white shag rug

This month is all about Intentions. It’s about saying what you want to say, letting go of the procrastinations holding you back , opening yourself up to the magic of possibility, and mostly…..being happy. That’s what this post is really about: speaking up for yourself and finding happiness through it. So, if anything, I hope this inspires you to take ownership of your little quirks, too. ❤ H

It doesn’t make one lick of sense to have a white shag rug on any spot of our property. I learned years ago that white jeans could never survive a date night on the farm, and most of my favorite white tank tops have taken to one stain or another til death they do part. But that’s exactly why my white shag rug in The Hideaway (i.e. my She Shed) is necessary.

Because it’s mine. It’s the one thing over which I feel like I have the utmost control.

Goats will get sick. Shirts will get stained. Cars will get nails in their tires. Crazy things will always happen. Come on. It’s 2020, baby!

But so long as my white shag rug stays in its place in the back half of my Hideaway, I know that no harm will come to it. It will remain pure and sacred and untouched by anything but bare feet. It will be my haven. It will be my escape into myself, my blank space to create, my sanctuary. It will be the smallest, most secret part of my being – the part I long ago came to terms with losing.

You see, when I first started living the weekends-only #FarmLife, it was new and exciting. I had my life in Nashville, where I could dress up and go out to eat with friends, and then I had this other, unexpected side, where I knew to dress down a little and prepare to get my shoes dirty. At home, things were clean and chic. Away, they were a little more….bohemian.

But when these two worlds came together and I moved out to the farm full-time, merging my former self with the new self I needed to be got a little tricky. It wasn’t like everything I loved and wanted to do just “went away;” it was still there. It just didn’t have a great place to go. And for a people-pleaser like me, who would easily bend to the needs and desires of everyone else first, it was becoming absolutely necessary to find a way to hold onto, well, myself.

That’s when we decided to renovate the old shed behind our house and make it into my space – a place for my books, my craft supplies, my collections, and all the things that reminded me how to be me. Just me. In all my many contradictions. White shag rug and all.

I’m practical enough to know I could never have it in our home. Cat hairs would tangle up in its threads, dirt particles eventually digging their way into its fibers. It would become grimy and dirty and most-decidedly un-white, which would only serve as yet another reminder of how difficult it can be to merge ones dreams with reality.

But here in my Hideaway, my white shag rug remains mine. It inspires me to do better, to take more care, to aspire, to dream, and to craft the life that I want. It represents a space that doesn’t have to make sense, that doesn’t have to play by life’s rules. It’s not there to impress anyone but me, and an attack on its practicality is an attack on me – on my ideals, on my dreams, and on my whimsies. In a way, I like that it keeps people out. I like having my own domain because I need my own domain if I want to survive and thrive as Just Myself.

Whether it’s a place we go in our minds or an old chair we can curl up into, we all need space to discover and invent ourselves. So please, save your judgment on mine. Because it was never meant for you, anyways.