a house has many rooms
and this one needs a makeover
When I open my eyes, the air is cold. The walls are freshly painted white again. I find myself seated right in the middle of the room, just as I was yesterday. And the day before yesterday.
I stand up, unsure if anything will be different about today. There’s a door straight ahead, always taunting me to open it and leave. But I ignore it, of course—there are things I need to attend to first.
A room can be simple, and so this one is: four walls, floor, ceiling. I, the main object within. There are no other real requirements to how a room should be, and I’ve left it mostly undecorated. Save for a window, so I never miss the daylight.
There are, however, plenty of arbitrary rules within this room. Rules for living that have been pinned up on the walls as visible reminders: who to know, where to be, how to best present myself. The smarter choice, the right side of history, be the bigger person. Other rules have never been written down as they’ve become muscle memory I live by: where I choose to sit, how I respond, who I trust. I’ve spent hours staring at these rules that cover the walls, as if reading them over and over will permanently secure their significance. (I should note: I don’t really believe in the practice of affirmations, but maybe I should try.) Some days I stare at the walls and hope for the willpower to tear them all down.
On other days my attention is solely dedicated to the paper stacks that line the corner. These are my put a pin in its, my wishful thinkings, the if I ever had the time and I’d love tos. Notions stockpiled away for some vague future. I separate the Unimaginably Big Stack into Smaller Stacks Of Categorized Things I Can Maybe Actually Do Someday until the task at hand feels too mercurial. Sorting them is the easy part, but figuring out the next step? Damn near impossible. I put every dreamy remnant of thought back where it belongs: away from the center. Not the focus, not today. And probably not tomorrow. I scrub half written mantras off the walls before they become too hard to erase. Watch clouds of ambition pass by my window. Sometimes I try to draw what I see. I often give up and litter the ground with these visions. And then sweep them away to keep the room in order.
Day after day, you’ll never see me make a mess in here. You wouldn’t even know I was here, in this room, wishing my existence smaller and the room to grow big enough to swallow me away. I allow the prolonged solitude to feed my depression and starve my appetite for life. If a friend comes knocking at the door, it warns me that I’ve been spending too much time in here.
And so now I hesitate with my hand on the doorknob, wondering if leaving means facing a hallway that only leads to more rooms like this. Or stairs that bring me to an entirely different floor. But this room, these four walls, still has good bones. I’d hate to waste a blank canvas.
Instead I cross my legs to sit down on the floor, an empty room ahead of me. Close my eyes and wait patiently in the darkness. Searching for the right adjectives and convictions until an image takes shape. The floorboards are a little creaky beneath me, but I welcome the familiarity. To start, I think it’s time to do away with all these scattered papers of dreams. We bind them into hardcover volumes, store them away into some beautiful Mary Poppins version of shelving: outwardly full, always capable of holding more. A library of wishes I can reference at any time. I take down any rules I don’t believe to be true anymore, especially the ones ripped from publications who don’t even know my first name. I decide to frame the ones I still want to follow. (Most of those are ones I wrote down myself.) Paint the walls in new living color so the light reflects from dawn to dusk. And maybe I need some softer lighting so the room is always basked in a warm glow. Burn a candle that fills the air with notes of ambitious hope—faultless belief.
If I open my eyes, I see everything I’ve ever dreamed of. If I close them again, a new image is already forming on the canvas of my mind. Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up in my tiny cabin by the sea, breathing in the kind of wild air I’ve known all my life. I salute the sun and my lover waits for me. The day after next, I’ll find myself in the mountains. So unafraid to venture into snowfall, so thankful for the warm fireplace I know is waiting down below. And maybe the next day I’ll be in the front yard of my countryside abode. The garden overflowing with crops, proof that I was dutiful to them all season. I can see my best friends down the road. Some of their houses are bigger than mine—full of treasures I can only dream of affording, or children I might dream of having. I don’t mind, so long as my house feels like home. When I close my eyes, every version of this room and this home is real to me.
A house has many rooms. I want to love every single one.
Hiiii. Happy to be back in my writing room. A little more metaphysical letter than norm, but I think tactical thoughts can wait until 2025. I spent the holidays with my parents, eating too many cookies and sleeping a lot.
I haven’t quite felt up to a 2024 recap yet, but I did revisit my 2024 ins/outs list. Everything still applies, especially library cards, punch cards, and elaborate parties! I wrote out my process last January if you’re searching for yet another framework of inspiration:
Year-end wins My new Parachute down duvet arrived just in time to be parent-approved. I found a new therapist and graduated from my physical therapist (yes I rang the bell, it was both gratifying and embarrassing). Enjoyed a full schedule of holidays-in-the-city activities, including two Friendsgivings (post-Macy’s parade), an apartment bar crawl, and putting together a handmade advent calendar.
On repeat Watching Laufey’s A Night at the Symphony: Hollywood Bowl put me on a Laufey kick just in time for Christmas. My Spotify Wrapped minutes listened went down this year, and I think it’s because I’ve been listening to a lot of music via Youtube…this Doechii performance is perfection.
Last read Intermezzo was a fun plane read, though I still struggle with her dialogue format. Just checked out Wintering and The Year of Magical Thinking via Libby.
Last watched Wicked (twice!), A Real Pain (neutral until the second half), Conclave (visually satisfying), Maybe Happy Ending (charming), The Light and The Dark (depressing but interesting?). Rewatched 500 Days of Summer and When Harry Met Sally over delicious hosted dinners. Took my parents to the Nutcracker and finally started Succession over break. And Suki Waterhouse was my last show of the year (Rob did not make an appearance at our show, sadly).
Thank you as always for reading. I’m Renee, if we haven’t met yet. HNY! I’ll be on a plane with my best friend tonight, eating 12 grapes under the tray table at midnight and believing in an auspicious 2025.
Cheers to renovations 💖✨
Poetic <3