Making peace with what won’t change
Jennifer Ditlevson Haglund
Some children develop attachments to blankets or animals. At 9 or 10, I was stuck on this hunter green pair of Converse All Star low tops. My commitment infuriated and embarrassed my mother, who threw those floppy-tongued shoes in our big garbage bins in the garage at least twice only to find them back on my stinky feet in no time.
Not even a promise of a new pair would convince me to ditch my favorite pair of sneakers. It wasn’t an act of defiance. I didn’t see the need to replace such trusty footwear, even if that meant getting my toes wet on rainy days. Considering my mother’s radical thrift and the number of children in our family, I understand the situation must have been dire for her to sneak them away from me whenever I tossed them by the back door when I returned home from school.
I don’t know how much of my stubbornness about keeping those nasty shoes had to do with fondness for the objects themselves, my lack of fashion sense and self-awareness as a grade-schooler, and a simple belief that shoes were shoes and if they still fit, why toss them?
Looking around my home and in my closet, I know much of that attitude never left me.
Because I am not a natural homemaker or interior designer, I can’t imagine what kinds of furniture I would have or which shades of paint I would use if I had that kind of time or money.
Sometimes, I think people assume I desire to be peculiar, sentimental, or lazy when it comes to how I set up a room. If I hired someone to assess my belongings and style them, a professional might be able to categorize them as “Mid-Century modern country meets art deco chaos.”
Most of my home decor is inherited, repurposed, or second-hand. In my house, nothing matches that well, but it’s not intentional. The truth is I am relatively utilitarian and minimal when it comes to my purchases, and it is not easy to tell how much of that is ruled by necessity and how much is personality. I feel guilty when I see other peoples’ curated rooms and cupboards full of easy snacks, because I don’t even think to behave in a way that would make those things possible.
Still, I keep inviting friends, family, and strangers over anyway and then wonder what is wrong with me after they leave because I can’t stop thinking I should be more traditionally hospitable and more attentive to presentation.
As I settle into another place with more to fix but cannot change it as much or as quickly as I would like, I have longed to counter my tendencies by spending too much time online examining design concepts in hopes that I might stumble into a recognizable style and possibly the assurance that I’ve reached an acceptable form of adulthood. I tell myself I will not be that oblivious child wearing the rankest shoes in the room all because I don’t know better or don’t want to bother to look for new ones.
For the first time in my life, I have a room for guests — but no bed or curtains to put in it yet. But hanging drapes and setting up another bedroom won’t make me any more of an adult or that much more organized. Maxing out a credit card or neglecting to save in order get everything on my list certainly won’t either.
It will take some time, and I may have to come to terms with not being able to fully convince that little girl in me to trade her old Chuck Taylors for some new ones. No matter how hard I try, whenever I want to do something purely conventional, it’s always off somehow. It tastes good, but it’s the wrong color or falls apart. The dress looks great, but no one told me an essential button is missing.
I’ve been thinking about having a get-together to invite people into my oddball space before my second child is born. We won’t have any curtains or blinds by then and I will probably forget to make or buy some party staple, but there’s a chance it will be fun anyway. At least the neighbors will see that we’re having a good time.
Jennifer Ditlevson Haglund is a former news reporter for the Maryville Daily Forum, now living and writing in Ohio.
