“GIRLS,” “AMERICA,” AND “AIR-FILTERS”
Ah. Allen. A man of many words, most of them,”girls,” “America,” and “air-filters.” Having your landlord live in your backyard has its perks, don’t get me wrong. He’s always there to get our names wrong and fix a leaky toilet. But, want to know a secret? He also is always… around. Just stomping around the yard in a red UGA t-shirt lording over our lands like the king he is.
While I would call our relationship surprisingly professional considering he lives 20 feet away, there are a few things that I absolutely, positively, do NOT want Allen to know. The irresponsibility of seven college girls and pretty much any personal information about me.
Ok, we’re not irresponsible. No really, I promise. But my roommate does have a pet snake and the snake may or may not have gotten lost in the house for a few days. Semantics. I guess we can add, “snake misplacement” to the list of things I would rather not tell the man I give large amounts of money to every month. Correction: that my father gives him every month (thanks, dad).
The second thing that I pray to God in heaven that Allen will not discover until I move out, is that my formerly bright white bedroom walls are now a perfect shade of red. Was it an impulse decision? Ya. Does it prove that I have flawless creative vision? DUH. How did this wonderful act of secret rebellion occur you might ask? Ok, ok, I’ll tell you.
Staring at the confines of my room as time began to tick by slower than ice melts during a snowstorm (aka quarantine) I thought it was time for a drastic measure. A dramatic change. A color to thrill even the most simple decorators. I marched myself to home depot and gazed longingly at the rainbow below. And there it was. The color of my dreams. The perfect balance of orange and pink.
Impatiently I waited, wondering if I would ever pluck up the courage to do the wild thing. Take my cold white walls and turn them into an integral part of the landscape of my life. So one afternoon, a particularly bad attitude forced me into the inevitable. A borrowed ladder, some old paint supplies, and a Friday afternoon of nothing but the Mamma Mia soundtrack later- I had done it. The walls of my bedroom ran red.
Those six hours of solitary painting had my mind running a hundred miles a minute. You think I talk fast? Imagine how many words I can go through when it's all in my head. After trying to solve the world's problems (to no avail), my inner thoughts turned toward myself. This brings us to the final thing I do NOT want to talk to my landlord about: what I discovered about myself through the four corners of my room. As I covered the white surface, it occurred to me that the transformation of this physical space mirrored a transformation in me.
In order for this explanation to feel valid, allow me to rewind to freshman year of college. When I began my time in Athens, a new place, new people, a new school, it was… a lot. I found myself suppressing my emotions. If I don’t feel anything, then I won't feel lonely, or homesick, or misunderstood. Hahahah I’m stupid. I spent so much time fighting against my nature, against my sensitivity, that I forgot who I’ve always been: a feeler. My childhood personality got lost in the illusion of freedom that numbness brings.
The consequences of my impervious attitude made itself known in relationships. How could I build friendships if I am incapable of bringing my true self to the table?
“Ok, Bridget, but how the heck does this connect to a change in wall color?”
Trust me, I’m getting there.
Ever since realizing how numb I felt, my mission was to return to who I truly am: tenderhearted. This word has become a badge of honor I fight for. Instead of holding a tight fist around my emotions, I’m working to let them be. Letting myself feel the lows so that I can feel the great joys of life.
So, as I transformed my room to become a place of warmth and freedom I celebrated how the physical transformation is the same as my emotional transformation. It has allowed me to honor the progress I’ve made and given me strength to continue down this road of vulnerability and courage. Courage to face ALL that life has to offer with fullness.
And obviously, it would be completely inappropriate to tell my landlord about these emotions and realizations. But here I am, telling you. Cool.
Is there a lesson in all of this? Maybe. Maybe not. If there MUST be a lesson, then let it be this: you are growing, you are moving forward and becoming a better version of yourself everyday. If you don’t believe me, then look for evidence in your surroundings and let them be a testimony of your beautiful humanity. Or maybe the lesson is to keep more secrets from your landlord, idk.
Thankfully, it’s just NOT THAT SERIOUS.
Bridget