Windows to My World

Windows to My World

Last night, I attended my first-ever book club meeting. I'd been invited by my friend Pam, who consistently refers me to great reads, and I was delighted when she asked if I wanted to join her group. I pulled up to Pam's house shortly after dark and was enchanted by the sight of her curtain-less windows inviting passersby to peek into her beautifully appointed home. Her house blossoms with rich colors and textures, artwork and orchids everywhere—truly a voyeur's delight!

No kidding, I am a shameless peeping Tom. I love passing through residential areas in the evening, before folks have drawn their blinds, catching sight of a burgundy accent wall, arched doorway, or lace-covered antique table. My creative mind scuttles around inside like Arietty, borrowing romance from the imagined lives of those who live within.

I derive glum pleasure and perverse satisfaction from peering into another person's home and comparing it to my relatively "dismal" reality. Where's the color and warmth in MY life? Why doesn't my home interior appear as inviting as Pam's?

It's a funny thing what envy will do. The imagined joys of the lives of others can make me extremely dissatisfied with the very real joys of my own. I used to read through home decorating magazines, becoming increasingly agitated by the costs of all the improvements and products Alan and I couldn't afford, a dark cloud hovering over my head growing larger and more storm-laden with each turned page. 

My Dream House

A dozen or so years ago, we purchased our "dream" home on the fairway of a golf course. Well, its location was dreamy, but before long I'd compiled a long list of "necessary" improvements to diminish my happiness in living there. 

One of the perks to living along a fairway was the easy access to the cart path that we strolled on at dusk as the final foursomes of the day completed their rounds. The path led us down the seventh fairway past the tee box then crossed a private residential street by the sixth green into an adjacent neighborhood, where the homes were valued a notch higher than ours. I admired their custom shutters, their enticing courtyards, their interesting architectural details, their tennis courts. 


One evening we meandered through that neighborhood and worked our way back along the ninth and eighth fairways to the seventh green and headed down the seventh fairway toward home. Up ahead brightly lit two-story windows beckoned me. White twinkling lights threaded through the wrought-iron fence bespoke the elegant lives of those who lived within. Why hadn't I noticed this gorgeous residence earlier? Then Alan turned toward it, and I realized it was ours!

Feel Free to Look Around

Who's sneaking peeks into MY house and comparing her perceptions of my happy life with her own? I know my life is far from perfect, and I don't mind admitting it. In fact, I think part of the call on my life and my pen is to let others know that none of us is alone in our imperfection. No weakness or failing overtakes any one of us but such as is common to people everywhere.


So here I am throwing open the windows of my soul. Feel free to peek inside. You may see a lot of dust and dog hair. (I admit to being a lousy housekeeper.) But I hope you'll feel right at home.

Blessings,
Pauly

P.S. Alan and I had to sell our dream home in order to make ends meet, so now we're living another dream. But that will require a peek through another window, another day.