Over the past two weeks, I’ve been unpacking boxes that have been in storage for 2 years. For the past 2 years, we’ve lived in an apartment, with less than 10% of the “stuff” that we own. Here’s what I discovered about myself while opening box after box:
Two years ago, I was buying things (art supplies, decor, books…) that fit this idea of someone I thought I should be. As my hands sifted through items, I could feel the memory of their story- this print, I bought because I felt I needed to be more “like that.” This pack of canvases wasn’t purchased out of a deep desire to paint or create, but as a knee-jerk reaction from thinking it would bring me closer to worthiness. Maybe if I create beautiful art, the fear in me said, I will be okay.
I didn’t buy so many of these things because they brought me joy. I bought them out of a feeling of brokenness. Of needing something- something to fix me, something to convince myself I was finally okay. Continue reading →