It’s a beautiful state, although I haven’t done much exploring yet. And the people are nice and I have a few friends, but no one that I’m close to. I’m frequently alone. And that’s been fine. I’ve never minded solitude. Most days, I just go to work and then I go home. And when I’m home, I work on my apartment (although, I’ll admit, I’m frequently distracted by Netflix). But to have this tiny space that’s all mine? It matters a lot to me for some reason. I want it, need it, to be …
And so I’ve taken my time, unpacking boxes and arranging shelves. I’ve painted walls, even though I’m only renting. I’ve scoured Pinterest and Craigslist and Ikea and Home Goods and Target and thrift stores, pinning my inspiration, imagining my perfect place, and purchasing only what speaks to me.
So much of my nesting, though, has surprisingly been about the weeding–the getting rid of the unessential, the eliminating of things that don’t speak Krista. It’s interesting to have looked at the sum of my physical possessions and numbered the things that were just place holders–things I thought I wanted, things I thought I should have, but really never loved. But once I was rid of those things, I was left with space … for more of me.
And when I sit down at the end of the day, my slippered feet propped up on a tufted chartreuse stool, and look around, I find myself surrounded by my place inside this world. And it’s a soft place with colors and words and art and history and the faces of the people I love most.