Hearses Don't Have Luggage Racks

I married a man who is a self-proclaimed minimalist.  Packing Matt’s things takes no time.  He likes simple clothing and owns as little of it as I will allow.  He doesn’t like a lot of decoration, and the majority of what he owns is books.  Everything else just falls in the ‘have to have’ category.  If you take a quick look around our house, though, you’d never believe any of that.  That’s because Matt married me, a self-proclaimed maximalist.  I like things!  I like decorations and pretties and knickknacks.  And I love clothes and shoes.  And I own hundreds upon hundreds of books.  This week, I started to ask myself, “Why?”

I’ve spent the past few days trying to rationalize my habits, trying to, at least, understand why I like things and buying them so much so that, hopefully, I can break those habits.  Two years ago, I gave up shopping for excess goods for Lent.  I made a few exceptions; I would allow myself to purchase new work pants and a new comforter for my bed.  But guess what?  I went the whole forty days, feast days included, without buying anything frivolous.  No new work pants or comforter, even!

My motivation that year was a simple one found in the book of Matthew, chapter six.  “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal.  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in our steal, for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

Lent 2012 showed me that yes, I could break that habit.  But when Lent ended, I slowly picked it back up.  Shopping, even just walking around a store and looking (But lets be honest, it was a rare day when I left without purchasing something.), has always comforted me.  I know now that it was, of course, only a temporary mood lifter.  I think my consumerism came to a head last fall.  Matthew and I had just moved to Austin, and within a month, he was working in Tulsa, which left me home alone in Austin with no job, no friends, and a fixed income.  Also, I had a new home with my soon-to-be husband that I really wanted to decorate and an embarrassment that all of my Louisiana clothes didn’t allow me to fit in to the hip Austin scene.  (I know, am I in junior high again?)  Despite my fixed income (I had saved a lot over the past year living with my parents), I managed to do a good bit of shopping.  And by a good bit, I mean way too much.

So money got tighter the closer we got to the wedding and Christmas, and for a while, I was genuinely worried about making ends meet.  Fast forward a few months, I’m in a long-term sub position that ends in a few weeks and looking for a full-time teaching position next fall and something to pay the bills this summer.  I keep looking around our house, full of all the things that I’ve amassed (some I love, most I just sort of like), and I want to kick myself for all the money I feel like I wasted on all the stuff that we could have easily done without.

Enter Jules at Pancakes and French Fries.  Via a serious of links that started as a search for kitchen organization on Pinterest, I stumbled upon Jules’ blog post from September 2011, Unstyled Life, in which she discusses the sobering effect of going through the belongings of a recently deceased loved one, analyzing the life of people we love based on all the things they left behind.  Immediately, I began to ask myself, what would my life look like based on the boxes of things I leave behind when I die?  What will my husband or family think when I am not there to explain why I have four pairs of Converse tennis shoes that I haven’t worn in months or years?  What does my accumulation of things say about my life on earth?  “Old tubes of mascara.  Eyeshadows.   Almost empty bottles of aspirin.  Expired lotions.  Moth eaten sweaters.  Uncomfortable sofas.  Bills, paid and unpaid.  Unread book.  Shirts that don’t fit, are no longer in style, or you never really liked.  Someone will one day run their hands over your possessions and make an assumption you won’t be there to refute.”  It was like Jules had looked into my life.

I want my accumulation of things to speak the truth of me.  I want it to proclaim my love of God, my husband, my family, and my friends.  I want my boxed life to reflect my desire to help others and lesson their burdens.  I want my boxed life to reflect a life I was proud to have lived.

My boxed life, right now, doesn’t reflect that.  And when that incredibly humbling statement dawned on me, I knew I needed a change.

Jules seems to have made a similar assertion of her life.  And she did something about it.  She started the William Morris Project, named for Mr. Morris’ thought on design, “Do not have anything in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.”  She collected a list of things about her home that did not fall into Mr. Morris’ philosophy, and she began a thirty-one day challenge to do something about those things.

