Embracing Imperfection
Home is where the quirks are.
By Jamie Lee
May 10, 2022
I like to envision that stepping into my home office feels akin to drifting into a tropical sunset. The walls are a warm peach hue—not the trendy Millennial pink, but a shade kissed by golden sunlight. It’s playful and vibrant. There are beach paintings, a couple of plants, and a shelf filled with books. It calms me… or it would, if not for the two large, otter-shaped patches of exposed drywall that greet me each time I settle at my desk.
In a burst of home organization inspired by countless hours browsing DesignerGram (a corner of Instagram devoted to home aesthetics), I yanked a stick-on bulletin board off the wall and ended up taking a chunk of the wall with it. After a few half-hearted repair attempts, I shrugged it off and moved on. Every time I see the exposed drywall, I think, “Hmm. I should probably take care of that someday.”
If only this disheveled wall situation were an isolated case! My entire home is somewhat falling apart. The front door handle jiggles precariously when I open it, the screen has a hole, and the kitchen window flies up with the enthusiasm of someone overly eager at a corporate retreat. I often spot rabbits darting from under our deck, leading me to suspect they might have taken over our backyard.
What I’m getting at is that there are countless little frustrating things in our home that seem broken—or at least half-functioning. And I’m in no hurry to fix them.
Many of the spaces we see online and in glossy magazines are immaculate because they are meticulously curated to project a specific image. As many Instagram influencers confess, life outside the frame often includes Cheerios scattered on the floor, closets bursting with winter coats and board games, and rooms that are far from finished. Having spent time in design media, I’m aware of the immense effort—sometimes financial—that goes into creating a polished photo. I can appreciate the artistry of a social media masterpiece, but I no longer aspire to replicate it in real life. Like many fictions, Instagram-worthy spaces tell only part of the story.
Growing up, my home was no showcase from Home & Garden. It was cluttered from generations of immigrant hoarding, often dusty, and filled with random items that didn’t work (like 80s answering machines and old dishwashers). But I was happy there. Or perhaps because of it. We were not a home improvement family; if anything, we were a home deterioration family. We used our space and broke things in it, often living with the inconvenience until we could afford repairs or replacements. I learned that a home is meant to be in a constant state of change.
I recently read Barbara Kingsolver’s Unsheltered, about a house literally crumbling around its inhabitants, with gaps in the brick through which icicles form in winter. This, of course, reflects the family’s own dysfunction and inevitable separation. After reading it, I viewed the odd broken things in my home with both apprehension and a slight hypochondriac’s dread. Does that old watermark signal an impending ceiling collapse? I hear scuttling in the walls, accompanied by a faint squeak. Is this the night squirrels will invade?
To be frank, I often overlook these minor annoyances unless we have guests (or unless I’m engrossed in a mildly dystopian domestic drama). Over time, they blend into the background. I recognize that I could spend a weekend at a hardware store (a literal nightmare for someone as unhandy as me) fixing most of these issues. Instead, I prefer to embrace the luxury of unfettered freedom when we have time to ourselves—free from school, work, or family obligations.
I could spend hours on the phone with a screen replacement service, or I could grab ice cream sandwiches and draw chalk rainbows with my child. I could replace the cabinet handle that swings like a pendulum with the slightest touch. Or I could indulge in a long bath while watching the new season of Selling Sunset. Some may view these choices as trivial or even irresponsible, but they represent the small decisions that help shift my anxious mind away from my home’s imperfections towards what truly matters—my family and our love for each other.
Many of us live in imperfect spaces. And it’s not just about surviving; we thrive within them. Some of us are fortunate that the broken elements in our homes are relatively minor, albeit annoying to the perfectionist’s eye. Even though we could fix everything (there are just so many little things), we often choose not to. Life consists of numerous daily exchanges. More time spent on DIY repairs means less time for hobbies, dinner parties, and contemplating the bunnies that are definitely taking over the backyard. I feel confident that I’ve come out on top in those exchanges.
Of course, when major issues arise—like a malfunctioning air conditioner or washing machine—we address them (by which I mean we hire others to handle them, as I mentioned, I’m not handy). But the little stuff? I’m letting it slide for now. Maybe one day I’ll dig out my spackle and search for that can of peachy-pink paint hiding in the basement. But today, I’ll open that kitchen window with the broken spring and enjoy the fresh air. Despite all our domestic flaws, one thing my family excels at is simply living in our home. After all, isn’t it true? Home is where the broken stuff is.
For more on navigating the journey of home insemination, check out this excellent resource or learn about activism in this space.
Summary
The piece reflects on the beauty of living in an imperfect home and how minor flaws can enhance rather than detract from the joy of family life. While acknowledging the allure of picture-perfect spaces, the author embraces the quirks and imperfections of her own home, prioritizing time spent with loved ones over tackling endless repairs. It captures the essence of thriving in a lived-in space where love and creativity reign supreme.