I'll be honest: I am not a tidy person. While my home has not reached Hoarders or Grey Gardens levels of disarray, it is decidedly not a Real Simple magazine shrine to minimalism and order. My walls are a hodgepodge of unframed posters and textiles, my sofa is host to a veritable artillery of mismatched needlepoint pillows, and last night I noticed cobwebs dangling from my dining room ceiling but did not immediately remove them because I liked how they made me feel like a witch.
It's not that I don't clean (and even organize when I'm feeling rebellious!). I just can't seem to bring myself to wholeheartedly de-clutter and scale down. For a long time, I felt a bit ashamed of my cluttered little world. But after a recent evening spent languishing upon my throne of needlepoint pillows while poring over A Perfectly Kept House Is the Sign of A Misspent Life, Mary Randolph Carter's ode to the lived-in, "perfectly imperfect" home, I'm taking a vacation from clutter shame. My clutter is warm! My clutter is cozy! My clutter is life!
And while I don't have any plans to go full-on Miss Havisham, opens a new window (I did end up removing those cobwebs from my dining room ceiling this morning), I now feel emboldened to go at least half-Havisham. Or Half-isham, if you prefer.
Pick up one of these pro-clutter tomes and embrace your inner Half-isham!