le cafe wasteland

As I lay across my shag rug, listening to music while flipping through the pages of a magazine, the beautiful breeze softly swaying through the ruffles of my curtains, a thought overcomes me about how I live in my space. I have long wanted to have an organized space with every object perfectly displayed. But, I have realized I do not live this way. See, I have tried styling my space like the ones staged for photographs, and yet my room always ends up back where it was before, an eclectic mess. I've noticed that I only move something if it needs to be moved. As I lay here scanning my room I notice that everything is where it is because I had to move it there, not because I wanted it there for aesthetic reasons. Now, don't get me wrong, my room isn't a disgusting pig pen, it's actually quite nice, but the difference here is that it isn't staged, it's been lived in. I love walking into my room and seeing this eclectic mess, as I like to call it, because it shows that I've been here. I like my bed covers spread across my bed, I love seeing scraps of clay on my coffee table and candles melted down to the last wick. I like to tip toe over magazines left open on the floor, and there is something so comforting about finding my journal left right where I last wrote in it. These are the things that make your space, your space. Of course, as a stylist, I love a perfectly styled room and I am capable of making it look just as so.
   But, in my own personal space, I like just the opposite.