v.3 On Home: From Cramped Corners to Sunlit Spaces—The Joy of Finally Spreading Out
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, share ideas, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
It’s been a few years since we made the leap from our Brooklyn apartment to a sun-filled 2-bedroom in New Jersey. (Small by Montclair house standards but plenty of room for us, nonetheless.) From the moment we moved in, it felt like we were letting the light in—literally and figuratively. And yes, we’re those people who keep the blinds open so the whole fucking neighborhood can see in. You’re welcome, Montclair, enjoy our spectacular art and colorful walls.
The perfect little reading corner (Jake’s beloved shearling throw is not in the picture.)
Despite the heaviness of the past few years, there’s been real brightness since we arrived in the midst of a pandemic. Days have been sprinkled with moments of humor, joy, and yes, some beautifully weird little rituals that make this place feel like home. Like when I sit by the window in our wool and leather chair (which is draped in shearling because Jake, my OG cat who passed at 19, loved it there) and read in our cozy corner, surrounded by sunlight and an unreasonable amount of plants. In those moments, the world feels lighter—less chaotic. Or evenings when Ira and I sit at our dining table (our first real table, by the way—very adult) surrounded by colorful chairs, air plants, and, of course, our ceramic cat salt and pepper shakers. We are cat people, y’all. And here’s something you don’t fully appreciate in a New York apartment: space to eat without balancing a plate on your lap.
Then, there’s my office. A glassed-in tiny sunroom lined with my favorite colorful books, my mama’s plants, and a meditation corner. Plus, a beautiful butcher block desk with pen and marker all over it—like it belongs to a damn 5-year old #CmonCyndie. But I digress. Ira has his own office now too, which feels so luxe. After sharing a desk for many years, having our own is lovely and doesn’t get old.
And then there’s Shaker, our 4-year old ginger cat that we got as a wee kitten—he has moderate CH. Shaker wobbles around the house like a drunk acrobat, crashing into things and tipping over only to pop back up like nothing happened. (As if on cue, he just walked in as I’m writing this post!) He’s perfect. Jake, our older cat (may he rest in peace), certainly did not agree and would’ve happily boxed Shaker up and shipped him off to the next neighborhood. But Shaker’s energy is contagious. His aliveness and resilience are magic, a kind of microjoy in motion that fills our home every single day. (TL/DR- we’ve also added another perfect kitty into our home after Jake passed. Her name is Vivian Peanut and she doesn’t like me. But I don’t care. I mean, I might care a little. But that makes her like me even less so…)
If you’ve been in my world for a while or read MICROJOYS, then you already know how I feel about plants and flora. Fresh flowers, little vintage vases, quirky ceramic faces—all these living things give our imperfect space its heartbeat. Maybe it’s because of all the loss and change over the past few years, but surrounding myself with life—plants, flowers, pets—is healing in ways I couldn’t have known. Our living room is filled with color and plants, and from the sofa, I can count at least sixteen plants plus whatever bouquet I picked up that week. I’ve realized that in caring for these little things, they give back tenfold.
Here’s my invitation—which should not be taken literally unless it makes sense for you: get yourself a plant (or sixteen)—maybe something moody, like an orchid that only blooms when it’s absolutely certain it’s in the spotlight. Or adopt a pet with a flair for drama, the kind who tumbles off the couch like it’s a personal performance. For those of us who are child-free, these small, living, messy reminders are just the right amount of chaos, no college fund required. These little, unpredictable, wild things connect us to something bigger than ourselves. They remind us to pause, breathe, and even laugh at just how marvelously weird and wonderful “home” —and life—can be. (And though I wouldn’t know firsthand, I assume that having a child at home does this same thing😂. So plants and pets: optional.)
Some posts will feature “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
Pets, with their quirks and constant companionship, are microjoys in motion—Jake’s wise calm (rest well, little buddy), Shaker’s clumsy antics and Vivian’s constant disdain add humor and comfort to even the most chaotic days. Got pets? Tell me about them in the comments section.
[Pictures in order from L to R: Jake, Shaker, Vivian and Shaker + Vivian]
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
