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caiminnent · 4 years

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shadow play [shaundes, rated T]

Prompt: surrender (1/25) [metaphorically speaking]

Summary: A discussion about tattoos and permanence that gets sidetracked in the best possible way.

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed

Tags: Friends with Benefits to Lovers, Relationship Discussions, Mutual Pining, Tattoos

Note: Also written and posted as an entry for @denydesmondsdeathday, which I seem to have forgotten to tag. #justCaithings

2.4K || Also on AO3.

He likes to touch Desmond’s tattoos in the dark.

It’s not an accomplishment, per se—he is far from the first person to learn the topography of Desmond’s marked skin, won’t be the last—but there’s still an odd pride to it, being able to trace the black lines spanning across his shoulder blades, swirling up his arm without having to see them. Sometimes he imagines he can feel the texture of the art, the shadows and the sharp edges—that he could map out Desmond’s entire upper body with just his fingertips.

Desmond releases a long sigh, hugging his pillow closer, the movement drawing his shoulders tighter in. Whatever has been on his mind, keeping him up, he won’t say—and Shaun can’t ask, no matter how tempted he is. Especially because of how tempted he is. He’s already risking things by letting himself linger, not quite ready to draw the night to a close; he can’t afford another indulgence.

Running a finger down a long line from the back of Desmond’s shoulder, carefully avoiding where it tickles, “How did you end up with tattoos?” he asks instead. He might not be able to give Desmond some peace of mind, but he can offer distraction. That one he’s good for.

Desmond makes an amused grunt. “Thought you’d never ask,” he says with half a mouth, muffled against the pillow. Another drawn-out sigh and he’s slowly pushing himself up on his hands, stretching out his back like a cat. Putting on a show, almost.

He hardly minds.

Desmond settles back on an elbow, mirroring Shaun, barely more than an outline against all the white. He doesn’t speak again, though; the air growing heavy with something Shaun can’t identify but dislikes all the same as Desmond stares at the patch of sheet between them, his expression blurred back into the dimness of the room with the distance.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he offers, heart at his feet. Leave it to him to find the one topic that would make Desmond uncomfortable. Congratulations, really. Very well done.

Desmond shakes his head. “No, no, it’s not that.” He shifts again, this time to reach over the gap and lay a hand down, right next to Shaun’s on the sheet. “Keep touching? Please?”

As if he could deny Desmond anything.

He drags a finger up his wrist, forearm, sliding over that twist of ink over the muscle he can always find so easily. The lines aren’t as sharp here, the angles not as precise. Were they drawn in a hurry? Did Desmond move too much, filled with restless energy or twitching at each bite of the needle?

“I got this one first,” Desmond starts, as Shaun traces one of the longer lines, twirling at the end. “On my nineteenth birthday. I was supposed to work that night, but the boss—bless her heart—she put some money in my pocket and sent me on my way, told me to go have fun with my friends.” He huffs out a little chuckle, entirely joyless. “Only, I didn’t have friends. Didn’t have anyone I could celebrate with, didn’t have anywhere to go except my shithole of an apartment—which I really didn’t wanna go back to. So, I took to wandering.”

It’s easy enough to imagine: Desmond in his teens, walking up a storm on the streets of New York with his hands deep in his pockets, lips curled into that scowl that really only comes out when he thinks no one’s there to see.

His stomach churns.

“Then you saw a tattoo shop,” he guesses, following the same path up.

“Then I saw a tattoo shop,” Desmond confirms. Pauses, before adding, “I know it’s not... tasteful, or anything, but—it was mine, y’know? Something I’d picked for myself that no one could ever take away from me. It was... I dunno.” Shrugs a shoulder. “It was big, at the time.”

He understands the feeling.

In theory, at least. The wish for something bold and tangible and his, a middle finger to anyone who sneered and snickered at him for being who he is and wanting what he wants—that he understands. Getting it etched onto his skin for everyone to judge, however? That takes a kind of impulsiveness he only wishes for in secret.

What would that be like, even? Doing things without twisting yourself into knots? Deciding that you want something and just—getting it?

Desmond brushes the back of a finger underneath his wrist, oddly reassuring. “Is that the good kind of silence?”

If only he knew. “It’s not the bad kind,” is all he can allow. “It sounds... terrifying, is all.”

“Terrifying?” Desmond repeats on a low laugh.

