A friend of mine just bought a house.
[start tangent here] And while I am very, very happy for her and her fiancé, I am a little, teensy bit jealous.
It happens every time one of my friends/peers buys a house and I don’t. Some days I feel stuck. Other days I feel happily revealed of the burden of ownership. I know the pros and cons. This is not a pity party.
And with as much as we hear on the news about money and finance and fiscal stability, I know that buying a house that we can’t afford is super stupid. I am okay with that. I know it’s for the best. [end tangent here]
My friend, the one that bought the house, she is painting her great room white. She told me that there is too much yellow in her house—the previous owners were older and painting for cheer not innovation or tranquility—that’s my guess. But when my friend said she was painting a room white, I recoiled in horror. “Why?!? Why would you paint a room white? How drab, how sterile, how…”
My reaction (or over-reaction) is deeply rooted in being a person who has always lived in rented rooms. I am and grew up pretty low on the income scale. We are renters. My walls are always white (or maybe eggshell, or cream once, but white-ish). When you rent, walls are white, floors are old , creaky, splintery wood or beige/gray carpet, kitchens/bathrooms covered in leftover non-matching linoleums—there may be an occasional horrid wallpaper, although the old papers are usually painted over in white leaving lumping, slightly peel white walls every where.
White walls = poverty/renting/youth/not-having-your-shit-together
My hang-ups all grown up and aired out for you to read. You better believe that when I do finally buy that house, those walls will not be white (maybe butter cream or Toile wallpaper and the not-peeling kind.)