It is an understatement to say that I was inspired.  I began to craft my own list of things to alter.  But I got a bit discouraged.  I knew that I wouldn’t have the time to do one project a day, not when some of my projects were large and I worked and tutored.  Our upcoming move also seemed daunting.  How was I supposed to better organize my shoes when I didn’t know what my future closet would hold?  And then I realized I was just looking for an excuse.

The Butler Family William Morris Project:

-purge and organize photographs
-purge and paint picture frames to be either white, silver, or black
-purge and organize the bathroom and beauty supplies
-purge living room décor
-purge shoes and research new shoe storage for new house
-implement new shoe storage after move
-organize top short dresser drawer
-purge and organize socks (no kidding, this is one of my biggest issues)
-create and implement family file system
-create and implement mail system with ‘action’ and ‘file’ sections
-create coupon system
-purge my closet
-create receipt box
-purge kitchen utensils after move
-print, hang, and organize in albums engagement, bridal, and wedding photos

When Marriage Isn't What You Expected

A few nights ago, I dreamed that I had coffee with the members of my favorite band from high school.  And it was totally normal behavior in my dream, like it really was common for me to just casually hang out with them.  This leads me to believe that in my dream, I had a slightly more mature grasp of what it means to be "totally in love" with someone than I did when I met this band as a seventeen year old girl and planted a completely inappropriate kiss on a famous man I did not remotely know.

When I was in high school, I was "totally in love" with various members of various bands.  Most of those members were rock stars covered in tattoos who probably more than dabbled in hardcore drugs.  Not to mention they were totally out of my realm of reality.

But in high school, when I fantasized about being married to one of those musicians (It didn't matter who; they were basically interchangeable), I wasn't exactly living in reality.  Anyway, my rockstar husband planned and took me on beautiful vacations.  He brought home flowers regularly for no other reason than that he was just completely smitten with me.  He wrote me songs and letters and left really romantic voicemail for me.  He drove a really big truck or a really loud motorcycle.  He wore tight pants and eyeliner and had a haircut and color that my parents probably did not approve of.  In fact, my parents probably didn't approve of him in general.  Now, before you think I should have been committed, I did have some inkling of a clue about real life, and I expected that if I didn't marry a rockstar, I would at least marry a guy with some rock star qualities.

If you know my actual husband, you know that he is not that guy.

I didn't expect to marry a man who drove a 4-door sedan because it's economical.

I didn't expect to marry a man who has beautiful curly hair and insists on wearing it trimmed neatly because it looks professional.

I didn't expect to marry a man who agreed to my dream wedding inside of a church where he is not a member.

I didn't expect to marry a man who only buys flowers on special occasions but shows me he loves me in thousands of other ways.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would light the candles on my brother's seventh birthday cake because he loves my brother like he were his own brother.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would work seventy hours a week at a job that isn't glamorous just to give me the life he thinks I deserve.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would agree to adopting a cat when he didn't want a pet to begin with just because I get lonely when he's gone.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would change that same cat's litter without complaining about it.

I didn't expect to marry a man who has dinner and Frozen ready to eat and watch when I get home after a really hard week of work and tutoring, even though that man was equally exhausted from his week and didn't really want to see Frozen.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would give me endless back massages instead of just buying me a trip to the spa.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would attempt to bake something for the first time in his life just because I love red velvet cupcakes.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would constantly pick up my shoes that I tend to leave everywhere.

I didn't expect to marry a man who cannot pull off skinny jeans but wears a dress shirt and bow tie better than anyone I know.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would enjoy attending Mass at a church where he cannot fully participate.

I didn't expect to marry a man who only wears eyeliner when acting in plays.

I didn't expect to marry a man who had interest in theatre!

I didn't expect to marry a man who would enjoy talking politics but would refrain from antagonizing my Republican family.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would refuse to write me songs but would sing me really corny pop songs loudly while we're in the car.

I didn't expect to marry a man who would write me a love letter that would bring me to tears moments before I walked down the aisle to marry him.

I didn't expect to marry a man like Matt.  He isn't a rock star.  He doesn't have a lot of rock star characteristics, though he can belt some N*Sync like you wouldn't believe.  My husband is not what I expect.  He is far more than I could have ever fantasized.

There's some of those guys I thought I might marry.

And there's the guy I actually did marry.  Isn't he gorgeous?