“I mean...” He waves a hand vaguely, racking his brain to find the right words. “It’s a tattoo,” he settles on at last—rather lamely, he might add. His way with words never stepped outside of a classroom door, much less inside a bedroom. “It’s permanent—or as close to it as it gets, I suppose. It’ll be there long after us—after you, even—and you decided to get one on a whim. I don’t think I could ever be so…”

“Reckless?”

He rolls his eyes. “I was going to say spontaneous. Though, yes; that, too.”

That finger is still running back and forth, a teasing touch right under his pulse, starting to build something warm low in his belly. He wants to kiss Desmond. No secondary intent, not to get anywhere; kissing only to enjoy the feeling, Desmond’s warmth against his—and maybe fall asleep in the same bed after, just once. Just to see what it would be like to wake up there, curled up around Desmond or Desmond curled up around him, nowhere to rush to or run away—

Well, if that’s not his cue to get the hell out of here before he makes a fool of himself.

Rolling onto his back, he reaches for the alarm clock on the nightstand and slides it over with his fingertips to squint at the numbers, just this side of careless—even he has his moments. Well past one in the morning; earlier than the weight settled onto his bones suggested, late enough to be his excuse.

“Looks like we’ll have to leave the story of the back piece to another day after all,” he says, putting it back down in favour of the light switch above—blinks, the sudden brightness stabbing at his brain.

“You’re leaving?” Desmond asks—oddly put off, by the sound of it. What else did he even expect?

Throwing the covers off himself, “I should if I want to get some sleep,” he points out, stepping out before he can change his mind. Before the temptation to stay under the covers becomes too great.

Glasses, phone, his bag over by the door, his coat on the rack—where the hell are his clothes?

“In the closet,” Desmond says before he can ask. “I put them away while you were in the shower.”

Huh. Since when does Desmond care about tidying up?

“Thanks,” he says anyway, heading over to the closet—where his shirt and trousers are carefully placed on hangers, the bottom two buttons of the shirt done up like he prefers, his sweater sitting neatly folded on the rack above.

Something not unlike foreboding twists in his gut.

See, he has never seen the point of not looking a gift horse in the mouth. Call it paranoia; he cannot receive something nice and not poke and prod at every opening until he’s sure it’s meant in kindness. He doesn’t like surprises, doesn’t like getting caught off-guard—he does not like not being able to read Desmond’s expression as Desmond watches him through the full-length mirror, sitting up against the headboard with the covers pooled in his lap.

He needs to get out—fast.

Turning away from the mirror, he puts his focus entirely on dressing out of Desmond’s clothes into his own, buttoning up his shirt like he’s being timed on it. The very air is tense with anticipation—for what, he can’t tell, nor does he want to find out. For once, he doesn’t.

“So, after us, huh?” Desmond says—apropos of nothing, for all that he sounds as if continuing an interrupted conversation.

It takes Shaun longer than he would like to admit, to figure out what the hell Desmond’s talking about. “What of it?”

“That really what you think?” Desmond asks, serious like he never is. The feeling in his gut intensifies. “That this—” Gestures at the room as a whole, the open space between them. “—is temporary?”

Bitter laughter bubbles up in his chest. He pushes it down before it can escape, the pressure making it difficult to breathe. Is this what you think, Desmond asks—like what he thinks matters. Like what he thinks changes any damn thing here. It must be a joke, right. It must be a joke, because Desmond can’t be bloody serious.

If it is a joke, though, it’s a very cruel one.

Suddenly self-conscious with words like us hanging over their heads, he turns away from Desmond and the mirror both, back to the closet. “More lovers than you could keep track of,” he lists as he shoves his legs into his trousers, no trace of the resentment gathering and thickening in his chest making it to his tone, thankfully. “Not knowing how to do the ‘domestic stuff’. I’ve never learned how to stay still. I can read between the lines, Desmond.”

“I’m not denying what I said,” Desmond says—dares to sound upset, as if Shaun is being the difficult one here.

Cinching his belt, he reaches for his sweater. “Then we’ve got nothing to talk about.”

Behind him, the bed groans as Desmond steps out of it. He can’t help tensing at the slow approach, Desmond’s footsteps too loud in the still of the night.

Desmond touches Shaun’s arm, hardly more than a caress. “I think we do, Shaun.”

He panics.

There’s no other word for the fist that grips his heart and throat both, his hand tightening instinctively around the fabric of his sweater. God, of course. Of course he’s already fucked up, given himself away—how could he have not? He’s transparent, obvious, subtle as a brick to the face and Desmond—

Desmond’s too gentle to let him down any other way.

