Kristin Heyder
I live in a new room. It has the same four walls, but there is a new life inside of it.
I am someone new. I reside in the same body, but there is a different person in it.
It takes me three and a half days to paint my walls. I move all of my furniture to the middle of the room, and what doesn’t fit comfortably in the center gets relocated to the hallway. Buying paint at the store is a bigger struggle than I intended it to be, but I need a color that says the right things.
It is with deep satisfaction that I watch my brush conceal the electric blue with a softer brown. I made an excellent choice. The color glows with warmth and is trimmed with a deep, rich red. My windows are open wide and my radio sets the rhythm of my work. The smell of paint is strong and stings my nose, but the more that covers the walls, the lighter I feel.
My colors have been painted over too. I was bright, electric blue; loud and abrasive. The paint was chipped in all the wrong places. I was obsessed with image, determined to hide the cracks and chips with another piece of furniture I didn’t need. My insecurities were disguised by a blue that drew the eye in the most unpleasant of ways.
I’ve been repainting myself for months. Now I am the warmest of browns and the sincerest of reds; I have covered myself with layers of compassion and empathy. I have washed away an image that begged to be looked at and replaced it with eyes that beg to take a closer look at the world around me. My colors are muted but so much more stunning, displayed with a confidence entirely more sincere and deserved than that of electric blue.
Once my walls are tenderly covered, less than half of what I took out of my room makes it back in. I am overwhelmed with the amount of stuff I own. I get rid of old keepsakes, things that no longer carry any of my emotional weight. Most of my furniture disappears. I bag up a third of my clothes; I’ll head to the donation box later tonight. I’ve done away with what I don’t need. My room is much lighter and no longer bears the weight of what I had thought made me who I am.
I have parted with selfishness and materialism. My keepsakes are gone; I have let go of the memories that kept me from enjoying the present. My clothes have a better home; I have redefined myself in terms of my mind, not my appearance. I have emptied myself of my furniture, allowing more space for thought and flexibility. I am filled with potential, not with possessions.
I clean up the spots of paint I let drip to the floor. I rearrange what is left of my things. I hang my quirky posters. I turn down the radio. I light a candle. I sip from my glass, the ice clattering against my teeth. I enjoy the view.
My room is beautiful, and I live beautifully inside of it.