Hanging Curtains.

The first time my husband and I walked through the doors of that little cottage, we knew it felt like our home. We hadn’t looked at a lot of houses before we saw that one, but I knew when I saw the pictures online that it was where we should be. All of this was based on nothing more than a gut feeling, and I’ve come to listen to that gut time and time again. Kyle and I were so young and green to the home buying experience that we basically told the realtor we’d take just about anything with running water, and I’m pretty sure Kyle’s voice cracked a bit when he said, “We’d like to make an offer.” 

We walked through the backdoor and it felt so warm, like the house wanted us to live there too. It had a late nineties charm that no one appreciated in 2015, they just called it dated. With a porcelain farmhouse sink and transoms over each door, it would be a perfect first home. 

 As Kyle inspected the foundation and plumbing, I was drawn to the beautiful toile curtains that hung in the sunroom. They were sturdy and looked expensive, hand-sewn, and long enough to puddle a bit on the tile floor. Our realtor came up behind me and told me not to get too attached, “Folks sometimes leave window treatments behind, but usually not something as custom as that.” When we moved in a month later, I was tickled to see the stunning draperies still hanging in the sunroom. They were all mine.  

We painted and rearranged furniture, organized the kitchen, and had our first big fight in that house. We would still be there if Madison County hadn’t decided to build a gas station in our backyard, but I digress. 

They paved paradise and put up a parking lot, ya know?

Those curtains came with us to our new home which sadly had no sunroom. And somehow I became convinced that the curtains belonged in a nursery and nowhere else. The classic fabric didn’t seem to fit anywhere and I was stuck on the idea that the previous owner left them behind for my future child. I put a lot of pressure on myself and the curtains, pressures not needed.

Why do I do this?

I traced my hand over the stitches and seams. I enjoyed the trees and blend of colors for a moment and then I folded them gently, placed them in a box, and shut them in a closet for several years. And as time does, it marches on and changes—my desire to become a mother came pounding on my door louder and louder after each loss and ache. But after a while, it occurred to me I may never have a nursery. I may never get to start at the beginning of a bare room, a new life, a blank canvas. I may never get the normalcy.

I may never get to plan things the exact way that I want them. 

 What if I never get my baby girl and her sweet room? 

 If I keep waiting for things to pan out the way I wanted them to, then I will never hang those curtains, they will sit in darkness until I get my way, which let’s face it, occurs few and far between . What a shame.

Recently, I went looking for them. Not because I wanted to daydream about making a nursery for a child, but because I was tired of waiting for a good time to enjoy them again.

I swear we all do this to ourselves, and I can’t for the life of me understand why.

You wait to go to Paris until you’re in love, you wait to wear the swimsuit until you are beach body ready, you wait to paint until you think you’re an artist, you wait for company to come over before you pour the good wine and eat on fine china, you wait to hang gorgeous curtains until they fit a house or room the way you originally planned. We lock parts of ourselves and desires in a closet until we are given permission to open it and celebrate.

I want to hang those curtains again because I love them, not because I told myself they belonged in a nursery. If I never get that room I pictured that is fine, I’ve made peace with that.

But I can’t live with things I love shoved in a closet. These curtains would hang just as well in an office, guest room, foyer, or wherever else I want them.

What I’m trying to say is—wouldn’t you rather do something a little different than the way you’d planned, than not do it at all?

Wouldn’t you rather show up for things that are intended to be good, not perfect?

Wouldn’t you rather enjoy something now as opposed to waiting for the later? Later may never get here.

Make your plans, show up for the good and not just the perfect, and pivot when life suggests a change of pace—and don’t wait too long before you hang curtains of your own.