I miss July already.
August always depresses me. The weather is erratic and oppressive, schedules are unpredictable, the humidity will try to kill you, and you know that at the end of the month, summer is gone, and another long, boring, cold winter is right around the corner, and all the beautiful green things are about to die.
August, you are not my friend.
July was a great month. I spent very little of it at home. I was in Europe for the bulk of it obviously, and then I spent the last 10 days in Roanoke with my nephews. But now I'm back home, facing reality in my little apartment.
Reality is confusing to me these days. I don't have a full picture on what it looks like right now. I'm very busy, but unemployed. I'm writing up a storm, and getting lots of publications, but the money just isn't coming in. I'm tour-sick and missing my tour friends who all live on the other side of the country. And yet, very happy to be home and ready to catch up with my friends that I haven't seen all month.
My mother has been getting into this new fad called "dressing your truth." I'm not too into it, because most of it seems sort of commonsense to me. But I can see how maybe it isn't that way for everyone. We've talked a lot lately about which colors, styles, and haircuts are "your truth." (And ultimately decided I already dress and style "my truth." Go me.)
But now that I'm back home and in my own little apartment, I'm thinking about whether or not my apartment reflects my "truth." I think I mentioned it last year sometime that when I moved here I had to make the sad decision to let my storage unit go. In other words, I lost all my belongings that were in it. It wasn't cost effective to fly cross country to save anything from it.
I had spent several years building up little collection and reflections of me. I had lovingly restored most of my own furniture, and took great pride in several of the pieces. My decorations were unique and unusual, vibrant, colorful, and a great reflection of the things I love and enjoy. (I had an awesome vintage movie poster collection as well as several really cool Broadway record albums.)
The most heartbreaking loss was my book collection. I had around 100 books in storage, all of which I had read and loved.
But that's all gone now.
And I'm rebuilding, slowly but surely. It's not quite the same when you live with a roommate. And it's not easy to do whilst unemployed (again).
It's giving me a lot of time to really think about what matters to me, and what I want my home to say about me. I don't like or want trendy, typical furniture, but you wouldn't know that by looking at my current home. I do like statement pieces that show or share something I love. (I have a great big picture of the DC cherry blossoms in the living room right now. And my bedroom is decorated in maps.)
And so I sit and wonder about who I really am, and have I crafted a world around me that really reflects that? Or are my surroundings simply the result of circumstances?