On Homemaking : An Invitation to see Beauty in the Everyday

...notice the way your space speaks back to you when you care for it—and how you feel within its embrace.

Written for The Royal Art of Homemaking, part of the Salon Gazette.

There’s a gently rooted, almost intuitive, rhythm to homemaking  that exists beneath the surface of chores and checklists.

 It’s a rhythm that brings on comfort over time, a signal to our subconscious and perhaps to our bodies that this activity, whatever it might be in the moment, is meant to bring on order, cleanliness, beauty, peace, etc.

We all know that home is more than just the four walls we occupy, or we should know that, it’s a system of nurture. 

Some parts of keeping home are in fact truly boring and tedious, while other parts are very exciting and satisfying.

 More often than not, the images that come to the collective mind concerning the words “homemaking” are that of physical must-get-done chores that drain all sense of freedom and excitement.

We must resolve ourselves to simply what must get done. Some parts inevitably invoke those feelings, and yet, homemaking is so overwhelmingly more than that.

It’s in the way sunlight slips across a hardwood floor at 4 p.m., the weight of a favorite mug in your hand, or the hum of clean sheets against your skin.

These aren’t tasks, they’re glimpses of the deep satisfaction we experience from a life being lived with care.  This is where homemaking begins, not in perfection, but in presence.

I’ve always believed that homemaking isn’t just about organizing a space or arranging pretty things, it’s an invisible architecture of attention.

It's a way of curating the atmosphere of your “home” in which you can create a certain familiar emotional memory that nurtures you over time.

This is created through small, yes sometimes even tedious, acts that may go unnoticed by the world, but not by the soul.

 It is a ritual of grounding, of returning, of reminding ourselves that we’re allowed to belong somewhere, somewhere belonging all to ourselves or shared with the ones we love.

That sense of familiarity and belonging has become all the more sacred because it’s something that belongs to me, as I practice it alone.

I’m not married, I don’t have children, and yet, the act of creating a home that's truly mine feels like a spiritual devotion of sorts. 

In a world that often correlates homemaking with partnership or parenthood, I see it as something deeply personal.

My home is not a waiting room for a future chapter, it’s my sanctuary now, and how sweet it feels just to say those words! A corner of the world where I can light a candle, steep a pot of tea, put on some music and just be. To me, that is wellness in one of its purest forms.

And yes, sometimes homemaking  demands the necessities of the tedious and boring.

It's doing the laundry, refreshing your bedding, emptying the trash, and tackling that drawer of miscellaneous oblivion that you've been avoiding.

 These things aren’t beneath the beauty, they are the details in the beauty. There’s a kind of quiet thrill I get from doing work with my hands.

 The satisfaction of resetting a space, completing a task, or creating order from chaos releases a kind of soft grounded dopamine. It feels like the end of a good day’s work, not loud or showy, but enough to make you breathe deeper as you sit back and enjoy the nurturing that you yourself poured into.

 It gives the body purpose and the spirit a place to land, not to mention that we actually release dopamine in our brains when we complete anticipated or checklist tasks (seriously, look it up!). 

There’s a ritual I return to almost every Sunday evening:

I clean the kitchen slowly, letting music play in the background as my incense of choice transforms the atmosphere into something sensual and deeply delicious.

I wipe the counters as if I’m wiping away all the overstimulating energy from the previous week so I can enter the week ahead with clarity.

Then I Swiffer wet jet the floors, light more incense (frankincense or cedarwood), and pour myself a glass of cucumber mint infused coconut water with lime.

 I sit at the table and sink into silence as I take in my surroundings, embody the character I could be in the movie playing in my head, and dissipate into the atmosphere much like the tendrils of incense drifting through the air.

This to me, is part of homemaking, pouring into your space, giving it what it needs so that it can pour into you in return.

In this series, every week, we’ll explore a different facet of that deliciously intuitive architecture.

Sometimes straightforward/touchable and sometimes subtle and poetic, but always combinations of the surface & depth of this whole picture.

From lighting, scents, to energy, and stillness, from seasonal rhythms to aesthetic rituals, etc..

 A royal art of homemaking some might say.

So whether you live alone or with a full house, whether your days are fast-paced or contemplative, perhaps with a mix of the full spectrum.

I hope this time spent in my Salon reminds you that home is not just a place you decorate or need to take care of.

It’s a place you nurture, and a place that, in turn, nurtures you.

I’ll meet you here next week, until then, notice the light, the quiet...