I dream of the day when I buy a house, plant a garden, paint the walls whatever colors I want, and host couchsurfers. I’ll turn a large closet or a dining room into a library and resume amassing books. I’ll know exactly where all the cookware goes, and I’ll have a place for recycling. I’ll know my neighbors, and I’ll have friends I can hang out with consistently.
These are the daydreams of a temporary nomad. But, also probably as a result of my wanderer mentality, no matter how settled my life becomes in the future, I hope I never have matching coffee mugs.
Even though I don’t yet have a cabinet to put them in, I’ve already started my collection. I have a beautiful clay-colored mug with blue and green swirly paint flowers that my mom bought at an art fair. I have a huge deep blue mug that says “Catholic Charities” from my internship last summer. I have one with a German Christmas market painted on it from a glühwein stand that I picked up when I was traveling through Europe.
I’ve seen some of the most beautiful plates while traveling in Morocco or Mexico, but goodness knows I would only be able to fit one into my suitcase at a time. In university, I bought my bed sheets for a dollar each. They didn’t match, but they looked good together, and man were they soft.
One day I’ll have a house, and I hope it will be as much of a beautiful patchwork as I am. When I invite you over, I hope you look around and see stories instead of a magazine spread.
In the meantime, if you want to see the stories, you’ll have to go through the boxes at my mom’s house, because I’m not quite ready to commit to a place yet.