from the outside looking in, we all have houses to be admired, truly admired, but we’re just appreciating the view for all of the wrong things, reasons that don’t do our craftsmanship justice. because the truth is we all have our own leaky windows and cabinent doors that don’t close just right. the other side of that truth is that we pretend we don’t, and how sad is that? we fill the cracks that give our walls character with cheap filling and call it a day. we use social media as a thermometer so we don’t have to ask how someone is doing, so that we can justify our ego’s judging and comparing.
that’s why i hope people look at my bedroom window and see it for what it is. i hope they look in and know there were times i used to not be able to get out of bed. that there were times i had to ask my feet permission to begin the day. that there were times i had to write thank you cards to my spine for pulling me out from under my sheets when i thought i couldn’t.
i hope people look at my front porch and see me smirking so big, but realize i had once forgotten how. i hope they put their ear to the wall and hear my voice coming from the kitchen, and i hope they remember that voice was once a timid whisper under my breath, and that i’ve said a lot of words i should have swallowed instead.
but man, let me tell you something. this is the house i’ve been building for 27 years, and i didn’t used to, but these days i am glad to be coming home to myself.