I took this picture this morning on our back deck. Isn't it lovely? Our family is so blessed to live in this home and to have this gorgeous view to wake up to each and every morning. But here's the thing... We've lived here for a full year and I just started sitting on the deck and enjoying the view four days ago. WHY? Why did I wait an entire year? Believe me, I've been asking myself that question all week. The answer is a lifelong lesson in the making for me. Bear with me as I bring you up to speed...
When Jason and I met, I was living in my first ever apartment in Southern California. I'd gone from sharing a dorm room in college in Tucson - to sharing a tent in Yosemite, the summer after graduation - to sharing a 100 year old house with seven other women during an internship in Connecticut - to having that two bedroom, two bath apartment with cathedral ceilings and a little balcony all to myself. With all of that space to live in and enjoy, with no one to compromise with and no one else's decorating opinions to consider, you'd think I would have gone wild with personal expression and creativity, but I didn't. In fact, I didn't do much of anything with that space beyond fill it with a few pieces of hand-me-down furniture. After Jason and I got married, less than a year later, he moved into the apartment with me and everything changed. The day he moved in, I had a single solitary item hanging on those soaring white walls - a plain white plastic clock the size of a dinner plate. Jason called it sparse. I called it minimalist.
Within a few weeks I agreed to hang a few pieces of his art and some photos on the wall. The next thing I knew he had a hodgepodge of hang-able things spread out on the floor and sofa putting them together into an arrangement to hang on the wall. There were at least 12 things. TWELVE THINGS ON ONE WALL. I almost had to leave the apartment. Not because I don't like tasteful collections of beautiful things on display... I really, really do. They make a house a home. But I don't know how to put them together and make them look good and I panicked that it would look an awful mess when all was said and done. Jason kept asking my opinion..."Should this go here or here? Do you like this better or this?" To which I would stare, furrow my brow, squirm and frantically say, "I DON'T KNOW!" I finally had to leave the apartment because the process was stressing me out so much. (That is embarrassing for me to admit.) When I came back, he had a tasteful collage of pictures and other decor hanging on the wall and I sighed in relief.
Why did that selective process bother me so much? Because I couldn't guarantee that it would look good in the end... I couldn't guarantee the outcome would be appealing because I don't have confidence in my artistic eye. I would rather live in a white walled wasteland than second guess my decisions or risk a less than perfect result. It should be perfect. I thought. Or not at all.
Fast forward 19 years to last summer. We bought a lovely home on a hill overlooking a beautiful valley and lake in the shadow of an inactive volcano in Northern California. TO DIE FOR. I love it and enjoy it so much. The best part of the house is the view through the windows and from the deck. You would think priority number one after moving in would be finding deck furniture, right? I've never bought outdoor furniture before. I immediately went into over-analysis mode at the thought and couldn't choose. I've tried to purchase a couple of simple wicker or metal chairs with cushions on more than one occasion, but I couldn't bear to spend the money not knowing if they would look 100% perfect on our deck or if they would be comfortable enough or durable enough or the right size, etc. So we've spent a year of sunrises and sunsets inside.
Last weekend, my guys left on an epic road trip adventure and I was in Target alone shopping for myself...splurging a bit. A new water bottle, a new pair of pajamas, a book. While I was in that mindset of thinking about simple things that I would enjoy while I was on my own I came across the aisle filled with things hopeful high school grads buy for their dorm rooms. There was a black, overstuffed folding chair that caught my attention right away. I pulled it into the center of the aisle and unfolded it and sat down. HUH. It was actually comfortable. It was small, but cozy and I could pull my feet up in it and be quite relaxed. My mind immediately went to our deck and without allowing my brain to begin listing all the reasons that this was NOT the perfect choice for our deck (It really, really isn't) I picked it up and put it in the cart and sped down the aisle toward the registers before I could talk sense into myself.
When I got home, I vowed that now that I had a chair to sit in outside, I would set my alarm 12 minutes earlier each day and get up and spend time reading and drinking my morning coffee on the deck while the sun rose over the lake. The first morning I was nervous. This was not the perfect deck furniture and there are loud barky dogs next door and sometimes there is bird poop on the deck or the railing and how dressed for the day does one have to be to sit on their back deck when their neighbors could potentially see them (are pajama pants and tank tops acceptable?). There were so many unknowns and imperfections about this. But I took my new chair, my coffee and my book, and a pen and my phone (in case the sunrise was too stunning not to document... see above) and I went out on the deck at 6:10 a.m.
I've been out there every morning since and heaven help anyone who tries to get between me and that deck in the mornings from here on out! Best. Part. Of. The. Day. Hands down.
All those wasted mornings not feeling the cool morning air on my skin, not being dazzled by the first bright rays of light coming up over the mountains, not thoroughly enjoying the gift God had given me. Why? Because I couldn't make it "perfect." As if the most expensive, "appropriate" outdoor patio set could improve that stunning view and the way that it makes me feel in the slightest bit!
Well let me show you what perfect looks like to me now: A $30 folding chair from Target and my son's old bathmat to rest my feet on.
There it is folks. Absolute perfection. Every single morning. That impractical, inexpensive chair is my happy place and my latest lesson learned.
I will no longer settle for putting off the enjoyment of a gift until everything is just so and the situation feels worthy and appropriate. A gift is a gift and it is meant to be enjoyed.
Now... to hang something on these walls.
Carla Ritz. Proof positive that God uses cracked pots!