“Shaun?” Desmond urges softly, his hand a light pressure on Shaun’s arm—not a weight but an anchor, grounding. “Look at me, please?”

He doesn’t want to. Doesn’t want to face Desmond, doesn’t know what his face will do if he does. If this is the end, he’d much rather leave with at least some of his pride intact.

Nonetheless, he turns.

Desmond’s watching him with open wariness, as if Shaun is a bloody caged animal, something to tread carefully with—the door a mere three steps behind Desmond. He could leave. Desmond wouldn’t follow if he did, just walked past him out of the room, the house. Avoided Bad Weather and anywhere else they could potentially come across, left this all behind.

He couldn’t, though; he knows he couldn’t even as he’s thinking it. He’s too greedy not to latch onto this—too needy to let it go.

“Look, it’s fine,” he sighs before Desmond can get a word in, running a hand through his wild hair. “You didn’t sign your life away by kissing me first; that’s not how this works. We don’t have to be more than—whatever the hell we are now.”

“But you want to be?”

Christ, Desmond can be worse than a bloodhound on a trail sometimes. “What does it even matter? I’ve already said I’m not going to tie you down. It’s fine.” Nothing has to change. Just leave it.

The slow smile that spreads over Desmond’s face is a rare kind, small but no less bright for it. He brushes tentative fingers over Shaun’s lips—Shaun’s breath stutters against them, his heart seizing. “What if I don’t want it to be fine?”

Oh.

Perhaps he’s been a bigger idiot than even he thought.

Desmond slowly slides his hands down onto Shaun’s chest, thumbing the top button. “I know what I said before,” he murmurs, meeting his gaze briefly, as if for permission, before he undoes it. The next one. The next. “You have every reason not to put faith in me. But—things have changed. For me. In here.” He rests a hand on Shaun’s chest, sizzling on the naked skin and there’s no way, no way, that he can’t feel the stupid beat of Shaun’s heart under his palm, hard and rabbit-fast— “Is it bold of me to hope they did for you, too?”

He can’t breathe.

He should be happy. Hell, he should be ecstatic, dizzy with joy instead of the wet, cold fear latched onto his insides, rooting his feet to the spot. It’s not usual for him, is the thing. To get what he wants. This—it can’t be—nothing is ever so easy. These things always come with a catch, some sort of a trap—consequences he can’t always foresee. He’s not like Desmond; he can’t just leap into things.

Desmond’s smile is dimmed with the hesitation creeping back into his eyes, his hand pausing over the last button above his waistband—and Shaun did that, right, with his paranoia. His useless anxiety.

Must he talk himself out of every good thing?

Swallowing against the burn up his throat, he lays a hand over Desmond’s; not an apology, not quite, but the closest thing to one he can give. “Do you even know what you’re offering?” he asks, matching Desmond’s tone. Do you even know what you’re getting yourself into?

“Not really,” Desmond admits on a quick, breathy laugh. “Think we can find out together?”

He’s not ready for the jolt that passes through his heart, nor the weight in his chest that he’s not quite ready to name—too light to be what it was, too deep to be anything else. Insufferable and exhilarating at the same time. Too familiar.

Sucking in his bottom lip, Desmond meets his eyes again—it’s the same everything cluttering up his insides reflected back in them; the hesitation, the uncertainty. The fear. “You don’t have to say it. I don’t need pretty words or promises. Just—” The last button, undone—leaving him bared. “Stay.”

“Okay,” he whispers—and isn't that an admission. “Okay.”

#Bad Things Happen Bingo #DenyDesmond'sDeathDay #shaundes #Desmond Miles #Shaun Hastings #Assassin's Creed #Cai does words #shadow play #finished fics #I've done my best to format this properly and put the most under a cut #but Tumblr is Tumblr #so apologies beforehand if it causes any inconvenience

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asullivan4062-blog · 5 years

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How We Designed a Family-Friendly Laundry Room in the Portland Project

This is the third laundry room I've designed (I think?), and it's absolutely the largest one. I use the term “room” loosely since the first one (in my Glendale house) was a literal closet but a very functional and pretty closet at that…I mean we even wallpapered that sucker. But this one in the Portland Project will make all of your fluff and fold dreams come true. The space was originally being used as storage, so we decided to steal part of it to design the ultimate laundry room. They say kitchens and bathrooms sell a home…I think we can add “killer laundry rooms” to that statement, too, don't you think? I want this to be my laundry room, but unfortunately, I had to leave it behind in Oregon to its new owners. But let's move on…

I, of course, realize that not everyone has the same amount of space (or renovation budget) that we had here to bring in the same fun gadgets and add-ons that make this tedious yet necessary chore a bit more enjoyable (less miserable?). So we wanted to break down the six elements that make a room like this functional and give you tips on how you can implement similar ideas even if you have a smaller laundry room.

