The rooms I remember most clearly are rarely the perfectly finished ones. They are the rooms with a chair turned toward the window, a pile of books that keeps growing, and something on the shelf that you want to ask about.
I like a home that tells you a little about the person who lives there. A color they can’t resist. A painting bought on a trip. A lamp that has moved from apartment to apartment.
Letting a room arrive
It can be tempting to decide everything at once. But some of the best things arrive slowly. A chair found when you weren’t looking. A little table passed on by a friend. The right place for a photograph, discovered after months of moving it around.
A room becomes yours in the living.
For now, there are flowers on the table and a book within reach. The room isn’t finished. I’m beginning to think that’s part of what I like about it.
