Curating Home

Photo by Tara Lilly Photography

In recent years, I've needed to revisit the uncomfortable task of describing what exactly it is that I do - so many times! Artist statements, bios, podcast interviews, my own website. It's hard to put into words what my work encompasses because most of it involves overlapping processes rather than a tangible role. However, I had an aha moment when the terms “energy healer” and “energy facilitator” weren't resonating with me when I was updating my Instagram bio. “I am an energy curator.” I made the realization that curation is at the core of everything I do. Quite often, I know the energy or atmosphere I am trying to create before I know which pieces will achieve that. Whether I'm digging through nature bits to create a print, pulling together text and images for a graphic, or combining crystals and plant energies for a healing session, it's all about curating the things that will capture the moment or essence. 

As we enter Cancer season, it seems like my Cancer moon is connecting with a nostalgic time growing up when we would be packing for our annual two-week stay at a cottage resort up north. There was joy infused into the act of selecting the CDs, books, clothes (too many shoes) and journals for vacation. I was curating the soundtrack and experience that felt aligned for that particular summer, whether or not I realized I was doing it. I always want to have the right “things” for the mood I'm in. Packing for the Sacred Spirit Retreat was reminiscent of that. However, returning from the retreat didn't feel like coming home. Something felt different. Was it that my cat wasn't there to greet me? I couldn't figure out why I felt a strong need to start sorting through my things to declutter. I assumed it was probably the 7-year itch of living in the same apartment. 

As I reflected on this over the past week, I realized that everything I have collected throughout my apartment was curated for passing phases of my life. What I'll need as an art student. A space until I move in with my significant other. A suitable place until I figure out where I'm going to end up. However, none of the reasons for the way my apartment has come together were to make me feel at home in the present. The version of myself that curated this space was creating her first solo space where she could catch her breath, and I will always be grateful that she was brave enough to take that leap. However, she was in survival mode, holding onto every single thing just in case she had to take a step backward. This version of me was subconsciously creating a life that could be dismantled without asking for help.

I have glimpses of the first summer after I moved in, when I spent all of my free time on the balcony reading, writing, drawing, and listening to music. That was my intention for this place I was going to call home for the next four years. The retreat was a week of being amongst the rocks and trees, touching moss, picking up stones and fossils, curating an environment that felt safe and inviting, dancing the night away with friends. I was seeing me (and being seen) as my favourite version of myself. When I walked in my door after my return flight, it didn’t feel like home because I had the startling realization that she didn't live here. At least not anymore.

When all this came flooding into my awareness, I saw my luggage and the curated experience it contained. The laughter, the tears, the connection, the comfort, the authenticity, the tokens of gratitude. Looking around my apartment, there is very little evidence of the life I've lived. No photos or art on the wall despite being an artist (I'll just have to take it down if I move). No music playing (the neighbours might be annoyed). All of my favourite clothes at the back of my closet (in case I have a day worthy of wearing them). I curated this space so that I was ready to leave, forgetting that I was there the whole time, living. For seven years.

I spent the next afternoon discarding remnants of the past that I don’t see in myself anymore. I said goodbye to heels that have lived a full life, pants that were meant to hold less of me, plants that have withered from neglect, and mementos from days I’d rather not cohabitate with anymore. I never realized the guilt that had been embedded in things that were no longer functional but helped me get to where I am now. It’s been a long time since I felt the emotional weight that is lifted when you throw or give things away. Item by item, bag by bag, I could feel myself expanding to take deeper breaths, and and take up space. In a coordinated effort, the humidity of the week dissipated, the temperature dropped, and the wind picked up. I was able to open my windows wide and let the fresh air clear the energy of my space. Release is an invitation for alchemy and magic.

This process was invigorating and archaeological in a very specific sense. When tossing a purse that was peeling, I found my favourite orange lipstick at the bottom. The sandals I bought last summer but never wore were uncovered when I removed a collection of reusable bags. I rediscovered the satisfaction of seeing all my jackets lined up by size and colour. I placed a few of my new crystals on a side table, remembering how much I love to see beautiful things every day. I sprayed the essential oil mist that I created at the retreat and closed my eyes to take it in, took a bag out to the dumpster, and continued on to a walk through my neighbourhood.

I've talked before about taking time in the present to bask in your surroundings and to receive the imprint of your daily life. What sounds, scents, flavours and things will remind you of this time? Is that how you want to remember it? Seeing life through this lens of nostalgia makes us realize what we are longing for right now. 

I guess I share all of this to say that I hope you take the time to curate your home and your life for the present version of yourself. Home is a reflection of your essence and the energy that makes you feel safe to exhale. Get rid of what is no longer aligned, and make space for the things that will mirror your essence back to you. My Cancer moon loves to see things that are nostalgic and hold moments of joy. Seeing trinkets on the window sill delights her. She loves to be inspired by the things she's created. She will curl up with a good book if it's out on the table. Having a cookie jar out reminds her to bake. Photo collages transport her to times that her heart was content. This Cancer season, I'm accepting that I'll need to make some changes in my material world to curate a version of home that feels safe, expansive, and happy, wherever that may be.