Everything I do, I tend to do in fits and starts. I can be really passionate, or “obsessed” as some might say, about something but it’s usually only for a brief spurt. Days, weeks, never years. Although sometimes the memory of how I felt about something in the past will be enough for me to become re-obsessed about it… if that makes any sense.
It’s why I can’t do knitting. That shiz takes patience! I’ve done a scarf or two, but having the focus and dedication to make something more significant than that is beyond me. My level of obsession depends also on the success I have in whatever particular area. I.e. papier mache was fun, but when my milk carton birdhouse went moldy in the closet, I quickly lost the urge
to boil newspaper and ruin pots.
One thing I’m interested in, but have had little capacity to persue (re: money) is interior design. I feel pretentious just uttering the words. And that’s part of the conundrum. For awhile I’ll idle away my time cruising through design blogs, determining my style (most decidedly mid-century modern), and looking at pretty prints on Etsy that tickle my fancy.
During these spurts of inspiration, without fail, the thought that this “interior design” business is such a uniquely western occupation. I think of people who’s obsession is finding food, or scraps of metal to sell… Why spend money on “
Keep Calm and Carry On” (don’t by the way, that thing is sooo early 2008) when people are literally dying to live. How do we reconcile these unnecessary purchases? Why do we buy bottled water when our free tap water is perfectly potable and other people can’t find a sip without their bodies being invaded by
parasites that escape through their feet?
I’m very fortunate that I can spend time searching for a Dutch Teak Credenza from 1974 that will be so over priced because this is stupid Nova Scotia where everyone thinks their junk is worth something
when it so just isn’t. Seriously! They want $100 for a couch and chair set that everyone in this province has been related to at some point or knows where to find one in the basement of some aunt, cousin or hunting camp.
Back to the point… the conclusion I’ve come to is that yes, I am very fortunate to be living in a place where I can expend the brain energy on what style couch I like best or what curtains to hang. There are people out there who would love to do that but are too busy fighting for their right to vote or eat or raise children. That will always be true. My job is to live the life I’ve been given in a responsible way, informing myself of what’s happening in the world and participating when I can (and we all can). But also taking the time to do things I enjoy and that make me happy, for however short a time that may be.
Photos above are some that I’ve collected of rooms that I love over time but failed to note where I got them…