A combo of open and closed storage

When you have a bit of room to work with, I think a mix of closed cabinetry and some open shelving with baskets works best in a workspace like a laundry room. Here, we imagined the owners would use a hefty amount of the closed storage for household items (cleaning supplies, bulk items, seasonal goods, tools, etc.) while the open shelving and racks were for easy access to things you use more often in this space (laundry detergent, lint rollers, iron…that kind of thing).

Small space hack: If you have the space, install shelving, but bring in containers (like pretty utility baskets) to corral everything and if you don't have small kids to worry about mistaking laundry pods for candy and whatnot, decant what makes sense into clear containers to bring down the visual clutter.

A utility sink

Here's a funny “behind the scenes” story of this room: this sink right here is a utility sink, which is typically installed with mounting brackets straight onto the wall. It was designed so that the cabinet line would follow the base of the sink, leaving it to be more of an apron front, but somewhere along the way, it ended up getting installed like this and frankly…we don't hate it. Happy accident?

Small space hack: Okay, there really isn't a way around this one if you don't actually have space or an extra water source in your laundry closet or area…sorry about that one.

Another sort of “whoops” moment here is the faucet. Hot tip: Do as I say, not as I do here. While this Kohler fixture (which we got through efaucets.com) is beautiful, to be honest, looking back, it's not as functional as it could be (nothing against the faucet itself, more just about faucet-type choice). Ideally, in a utility space like a laundry room, you would have a sprayer attachment for easy reach to clean and take out stains. You live (and design), you learn.

Something we did do that I'm super happy about how it turned out is that backsplash. You might THINK that's hand-glazed tile, but really, it's a white glass tile from Bedrosians set against white mortar on the wall. It was a much more affordable (but still good looking) design idea I'm glad we moved forward on. What do you think??

Vertical storage for tall, bulky items

An ironing board is a laundry necessity that also happens to be big and kind of clumsy, so we built a taller cabinet to keep it tucked away when not in use. You can also store brooms and your vacuum (as long as it's not a cumbersome beast) here.

Small space hack: If you have little to no cabinetry, consider tucking away a smaller ironing board between your W/D (or just to the side of them where there's normally a bit of a gap), or get a hanging attachment for the wall or behind the door. There are even ironing mats that are made to be used atop washing machines and dryers, eliminating the need entirely for a board.

Designated laundry bins and hanging racks

Okay, this post isn't called “How we designed a tiny, hyper space-efficient budget laundry room” so this is where things start getting a little “extra” as they say these days. But if you're at a point in your life where you have the means and space to create a DREAM laundry room, things like “designated laundry bin area” is how to kick things up a notch. Here, we used three rolling baskets from Rejuvenation that you can easily assign to each kid when they are in charge of their own laundry, or come up with your own system that works for you (maybe one is for things that are clean and folded, one for washed items waiting to be folded, and another for dirty laundry hanging out before their turn in the machine??)

A rod for hanging up those clothing items that are too precious for a dryer is also great for avoiding that thing that happens when you're walking around your home draping shirts and skirts along the backs of chairs, on the floor of a spare bedroom…we've all been there.

Small space hack: Let's say you have a little more room than a typical hallway closet with stacked machines, but not necessarily enough to create a bin station like this one…try out reinforced hooks on the wall and hang a canvas bag with a grommet on each. It's the same idea in terms of creating a spot for everyone's laundry duties. You can also install a rod or actual drying rack on the wall space above your machines (if you don't have those wire shelves all homes seem to force on you), or directly from the ceiling to maximize vertical storage.

Folding surface

The space on top of your large, family-sized washer and dryers typically becomes a resting place for totally random things that you find yourself moving from machine to machine when you have to open your washer, or don't want things flying off during a cycle, but oh man is that a wasted design opportunity (if you have front loaders). Create a permanent surface for all your treating, sorting and folding needs.

Small space hack: This is actually more of a budget saver than a space saver, but Julie found this really affordable DIY from Vintage Revivals that you can do if you aren't building a laundry room from scratch but just trying to make work what you have. Click here for a $90 plywood waterfall surface that not only looks really good but is super practical.

