I’m Committed to a Great Life. Some People Think I Should Be Committed.

You ever get your head out of your ass and realize you still don't like the view?

Last week, I wrote about wanting to make our home feel more like us after years of making room for competing life crises. I'm still and always grateful that we had what we needed, but I'm now questioning why we keep living the same way.

And my husband's questioning why I'm questioning.

So to continue: the night I sold the bedroom furniture.

After cleaning the dust bunnies, wiping the scuff marks off the walls, and jamming my folded clothes into baskets the size of a Bichon Frise, I stepped back and took it all in. The room seemed peaceful in a way I hadn't felt in years.

As I was basking in the moment, The Balkan Storm walked in and took one look around my little nirvana.

"We look poor," he stated.

He did have a point. I'd taken away the door-sized Italian frescos and his bedroom set. All that remained was bare walls and my white-trash dresser.

It annoyed me that he couldn't read my mind and see my overall goal, even though I'd already said it about twelve hundred times by then.

"We don't look poor," I replied defensively. "We're minimalist chic."

Yes, I'm a bullshitter, and he knows it.