I have a subscription to Elle Decor. I regularly read House Beautiful. I save West Elm catalogs to read as though they were magazines. I follow several home-decorating blogs and Twitter accounts. Basically, I’m a lover of all things interior design. It wasn’t always this way. It started last summer, shortly after purchasing my condo. I’ve lived in apartments for years, but now I can paint the walls! I’ve discussed moving a wall! I’m planning on completely re-doing the bathroom! It’s mine, and I want it to be beautiful.
First, I’m hoping someone else remembers those little “broken heart” friendship necklaces that were all the rage at White Oaks Elementary circa 1989*. Anyone?
Anyway, as you know, I’ve dedicated myself to evaluating my mindset, especially when it comes to things that make me happy (or not so happy). In so doing, it’s become quite evident that I’m rather self-critical. I think a lot of people are. It’s an easy trap to fall into. When you call yourself “stupid,” you generally don’t have to worry about a counter argument. I know I’m guilty of saying things to myself that, frankly, I wouldn’t tolerate coming from a friend.
But… what if I treated MYSELF like a friend? What if I was my own best friend?
“But you love doing chores,” My boyfriend assures me as I flit between the washing machine and the dishwasher.
Hold up. What?
Where, pray tell, did Beloved Boyfriend get this idea? How had I veered so far off course as to give him this impression? Hadn’t we just recently discussed hiring a cleaning lady?
I once asked my parents what other names they’d considered while pregnant with me. My mom wanted to name me Brianna after my dad (Brian), and he wanted to name me Sarah after her. With both of those ruled out, they looked into other names from my dad’s side of the family. In the end, great-grandma Helena won out.
Along the journey, my father suggested the name Nancy. He’d gone to school with a Nancy and she “never had a bad thing to say about anyone.” Everyone liked Nancy. Nancy was everyone’s friend.
Could people ever describe me the way my father described Nancy? Not yet, but I’m working on it.