This is a story about peace.
One thing my sister impressed on me was the notion that, while the world is confusing and tumultuous outside, your home needs to be an oasis. Somewhere that you are proud of. Somewhere you can escape. Somewhere that you’re okay with everything in it. Where every decoration, every piece of art and furniture and fixture is something you like. “I love everything in here,” my sister told me. “The carpet, the hangings on the wall, the colors in my bathroom, all of it.”
In every space I’ve inhabited, I’ve tried to keep this peace. Why bring in problems into my living space? Why have things that aren’t functional, or that you hate looking at? On the interpersonal side, why have negative people over? Why invite that aunt you don’t like, just because you feel you “have to”? The expectations and social norms being what they are isn’t an excuse to just go along; this is your castle, even if it’s a studio apartment in the hood or a condo with spectacular views.
I was talking to my mother recently, and while my mother has never verbalized it, she is a strong proponent of peace in her house. Plastic on the living room furniture, a cabinet of china and glass. And when she retired and moved South and built her dream home, she did it the way she wanted to; nothing is too small, or cramped; it’s just right. We brought a ton of furniture from the house where I grew up, but also got quite a bit from local places. Got our first few bits of Black art. Everything in its place.
A few months ago, the mother of one of my uncles-by-marriage died, and they started cleaning out the house recently. He asked my mother if she wanted one of the chairs. Sturdily built, real wood, by all accounts a comfy chair. Mom’s polite “no, thank you” was airborne before he finished the question.
My uncle’s mom, by all accounts, didn’t like my mother. She didn’t like any of our family, least of all her daughter-in-law, my aunt. And while my mom’s politeness won the day, I asked her why she was so quick with the answer.
“What kind of fool do I look like, putting that woman’s stuff in my house?” she asked. “That woman didn’t like me, didn’t like any of us. Why would I bring her spirit in this house when she was never invited to it in life? I don’t want nothing of hers in my house. Not in my house.”
Even when we’ve moved on to the astral plane, our spirits live on in our possessions. Be the type of spirit people welcome.