A little bit of style

I can't tell you how happy that little pop of pattern and color from the wallpaper in my old laundry closet brought me, so while it might seem like a waste to add decor to a spot like your laundry room, it's really not. Here, we brought in beautiful art from Mia Farrington (a local Portland artist) and a rug from Annie Selke.

Small space hack: Add a fun paint color or wallpaper to the back wall of whatever space you have (you can even use a temporary peel-and-stick paper if you're a renter).

And there you have it: six things that really took this old storage area and transformed it into a pretty special laundry room with tons of functionality for a busy family. Let us know what you think and of course, leave any questions you have for me or the design team in the comments below.

***Photography by Sara Tramp for EHD

The post How We Designed a Family-Friendly Laundry Room in the Portland Project appeared first on Emily Henderson.

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pursuitofsimpler-blog · 7 years

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Journey into Minimalism

I developed a habit of hoarding – I’m not even sure when it started.

My bedroom has been a warzone for over two decades, and now in my 30s, I still struggle to get (even slightly) organized. My closet was flooded with clothes. Knick-knacks, clutter, garbage, and any furniture that was offered to me freely have dominated all of the places I’ve called home.

At one point, I had four couches, three of which I never used, none of which were nice. I had drawers stuffed with random flyers, crumpled receipts and pocket lint. All my clothing was filthy, tattered, and tired – but I refused to let it go.

If I didn’t want to deal with something or didn’t know how to throw it away, I would stuff it away somewhere I see it, like a bag or a closet. I figured if I hid it away, I wouldn’t need to deal with it. I developed a pretty strong coping mechanism: denial and distraction.

The Darkest Days

When I was 25, I hit rock bottom. I was living in a condemnable mess of an apartment, overflowing garbage. The only part of my apartment that was even remotely cleared of chaos was a small space on my couch where I sat slumped each night, taking drugs and watching South Park DVDs.

Over the four years I lived there, not caring about myself or knowing how to ask for help– things looked really, really bad. I had been so ashamed of the way I was living, I couldn’t bare to have anyone come over to visit me. I looked for any and every excuse not to go home so I wouldn’t have to look at it all. I hated myself for the way I was living, and not knowing how to overcome it. Not knowing where to even begin.

I was suicidal.

That chaos in my apartment was the physical embodiment of what was going on with my mental state. Everything was overwhelming and it seemed impossible to know how to fix it. I was afraid to throw things away, let go of t-shirts that no longer fit, and worried that if someone knew what my life at home really looked like they would judge me. I’d have an anxiety attack if I threw away an old envelope – like, wtf.

I was ashamed. With my depression at its most terrifying point, I didn’t believe I deserved any better for myself. I lived in shit because I was shit. I had accepted that this would be my reality forever, a disgusting chaotic mess - just like me.

But then the seasons changed.

I had to leave my apartment and move back home to get my head screwed back on straight. I had no choice but to deal with my apartment and the four-year mess I’d made of it. My mom and a few friends came over to help me throw things away and pack up my belongings.

My mom promised not to say anything that would make me feel worse than I already did, but she did cry a little. My apartment, and everything in it, was being tossed into large black garbage bags and chucked away. I was trying to justify every little thing I had, I had an excuse for everything I insisted I had to hold onto (“Maybe I’ll need this old envelope!”).

Luckily, I had some wonderful people present to assure me it would be fine, despite my protests and panic. No one dared mention the fact my apartment smelled like a funeral home. They helped me to discern the difference between garbage, clutter, and things I needed. It was really hard – but I had to trust them. I mean, I clearly didn’t have the capacity to figure it out on my own.

Since then, I’ve never let my space and environment become that toxic mess. However, that doesn’t mean I resolved my deep-seeded issues with being organized, procrastination, and messiness. Even when I was a child, I had a penchant for making messes. It’s a really tough habit to break. It’s hard to be vigilant about change when I’ve grown so accustom to living in a mess.

“But I’m a Creative!”

I’ve heard it’s a common denominator among creative types that they are a little messier by nature - I’m okay with that. I’ll probably never live in a stark white apartment with perfect things arranged just so - I’m okay with that.

As an emotionally intelligent person who is sensitive as hell, I find myself placing attachment to things that shouldn’t be important, knick-knacks especially. I feel an invisible pressure to display everything. Nothing of mine has a home, it all just kind of gets scattered around my place, accompanied by my personal hopes it will pass for ‘decorating’. No matter how I rearrange the stuff, there is never enough space and it always looks like a mess.

