; some of which I painted myself or I collected from fellow art students. It is the flooring my fiancé and I picked out as the first fixer-up project we did when he moved in. And by we I fully mean him because he is way more capable of handy work. It is the bedding that could be more white and spot free but also shows that our little baby boy spends time cuddling and eating there with us. Dare I say, it is the collection of THINGS. It is the people that live in it and the many people that visit it. It is the collection of things from the journey to get here. It is my 560 square foot of safe haven.  

Through out my interior design career, I have helped people create "home". For some, that meant walking into a showroom and saying effortlessly and without question of the price, "I'll take all of that vignette." While I admire their braveness that that chunk of product will somehow magically look just as good in their home despite different lighting and floor plan, it seems so irrelevant and subjective. On the other end of the spectrum, I've also worked with some that collected their whole lives and for some reason had to start over and get "new". Ive seen them shake and cry and get upset that the idea of "new" was no longer a fresh and exciting idea but an actual scary and heart aching process. People who came in saying, "Yes! Let's revamp my space. Please help me. I AM READY."  But these same clients then left saying "I just can't part with my 20 year old sofa." From a sales perspective, this was the WORST kind of client. They were the most time consuming and maybe for some they were eventually possible to "tackle". But for my empathetic little designer heart, I didn't want to tackle them. I actually quite admired their attachment to their things. I liked listening to their memories about the family they raised with their Ethan Allen sectional. It wasn't some Italian designer made piece. But, it was theirs. And it was their people's. And no matter where they moved, it would always fit. (Hypothetically of course!) But these are the things that mattered for them. And I cannot help but admire that.

There are two types of people who are out there; the people that think home is a building to fill and the people who build a home out of sentiment. While the latter makes them more vulnerable to loss, it also gives the warmest feeling when they walk into their space. A feeling of belonging. A feeling of an embrace. "Home" is not far off from "Love".