If I am having a crappy day, the world knows it. I would not have to speak and you’d get it.
If my world is falling apart, there is no amount makeup that can cover up the uneasy, no outfit that can camouflage the less confident, and no smiley face to fake you out.
I just can’t.
Blame it on honesty. I just don’t think faking it is sincere.
OK, I got a little deep there, but here is where I am going …
I believe that we clean and organize the way that we go about life.
I always start from the inside, out.
My drawers and closets must be tidy before I can begin cleaning the floors and windows … the things that are more easily seen.
Am I the world’s biggest over thinker? Perhaps! (No shocker there.)
Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I have to make the outside just a little more presentable without having time to address the inside. I just suck it up and do what needs to be done.
It happens! ... But I do not prefer it that way.
So in taking things a step further I am introducing a concept that I’d like to think I made up on my own. I did not see this on Pinterest or DIY. I just think it makes sense.
(I needed to get all deep with you to understand where I was going with all this.)
My concept is not only cleaning and organizing the “inside,” but making it beautiful.
After my Dad passed, all of his belongings went into our hall closet. It housed a few of our blankets, Dad’s Army uniform, and other items of his which filled the small space with his scent. Every time I had to grab a blanket in the closet I would break into tears. Once that became old, I would actually send my husband to grab what I needed because I didn’t want to go into “Dad’s closet.”
Recently, I decided that it was time to reclaim the space. I was comfortable knowing that removing these items into the attic did not lessen my ties to my Dad. (It sounds silly, but it was a big deal for me.)
So, now I start thinking, “what would make me smile every time I open up the door to this closet?”
One consistent for me is color. Bright, beautiful color!
I opened up a remnant of my favorite shade of orange and without thinking much, I just started to paint the closet.
The act of painting is very therapeutic for me. Partly so because my Dad was a painter and I feel closer to him when I do this.
At this present time, my “inside” is even more beautiful than my neutral “outside.”
Soon I will fill this vibrant space with carefully chosen objects that do nothing but provoke happiness.
If everything is beautiful on the inside, it will surely shine out.