Dirt, Wabi-Sabi, + the Beauty of Imperfection

I've always been attracted to the idea of owning land. Being in the city for such a long time may have something to do with it, or it might be more simple than that. Maybe, I just love dirt.   

When we left New York and moved to Savannah, we got a lot closer to nature. There are more trails to walk here, the Live Oaks are on every street downtown, it's hot and humid eight months out of the year (which seems unrelated, but there's nothing like a little sweat to make you feel like you're one with the Great Outdoors). 

It's not "land" per se, but when we're in Savannah, the dirt feels closer. The mess that comes with the outside is also a lot closer. 

If you get down to it, you can reason yourself out of wanting to live this far South. There are mosquitos. The humidity will do nothing for you. And more often than not, the dirt will sneak into your house and leave a trail when you've been out exploring — or even just messing about with the window boxes on your front porch. 

Dirt is funny that way. It gets under your nails and into your boots and almost leaves a calling card that says: I've been here today, and it has become a part of me. 

Now, talk to anyone who has ever been down the cleaning product aisle at Target, or cracked open a new issue of Architectural Digest with happiness, and you know our culture has an obsession with everything being perfectly organized. And we should be clean. But what about the dirt trail? What about the space to go outside, get messy, and then come in and share in that adventure? 

The Japanese call this idea of finding balance and peace in life's eventualities wabi-sabi. It's a rough translation, but it encapsulates a belief that in living with simplicity and humility, we lead fuller, more authentic lives. When we embrace reality, we have more room to be ourselves. 

In full truth: This is a struggle for many people, and it’s also a struggle for us. We’re in an industry where picture-perfect is important, and it’s hard to find the balance (we’ve got a battery-powered Dyson hiding in the closet and we’re trigger happy). But, like everything, it’s a work in progress.   

This is what we’d love to attain: 

The table doesn't always have to be perfectly set for friends before inviting them over, because the point of the table is to encourage friendship, not Pinterest mood boards. 

That antique chifforobe from our great grandmother that we love doesn’t have to go out the door, because the point of the furniture is to love where you live, not fit into some new design trend. 

And you don't have to remove all the markers of your day: the keys, the kid's toys, the towels, the coffee mugs, and hide them away in a cabinet somewhere all of the time. Because they tell the story of our lives, and it's time we embraced how we live. 

This year, we've started to understand the importance of leaving room for the chaos: The wildflowers that we picked from the park and moved inside for a little color, or our favorite vase that leaves a water ring on the table. We don't just design around it, we've started to design for it. Why? Because we're starting to understand the rewards of being ourselves at home, and sometimes that’s a little messier than we’d like to admit. 

So here's to the Year of Wabi-sabi, to opening our doors a little wider, and to letting the people who matter see it as it truly is: imperfectly perfect. 

And cheers to the dirt, however it may be. 

 - Joel