minimalism v. sentimentality

sitting room

As I write this post, I’m sitting at Nannie and Dida’s (my paternal grandparents) dining room table, sitting in one of their dining room chairs. From where I sit, I can see a beautiful round dining table-turned-coffee-table in my sitting room, given to me by Scott’s mom. Flanking the love seat there is a table with a beautiful white marble lamp and a drop leaf side table, both from my maternal grandparents. On the table rests a silver footed candy dish. Above the couch is a gorgeous oil painting of a woman we call “Aunt Jenny”- which used to hang in the dining room at Nannie and Dida’s.

You can see the pattern here. My home is filled with pieces that come from our family, each with a little story of their own. That drop leaf table has had the finish stripped because my Mimi always had to have a glass of ice water near by, and she ruined all her tables with water rings. “Aunt Jenny” was resting herself behind a dresser at my parents house, and I invited her to live with us. The marble lamp traveled from Mimi and Papa’s house in Rome, Georgia, to Papa’s retirement home, and then to my house. Every morning when I turn that lamp on to read my bible and drink my coffee, I think of them.

I love the clean lines of a minimalist home. My friend Shawna calls it  “buttoned up” style. There is something so soothing about a house that is completely uncluttered, almost stark. But I could never live that way. I want to be surrounded by stories and things that carry a story of the people I love.

That’s where minimalism loses in my life. Sentimentality wins. I would rather air on the side of too much stuff than get rid of something that tells a story. It might not be very valuable in the world’s eyes, but it’s priceless to me.



31 Days of Mindful Minimalism: Day 23


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