Present Over Perfect

the lake. It’s easier, of course, to live with simplicity in a
house that’s not yours for a couple weeks at a time, but I do
find when I’m there, I don’t miss all our stuff. I like having
just a few dresses, flip-flops, shorts. I like a bin or two of
toys, one stack of books. I like having one candle that I
bring from home, two boxes of tea, Aaron’s guitar and
Henry’s colored pencils, and little else cluttering up the
house.
Of course it’s easy to live simple just for a short season,
in a home that’s not yours, but every August when we
return home, I’m amazed by all our stuff, and invariably, as
we unpack, I also pack up boxes and boxes of things that
lake life has taught me are inessential, and I breathe more
deeply as I do.
My love for dishes is only rivaled by my love for books,
and for a while, in our home, we had them in every room,
including the guest bathroom, and even stacked in every
inch of a nonworking fireplace. Stacks of books as end
tables, on the back of the toilet, in the kids’ rooms, a couple
on every step leading down to the basement. But: lightness.
But: simplicity. And so one sunny morning, Mac and I took
more than twenty boxes to a used bookstore. I kept only
books that I would reread or recommend wholeheartedly to
a friend, and that still left a lot, but twenty boxes out the
door did indeed make a big difference.
The other benefit I’m finding in these newer, narrower
parameters about what I wear and what fills my cabinets is
that I’m finding I make better decisions when I make fewer