The Balkan Storm and I have been having the same conversation about our bedroom furniture for years.

“I think it’s time to replace it.”

“But it’s good furniture.”

“Yes.”

“It’s solid.”

“I know.”

“They don’t make furniture like this anymore.”

“There might be a reason for that.”

If I’m being fair, he’s right. It’s good quality, solid stuff, and it was expensive when he bought it.

It’s also freaking enormous. To hint at its age, my dresser has a giant TV hutch on top that holds one of those old fatback televisions behind double doors.

It’s traveled with us through four homes, and moving it requires a beefy moving crew. Every time we’ve hauled it all to another house, it collects more bonks and dings along the way.

So yes, it’s absolutely good furniture.  Is it something I want to move a fifth time?

Absolutely not.  

My first bedroom set as a married woman wasn’t exactly my choice. My ex had a relative who could get us furniture for a discount through a cheap showroom, and since it was his relative making it possible, he pretty much chose what we bought.

Then, when I left that marriage, I had a daughter I was supporting with one paycheck and a laughable donation known as ‘child support’.

New furniture was not my priority. Rent was.

It was my family that helped me get on my feet. When my husband and I moved in together, his bedroom set was better than mine, so mine got pitched. Easy decision, really.

And it was the right decision; we just never had that newlywed fun (or frankly, the budget) of figuring out what our home would look like from scratch. His tastes and mine aren't always... well, they're different.

The Balkan Storm loves Art Deco, French Provincial, and furniture with enough elaborate details that have me swearing a blue streak when it's time to dust it all.

My tastes are simpler, natural-type stuff, which he appreciates, so neither of us is in the wrong here. We're just going to be making some sort of new fusion that works for both of us.

I'm calling it Rustic Gatsby.

For most of our marriage, a lot of our purchasing decisions have been 'keep what works, buy what we need, and always make room for those who need us'. For years, our house had to accommodate two kids in crisis, an adult child finding her own footing, and a middle-aged couple trying very hard not to go broke in the process.

We were focused on making sure everyone had a bed to sleep in, not if everything reflected our ‘couple style’.

Things are different now. Not necessarily resolved, and certainly not free of ten thousand things to take care of on a random day. But after all these years, it’s bugging me to see how much of our house was chosen by circumstance.

Then we went to California this summer.

During our vacation, we rented a home; it wasn't some palatial mansion on a cliff in Malibu (lest you think I’ve got my head in the clouds here) but a nice place that just felt like a home.

More than that, it felt like me, because I'm drawn to natural elements: wood, stone, fibers, forms, and shapes that look like they belong in nature. I believe the term is biomorphic.

Followed by mostly incredibly expensive.

I came home and immediately went about trying to capture that grounded sense of 'home' in our own. I reimagined spaces and rearranged things for better function. I think about things we continue to hang onto and why, what should stay, and what we should finally let go of.

I'm clearing out years of accumulated stuff, some things that have never left the moving boxes after eleven years. I'm not chucking our treasured mementos - they get their own special space now.

But the resulting space created by purging what no longer works or serves us is liberating. It's giving us room to breathe and decide what, if anything, should go there now.

It's creating intentionality and calm in a house occupied by a household of (fairly) normal people.

So, you know, there are still shoes everywhere, food specks on the kitchen walls, three glasses in each kids' bedroom, and crumbs on the kitchen counter.

So...maybe calmer instead of calm.

My husband says I’m getting a little consumed by the house. And to be fair, he has a point. But it's coming from a good place.

The truth is, after so many years of arranging our lives (and by default, our preferences) around what everybody else needed, I’m enjoying the process of making this place ours.

Earlier this week, after decades of faithful service, the bedroom set has found a new home.  

And right now, I’m making do with my clothes contained in baskets, plastic storage, and worn-out shoe shelves.

I did put some objets d'art on the Sterilite 'cause I'm classy like that.

If I find a well-made second-hand piece that needs a little elbow grease, great. But if I have to save and live out of baskets for a while, I can do that too.

I want to make selections that reflect our taste and values. I want to find what we love without creating a bunch of waste or spending $15K on a bedroom while downsizing for our next stage of life.

First, because I'm not recreating a Californian Airbnb, and second, I do not have a Kelly Wearstler budget.

I know we won't be planted here forever, but I still want to bloom here. I want this house to feel better than ever for everyone living in it. I want to wake up in a bedroom that makes me happy to be home.

The Balkan Storm seems less than thrilled with the new space. To him, we'd gotten rid of perfectly good furniture for no good reason.

I thought wanting to choose something for us this time was good enough reason.

But that first night without his furniture, he walked into our bedroom and saw my sad little setup and said, "It feels like we’re 22 and starting our first apartment together."

“I know," I replied.

"Isn’t that exciting?”  

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He hasn’t answered yet. Subscribe, and I’ll let you know whether Rustic Gatsby turns out to be an actual thing around here.

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