A Kept Life

Somewhere between worn out and perfect lies something kept.

The older I get, the more I find myself drawn to the kept things, the kept yard, the kept house, the kept bowl with a small chip along the edge.

It hit me this morning as I was taking a walk that some of the lawns were perfectly kept. Trimmed, even, untouched. But I found myself looking longer at the others.

The grass a little tall, in need of mowing. A few weeds scattered in with the flowers, that will be pulled when time allows. Toys left out where they had been played with and will most likely be played with again today. Signs that life is happening there.

Not neglected. Not perfect. Just kept, cared for, and lived with.

When you start seeing things this way, everything feels a little different, more comfortable, more familiar. You stop striving so much. You stop feeling so anxious about getting everything just right. You begin to settle into what you already have.

And I think that’s what draws me to vintage. Why I choose kept things instead of new.

A kept quilt is softer. Already broken in. Ready to be used and loved. It’s already been part of someone’s life.

Maybe that’s the kind of life we’re meant to build.

Not perfect. Not worn down. Just kept.