I can put off tasks for just like ever, fearing to begin because I won't do it RIGHT.
Such was the case of our bedroom, that little room in the back corner of this old farmhouse. It was still decorated in mauve and green. It's not like I had time to redecorate every other year, but still. It needed a redo. And redo's involve Decisions. And Change. And Shopping, that horrifying task. And worst, Maybe Getting It All Wrong.
But I was slapped into action by The Flopping Elbows. We had a small bed in that small room, and I sleep with a large husband with long arms who swims in his dreams, and leads zumba classes, and wins the American Ninja Warrior challenge.
So there was less and less sleep for me.
The husband likes solutions, and fixing, and diving into projects like eagles swoop down from great heights at the leaping trout in Clear Lake.
If we knocked out part of a wall and moved the doorway, we would gain enough extra square feet to move the dresser over there and get a bigger bed, he said.
So we did.
This meant that I had to make a long, long, list of decisions. EEP. And I had to think about colors. Gaaaaah. And I had to shop. Noooooooo!!!
And I might get it wrong.
Those blogger/Instagram/Pinterest people who have what is called an "effortless sense of style" in decorating--how do they do it? How do they choose that arrangement? Those neutrals or colors? That basket?
I asked for ideas.
A number of readers weighed in, and gradually I got a sense of what I would try. As much as possible, we would take things back to their 100-year-old basics. And I would go for plain wood and lots of white.
Slowly, I would add color. It didn't all have to be polished and perfect when the last nail was pounded in. I could do it little by little.
I could even use my old, too-small spread until I found something I liked better. Imagine that.
We moved back in, and I love it.
I'm going to show you pictures even though it isn't finished, and even though adorning and coordinating a room are not my strengths at all.
But guess what: I let go of perfection, and I find the room restful and welcoming.
The result is neither perfection nor nothing, but something in between, and that feels like a big accomplishment to me.