Living with White Space

The theme of simplification has weighed heavily on my adult life. Growing up in an environment rife with stuff and a lack of intentionality made me want more from my life. But even with that intention of simplicity, I have fallen victim to the consumption bug that Americans are so known for. Perhaps not with the superfluous attitude that most bring to their homes and lives, but in my own way, I had too much. 

I have a decorator's heart. She craves beauty, coziness, and comfort in a way that minimalist style never seems to capture. 

Bare white walls symbolize military life and a lack of choice over where we live and our surroundings. It may be that the agency of choice plays into those feelings about our homes. If I have white walls, then I had to cover them with art and things. It isn't in my nature to accept the whiteness (unless of course, it is bedding or dishes).

When we moved into this house, I was stuck with the starkness of white walls on white molding on white ceilings. A very lovely home that met all of our needs was driving me crazy. I wished that I just didn't care. It hurt my heart to think of living in an environment where I would be forced to try and decorate on a budget with white walls.  However, unlike our last home, we had the choice to paint in this one. 

So we did. At least one room. We painted our living room a lovely shade of gray-blue and I don't regret it a bit. It allowed me to put up a few picture frames and a clock and leave it at that. And even with the simplicity of the decorations, it is comfortable and lovely.

Painting is arduous. It is messy. It takes forever. You have to get approval from housing. It would have been absurd to paint this entire house on our own. I was sick of painting before we ever finished with the living room.

So, I tried to change my mindset. I tried to embrace it. My first experiment was our bedroom. Large and comfortable with beige carpet and a large lovely window and window seat, our bedroom was the perfect opportunity to embrace a more minimalistic approach. It's not as if many people would see it (or any, really) and it isn't a room that is used for much more than sleeping. So I bought lovely white bedding and sheets. Our upholstered king-size platform bed was beige and our end tables and small dresser dark brown. The white bedding with a beige and white throw for the end of the bed and blank white walls would have been a nightmare to me a year ago. 

But now... I love how simple and minimalistic it is. I love how easy it is to look clean and organized. I've embraced that room.

So I keep challenging myself. It seems hardest in the rooms that I think people will see. I want people to think of my home as comfortable and stylish and the downstairs is the place for that. 

Not only do I struggle with the white walls, but I particularly struggle with the white space. You know what I mean. The areas of our homes that are bare and empty. The corners with nothing in them. The rooms with one piece of furniture. 

For me, the room that bothers me the most is our dining area. It isn't large but our Japanese-style dining table isn't either. And we hardly ever use it. We almost never sit down to eat at the table and yet, I always have this desire to buy a beautiful farmhouse table and sideboard where guests could use the beautiful silver my mother bought me and have a traditional breakfast together.

We never have guests. And if we do, are they going to judge us on the state of our dining room that we never use? I hope not. But I still desire that picture-perfect environment that may lead me to be the hostess that people dream about. I have this innate desire to be a b&b I think.

But those empty corners? They plague me. In an area of our home that is almost never used I have this desire to fill it with stuff. 

I'm working on accepting the white spaces in our home. Whether that is white walls or empty corners or whatever else I find to challenge my desire for consumption. So often we consume things because we believe they will make us an idealized version of ourselves. Or perhaps the things will give us status in some way. Or that those things will help us become the person we want to be. 

They almost never do. 

Every day I am learning the value of simplicity and intentionality in my life. My home is an outer representation of who I am. I'm trying to find the balance between minimalism, comfort, and beauty. 

My home is just the start.