Homesick
Think of all the songs ever written, then think of the odds that you’ve heard your favorite song. This existential sentiment came to me this past winter on my first night at a cabin in Vermont, a building raised by hand by a local artist and stacked with eclectic art and rented out for five nights by my friends and me. When the decor in this cabin is picked apart with care by the scrupulous eye, it becomes more of an assemblage of unnecessary items. By the end of this trip, I preferred to perceive it as a whole, which I’m sure is what the homeowner intended. There was an open air clawfoot tub on the second floor. There was a corner with an old record player and a plethora of instruments.
What does it take to have a favorite song? If I were in a terrible mood when I heard my favorite song, would I miss it altogether and never know that it was my favorite?
The lights in every room are colored and set at unusual angles, and over the course of the first few nights, once the sun set, I became an immense klutz, tripping and bruising my legs. We are only as powerful as our perceptions. Of course, the pot didn’t help.
Must we always strive to see the world around us in the clearest way possible? If my favorite song came on the record player while I was preoccupied with navigating down the stairs in another room, I would live my whole life never realizing I’d listened to it.
Let’s say that the psychedelic cabin in Vermont is a metaphor for the cluttered mind. Cliché? Good. Cliché is fun. The cluttered mind stores whatever resonates with it, piling it up until it forms a narrative, a complete story, despite the fact that it’s all a bunch of crap when perceived by anyone who isn’t you.
Maybe the chaotic lighting could represent our opinions. They look enticing to begin with, and we think they’re the defining feature of a space, but a purple light at a sharp downward angle will distort the physical features of the room– our reality– so that we unintentionally hurt ourselves. Many people, like myself that weekend, do nothing to alter their lighting and are content to keep hitting their elbows and knees, tripping over their own crap.
Interestingly, though, after the first couple nights, I began to remember where everything was. Muscle memory kicked in and I was able to navigate with more ease. It was more difficult to become accustomed to this particular indoor landscape, but I was no longer a dilettante. There were no more broken side tables to be had and I danced down the stairs without fear, finally able to look up at the building around me and see the homeowner’s vision.
There are a couple points I’d like to make here. One is that if we had gotten a less elaborate rental cabin, I would have been able to utilize the whole space on the first night without fear. This is a wonderful option. Some of us keep clean minds, hyper organized homes, because we learned how to do so from a young age, because it comes naturally, because it seems obvious.
If you are someone who keeps a minimalistic and organized home, your guests will be able to easily navigate it and that sense of familiarity will be welcoming. Perhaps they’ll have the same couch, the same cabinets. Maybe your hardwood floors were purchased from the same company. This is a great thing!
What I know to be true is that my friends and I still talk about that cabin in Vermont often. There’s always a new story about losing a phone underneath the various bearskin rugs or an anecdote about how one of us felt in the sauna that was lined with bubble mirrors. When I brought up my sentiment about my initial difficulties in navigating the building leading up to a funhouse euphoria, they all agreed!
Finding something that is truly your favorite can’t be done by stumbling across it. There is a process of sifting through information and stimulus, then consciously choosing to find the good and the happiness in that space that brings us to the highest versions of ourselves. I feel that as long as we apply this process to every situation we find ourselves in, the reward for our labor will align with who we truly are. Your favorite song won’t be your favorite song until you’ve done the work to be ready to hear it.
I also realized that the process of getting to know all of my friends required shifting through all of their eclectic nonsense to find what resonated with me, as well as vice versa. There is such a beauty in clarity, in categorizing things as “the best” or “not the best.” I believe that people with cluttered minds often are told they must organize to be navigated, but that real love requires a couple bruised knees to begin with.
The inside of my “mind house,” as it were, has been through a world of renovation. Growing up, it was a warped version of my childhood home, a little brick house that my father built for my mother, warped in that the already thick walls were impenetrable and the kitchen counter stretched to the clouds. Children only know how to love and be loved within the walls their guardians erect for them. Dad proposed to my mom in the foundation of this house; a deep foundation of concrete reinforced with rebar. Twenty-three years later, they’re very much in love and they love me infinitely.
As I grew and allowed guests into my “home” they brought with them their opinions on the decor as well as exquisite housewarming gifts, and their messes, tramping through with dirty boots. A couple years ago, in college, my literal apartment was a lonely single bedroom with a bathroom door next to the bed. Windows taped up with plastic. I’m thankful for my strong foundation. This was important, as one can never fully appreciate their favorite things, the things they know to stock their kitchens with, the best music to queue up on the radio, which art pieces to hang on the wall, who to invite over for dinner, until they’ve come to know the inverse.
These days, I like to imagine my mind as a light, open temple at a high altitude that allows the breeze to flow through, open to and accepting of the fallacy of time. The mountain, deeply rooted in earth, is my foundation now.
To get to this point, first there was the issue discussed earlier of how some do nothing to alter their lighting (the metaphor for opinions) and are content to keep hitting their elbows and knees, tripping over their own crap. I had to do this, to get out of my own way. Next is the lamentation that one’s favorite song won’t be their favorite song until they’ve done the work to be ready to hear it.
Once you’ve gotten to this point, you must be careful not to simply re-identify with new crap. This is simply the work of the ego. We’re all guilty of this. But if you can release even your favorite things and tear down the thick walls you’ve built up to protect your treasures, if you choose light and air and to sit back and allow the world to flow through and around you, everything that is yours will come to you.
