Collector

When walking into my kitchen the other morning something struck me as odd--no matter how hard I had tried to get away from it, it had happened anyway.  Nick-nacks--I noticed them everywhere.  Colors and styles, shapes and sizes--I could see them all.  I tried hard with this new house to do something different in every room.  It's a Cape Cod and although I didn't want a New England style home, I also didn't want to be dragged back into my Tudor home style either.  And so I tried.  I bought some new things, and put some of the old things into the basement.  My husband set up a special place for me down there, it houses all my collectibles.  And boy, do I have a lot of those.  I collect everything from dog statues to dishes, from coffee mugs to glasses--I am a bonafide collector.  And try as I might, I cannot stop.  I just find myself collecting other stuff.  New house stuff.

I'm self-analyzing myself here--I believe that I have an addictive personality disorder.  But, in a good way--Ok, maybe not a good way.  I love to shop.  I love to decorate.  And when I worked retail I loved decorating people.  It was so much fun helping them pick out new clothes for a trip, or a set of new luggage, or even some fun jewelry--it didn't matter to me one bit that I wasn't going to be taking these new items home, I just had fun in the doing.  I got caught up in their world.  I got excited for them.  I'm still that way.  If you're excited then I'm excited too.

In the last several years though, I've noticed something else, I now collect people.  I know this to be true because I know someone--someone else who collects people.  In fact, she's the reason why I collect people.  And isn't that how it happens?  You see what they have, you want it and you go and get it.  I wanted what she had.  I wanted the ability, the personality, the gumption to start collecting what really matters--people.  I began to watch this friend of mine very closely, it was important to learn her secret--I was sure she had one.  She made friends where ever she went, she would just smile and people flocked to her.  I flocked to her!  I wanted what she had.  I wanted her heart.  I watched her and saw in her eyes a genuine love and care for others.  It didn't matter to her if she had the best car or the nicest house or if everything was matchy matchy.  What mattered to her was that they felt welcome.  And I did.  I felt welcome.  From then on that became my goal--to make others feel welcome in my home.

When people come into my house I do not want them to notice my things, I want them to notice that they feel warm and fuzzy.  And that they see a cozy, soft place, where they can kick off their shoes, curl up on the sofa and while sipping coffee, they can gaze into the fire and have a conversation that isn't confrontational but that is accepting, forgiving, loving and healing.

I don't want to change my personality, however, I do want to change my heart.  I learned that from my friend.  And I hope I never stop learning.