And clothes – god, do I ever collect a lot of cheap clothes. Not nice quality clothes, just impulsive buys that give me that insta-satisfaction of owning something new. Maybe I’ll wear them a couple times, and then they get tossed into an indiscernible pile of laundry, never to leave the floor. For a long time, I don’t think I had a handle on what my personal style was, so I’d effortlessly just buy something trendy in hopes of blending in.

This recipe of shopping for quick highs and an inability to let things go has made it impossible for me to maintain a calm living space. I can’t get organized, there is just too much to get organized. Everything is everywhere, and I can’t manage it. I don’t really love most of my things, I just carry them around from place to place.

Netflix and No Chill

One Friday night, my boyfriend and I decided to watch ‘Minimalism’ on Netflix. I kept seeing it appear in my ‘Suggested for You’ section. Every time I’d see the title, I would get anxiety. I didn’t really want to watch ‘Minimalism’ because I was afraid it would be too chilling for me. Comparing my chaotic, messy life - abundant with meaningless things - to the simplicity of Minimalism had the potential to make me feel weird. He pressed play.

It did make me feel weird.

It was a lovely and impactful documentary, and it shook me to my very core. It made me question a lot of my choices. It made me look around at all the things I’m surrounded by and ask myself… WHAT HAVE I DONE? What does any of this stuff mean, and does it add any value to my life? I didn’t really love most of anything I had, and I doubt I’d notice if one day it all disappeared.

I rocked back and forth on the floor for two days. I realized I really needed to make a change. I needed to let go.

Everyone featured in ‘Minimalism’ seemed so happy. They all seemed…. Calm. They seemed to know what was important to them, and what wasn’t. They spent their energy on the things that enriched their lives – not material things. Could it be true that you could live more with less? Would my life be better…. if I changed?

It inspired and scared me simultaneously. We watched it just shortly before Christmas, and I decided that for my upcoming 31st birthday, I would make a commitment to change. I wouldn’t rid myself of everything I owned, but I wanted to begin my journey to detach from my myriad of stuff.

My birthday was in early March, and my boyfriend and I were moving into a new apartment for April 1st, the perfect excuse to purge. We donated bags upon bags to goodwill, and took weekly trips to the dump and recycling centre ridding our messy home of clutter and junk.

Moving day came, and even with the actual tons of things we let go – there was still so, so much stuff.

Where To Now

I started by letting go of some things I’d had for years. My Super Nintendo, Electric Guitar and Acoustic Guitar. I’ve had them all for years, and I guess I felt like they were a part of my identity. When I was a kid I loved playing videogames after school with my sister, as a teenager I wanted to be a rockstar. I thought those things were defining. I let them go.

I went through all my shoes, and donated at least 20 pairs of perfectly good shoes knowing I never wear them. I let go of my favourite, most coveted tattered winter coat with the fur trim and embroidery. I loved that thing for over 15 years. I let it go.

And this weekend, I decided to pursue another experiment, Project 333. I painstakingly curated my wardrobe down to 33 items. I did cheat a little since I kept an extra bag for gym stuff and my Pleaser Pole heels (I need them). And I didn’t include accessories, so I have a couple extra scarves that I wanted to keep for cold days. I got it down to 5 pairs of shoes.

It seemed like it would be impossible. I went back and forth on my choices for a good 3 hours before finally feeling like I’d made the perfect capsule closet. It wasn’t as impossible as I thought it would be.

I took a step back and all my clothes were right there, on hangers, organized, and so easy to manage. I felt instantly lighter. Plus, everything I kept in my closet are things I really adore and feel great wearing. It will make getting dressed every day a breeze.

There is something about getting started made me feel optimistic. I am looking forward to seeing where this leads. The more things I have let go, the easier it is to start questioning the things I keep. I look at things more critically now and I am going to refuse to grant them space unless it’s sheer love between us.

I thought this would be an impossible mission, but humans are incredible creatures. We have the ability to change and pursue the things that make our lives full. I want a more meaningful and connected life. I want to feel less anxiety. I want to be able to focus in on what matters with more clarity.

This journey starts now, and I’m going to write about it.

Stay Tuned.

#minimalism #project333 #theminimalists #depression #morewithless #change #transition #lifestyle #declutter #mess #journey #blog

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