When I was younger, I wanted most things that I saw. There was so much to look at! A chaos of wants and desires, an exploration, an adventure in haircuts and pegged pant legs. Yet beauty seemed so elusive. My eyes searching the horizon, head straining for something outside, beyond my body. Awkward attempts to trick the audience. This all changed about the time I got my first best friend. We would shop together at the Goodwill, a local thrift store. We honed our own style.
There was so much clothing to sort through though. I would run my hand along the racks of clothes and scan the horizon intermittently, lost in conversation and thought. I was shopping with my hands… and when we confessed we were both doing this it seemed like a sign of our kinship, and somehow subversive. Our hands were doing the choosing.
Choosing what felt right.
I find myself doing the same here as I organize the fabrics. No need to hold on to the things that don’t feel good. We have winnowed down the selection to the most touchable natural and organic fibers. As I’m doing this I briefly consider what combinations I would like to layer for myself. I want something simple and homely like a monks robe. I want textures and variations on patterns that are subtle, enchanting, and rich. I want Morrocan styling’s with layers of pillows cascading from couch to floor that pull you down to lounge and play wherever you might sit.
Consider this: your comfort is important.
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