Sometimes, I am just so delighted that I love things. I look at the strange combination of things on any given wall in my apartment and I just think it’s wonderful to have all these things to love - this art, these old toys, these shows, this color, those songs, all these antique photos - and to have them all here and around me.
It’s just great to love stuff.
And this isn’t a “I love my physical stuff” kind of sentiment on the whole. The meaning is more, “Wow, look at all the things that have a little piece of me in exchange for the pieces I have of them. Look at all the things that have touched me and brought me joy.”
There are so many good joyous things. The subject matter may not be joyful in itself, but it inspires it in me. That’s what it is. Not just “I love my objects,” (which I absolutely Do,) but I love that seeing all this reminds me of how much joy I’ve found, and how much more there could be still! That’s the exciting thing.
Not to take over your post OP but this is something that has actually kind of changed my life in the past couple of years.
When I left home at 18, I had to leave just about everything I owned behind. Every memory, every book, every piece of art and writing I had created in my entire life got left, and later destroyed by a vindictive family. Then I was homeless, jumping between houses for three years. Every time I would start building a home for myself, a space that felt like safety instead of survival, something would happen and I would be uprooted, losing half of my possessions in the process. I can’t count how many belongings I had to give up on - gifts given to me by friends I never saw again, souvenirs from events I’d attended.
It’s been five years since I left. I am in an apartment now, with my highschool sweetheart and partner of 8 years, and my absolute best friend. The walls are covered in art that I’ve created, posters from shows I starred in that I managed to salvage, and paintings from friends I’ve managed to keep. I have a messy, cluttered office of art supplies and half-finished projects that keep me busy, and a giant shark plush that my partner stayed up til 5am on Black Friday morning to get for me on a whim. I have messes, because it’s finally safe to have them. I have a bookshelf covered in half-read books because it’s okay to keep them if I’m not done. I am safe and warm and surrounded by signs of my life; they may be just objects, but to me they are a sign of victory. Every little thing - my pikachu wallet and my metal straws and my pack of knitting needles - is a step in reclaiming my life and building a home that I’ve needed my whole life.
You’re right. The love that you can find in a home filled with objects that inspire joy is astounding, and I am so glad to be able to experience it.
Glad you got to a good place, friend! My situation is very similar! When I moved to this apartment, it was after 27 years of not feeling that I had a safe place to exist, set up, expand, be myself, and just enjoy the things I really enjoy because the space was temporary and shared at best, owned by someone with power over me at worst. And now, even though I’ve lived here five years or more, I think about how happy I am that this is also the first time I got to Finally live alone.
Finally having a place where I’m not constantly on edge because of what someone else does or thinks or has or wants and to just be reminded at every turn that the world is full of stuff I love, stuff I’m so excited to love, that’s great.
