Simplicity by Sunny

Something about spring fuels this little productive monster within me.  I’m not sure which I prefer – my inner productive monster in the spring, or my inner lazy slug in the winter – but whichever one happens to be alive and kickin’, well, I’m at its mercy.

This particular spring my inner monster decided it’s time to redecorate.  My apartment is almost empty, so perhaps “re”-decorate isn’t the most accurate description, but I’m unconcerned about semantics.  Who can think of semantics, or anything else, when picking out new furniture?  It’s ridiculously fun.  (No worries, I’d never give up minimalism, and my inner monster is a crazy minimalist, too.)

The bathroom was my first victim.  Mostly because I couldn’t make up my mind about the furniture.  Choosing fabric colors is like choosing shoes.  There’s so many…and they’re so beautiful…but I can’t have them all.   

Shower curtains, then, seemed much easier.    

“Oh my!” I sighed, standing in the midst of Shower Curtain Land, my mouth suddenly dry.  Hands sweaty.  “Am I really looking at twelve different shower curtain designs in sage green, my favorite color of all time?”

“Yuppers,” the saleslady said.  “And they’re on sale!”

Head dizzy.

Another dozen shower curtains, these red, captured my adoration next.  Then I found a collection of creamy white ones with gorgeous stitching, and they were tempting, too.  When I thought I couldn’t possibly take any more shower curtain euphoria, a fabulous print with trees and flowers jumped out - hints of green, red, creamy white, and yellow!  

“Hm,” I thought, trying to make an impossible decision.  “If I had eight showers, this would be much easier.”

Eventually, I committed myself to a brown and cream modern graphic print.  We’ll have a long-term relationship, I’m fairly sure, because brown shower curtains compliment red toothbrush holders.  Despite not having a red toothbrush holder, I’ve always wanted one, and one exists somewhere in the world patiently waiting for me.  I also liked its matching shower hooks.  Each hook has either “hot” or “cold” scripted across a white background, resembling antique bathroom faucets.  (They look a bit like this.)

I arrived home, excitement making me run up all three flights of stairs to my apartment.  I poured a generous glass of Shiraz and flipped on John Lee Hooker.  I was ready to hang me some curtain.

“I have the blues before sunrise,” I sang along with Hooker, taking a gulp of Shiraz before attaching the first hook to the shower rod.  “Tears standing in my eyes.”  Second hook.  ”It was a miserable feeling, now babe.”  Third hook.  “A feeling I doo despise.”  Fourth hook.  “I have to leaave, leave you baby.”  Fifth hook.  ”Because you knooow you done me wrong.” 

And so it continued, much to the dismay of my neighbors, I’m sure, until hook twelve.

Hook twelve slipped from my grasp and plopped unceremoniously into my wine glass.  “No, no, no!”  I dipped my fingers into the glass, pulling it out quickly, but the damage had been done.  Hook twelve was permanently stained by red wine, the white background now a bright purple.  I couldn’t really blame it for plummeting into Shiraz, it is hard to resist, but now my hooks no longer matched.  My brand new purchase was already marred. 

For a moment, I was angry at myself.  Why had I placed my wine glass on the edge of the tub?  Why hadn’t I paid closer attention to what I was doing? 

Have I mentioned that I’m a recovering Type A?  The “recovering” part sometimes is going well, sometimes not.  I’d do anything to be a Type B.  So, I slid hook twelve onto the rod, and said, “Type B, baby.”  Every morning since, before stepping into the shower, I tap the hook.  And I remember that life is infinitely sweeter when I don’t worry about what matches or doesn’t match.  That life is best when I’m not afraid of breaking things.  When I’m not afraid of getting dirty.  Or saying things just right.  Or thinking that perfection even should exist.

My favorite home accessory is now that stained shower hook.  That daily reminder of how important it is to accept imperfection.

Find something of your own, something you see every day.  Bend it.  Stain it.  Rip it.  Scratch it.  Make it imperfect intentionally.  And keep it as a reminder that things don’t have to be perfect to be useful.  Or beautiful.  Or your favorite thing.  Remember, too, that you don’t have to be perfect to be beautiful, either.