Hi! It’s me, Jess.
Take a seat. This story goes way back.
I grew up in rural Wisconsin and I entertained myself a lot as a child. This often meant I was roaming the woods, creating forts, making “stews” out of mud holes, barefoot, with endless amounts of creativity bursting at the seams. In my young teen years, this led me to ask my mom if I could have the luxury of taking down the questionable amount of layers of decades old wallpaper to paint and decorate our kitchen. She let me.
Next came the dining room and living room…and then came my bedroom, repainted twice with different murals before I moved away from home for the last time. Always with color; always quite bold. I’ve painted every space I’ve ever lived in; including rentals without asking (sorry landlords). My environment always set the stage of life I was in.
Do any of you suffer from gray paint syndrome?
It was around the time when I landed my big post-college corporate design job in my young twenties that I decided I needed to be a grown up. I bought my first house, and with it, a 5 gallon bucket of gray paint. Every surface covered in it. I traded in my ultra-patterned, bright-colored apparel for the black blazers and silky fabric shirts that in no way keep you warm during the 8 months of Minnesota winters. My life was slowly being drained out of me and I didn’t even know it. After living for a while in the gray, I began twitching a bit and painted my front door a bright, golden yellow. It couldn’t wait. This proceeded into me painting my kitchen cabinets bright orange and wallpapering my stairs with a bold pattern, twice. I was finally getting somewhere closer to me.
When things really started to rock the boat is when I was pregnant with my son. I was blissfully unaware how that baby took over my life before he was even born. It was during this time that I learned about Marie Kondo and her book, “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up” and dove in head first, never returning. Her method is simple: only live with the things that spark joy. There wasn’t much in my house that did such a thing, so I got rid of most of my belongings. Family was concerned. I was in heaven. I’ve never looked back. Along with the belongings came the gray paint; it had to go.
At 7 months pregnant, I covered all the gray with white which was the foundation of everything else to come. I painted a mural in my son’s room at 9 months pregnant, and then life paused for a bit with the sheer chaos of becoming a new, first-time parent. Covid arrived 8 months later. I left my unfulfilling corporate job 3 months after. And then my 12 year relationship abruptly ended 1 month after that. I didn’t see that one coming.
I won’t ever dare to make this transition look seamless and easy. I won’t ever tell someone that everything happens for a reason. I won’t glorify birthing a dream out of an immense period of pain. The truth is that I was tired of trying to be someone I wasn’t, trying to conform in all spaces to someone else’s goals, dreams, trends, style and desires. I had no other choice but to rediscover who I am and what I was placed on this earth to do. My transformation is unfolding real-time as I suspect it always will. I am still living in my Marie-Kondoed home including memories of a former life that I have reclaimed as my own. It now looks like me and I feel like me when I am in it. I have muraled walls, ceilings, and trim and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. The music is loud, the laughter is strong, the walls are wild, and I continue to follow my joy.