“when i was a kid my parents moved a lot, but i always found them.” // r. dangerfield

moving house is a funny thing.

there’s that really energizing moment when you’re going through the mountain of fragments that have clung to you as the years have gone by – that you start to see what’s really important.

what possessions mean to you, what they used to mean, and sometimes you find that what was once heavy with significance, is now a rather flimsy excuse for a piece of neglected junk. and so, you send them on their way to new homes, hoping that your things can be up-cycled; that you’re doing good for this giant marble, for gaia.*

but the real thorn in my side is that though i can see the merit in living in the minimal – akin to a monk; you then move into a new space and it ends up necessitating the bringing in of new things. and so the moment i think i’m done with it all  – just when i thought i was out, they pull me back in






➝ source : matégot trolly by gubi via nest

➝ source : seriously cereally bowl via house of rym

➝ source : the original jewel box by house doctor via royal design

➝ source : hai chair in charcoal via hem

*please note tongue firmly placed in cheek. would hate to have you think i use that sort of language IRL.


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