Essentialism is something I’ve thought about for a while. Everything it extends to has been an interest of mine. Call it spirituality, emptying oneself, reinventing oneself. All ways to come closer to describing why I enjoy the essentialism movement. You’re able to live in the feeling of a beautifully blank slate.
And maybe because my friends and family have always had so much. Rooms to the brim, cars filled with junk, and in my families case, a basement full of relics and what-ifs (though we’ve slowly been working on this). Maybe thats why I’ve enjoyed the opposite. To have only what I need. Not an ounce more.
However, I recently visited my teacher in LA and saw his abode. How he and his partner lived in their space was freeing. It wasn’t cluttered, messy, nor monotone-coloured-essentialism-fanboy in any way. It was washed with colours, wooden tables, contrasting with light natural and candle-lit light. Plants, flowers, incense, glorious music. You had space to dance, to draw, to think. It had life. Their home was a place to live.
Coming back, I couldn’t help but notice two things. One, how beautifully my mother can design a room. Two, how poorly I designed my own. To even extending the idea of design is an overstatement, more so not giving the attention it deserved. No wonder it felt so cold and lifeless.
My intentions and awareness of my room is different now. I want to enjoy it as a room, a space to call my own. Colours that move me. A space to be angry, happy, joyful and in peace. All that life painted over a blank canvas made of essential items. Essential to both my life and my soul.