I was outside using the weed whacker today. I get weeds, as I suppose most everyone does. I'm not thrilled at the prospect of having to whack them down, but it clearly needs doing. Unlike most of my neighbors, I've only lived here for 8 years, so I'm the new one on the block. Apparently, I also need advice on how to mow the lawn and trim my hedges. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't appreciate the advice. I just don't appreciate the belief that every house should look identical.
I'm not much for cookie cutter uniformity. I haven't painted the house flamingo pink, nor am I likely to ever do so. Do I occasionally fly a Jolly Roger Banner, instead of the "Spring" ones my neighbors' fly? Absolutely! At Christmas do I wax nostalgic and put up multi-colored bulbs reminiscent of my own childhood instead of plain white? You Bet!
The question that seems to plague my neighbors is "why won't I conform"? My answer is simple. This is my castle. It is what I have built for myself and for my children. It is my haven, and their haven. It is meant to reflect who we are individually and as a unit. I can't tell you how comforting it is to come home, to open the door, and feel my home. It emanates warmth and comfort. It is familiar. Even the scent is comforting, even if it is a mix of Gain laundry detergent and cranberry candles.
What should we build our castles of? Should it be a reflection of a magazine, or a reflection of our hearts? If we each reflect in our homes the people who live there, why then should it look like anyone else's home? What do you look for when you come home? I glance at the entryway wall, where the boys outfits they wore home from the hospital are framed. In that first moment I walk in and see those tiny outfits, I am filled with memories and love. I am home.
This is my home, this is my castle, it was built from the sand I chose.
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