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How many tattered copies of Dwell magazine do you have? How many home and garden magazines are on your coffee table right now? How many pages are tagged with Post-It notes? Have you bookmarked Houzz.com? Did you just DVR Curb Appeal?
You did, didn't you?
You can't do it alone. You've tried and failed, admit it. You need professional help — angst-ridden, self-aggrandizing help, granted, but if you're drowning in a sea of design addiction, you'll grab at whatever hand reaches toward you — which, if I'm honest, is how most architects stay in business. It's the best business model ever.
I know you've had visions of yourself in a better place. You can almost see it, right? But you can't get there on your own. You need to let go of this hopeless illusion of "doing it yourself" and just trust your architect. Your architect is there to help, as long as you have faith — and a generous design budget.
You have to be honest with yourself, brutally honest. You've allowed your design obsession to take over, and you've lost touch with the important things in life. And while you've been distracted, your life has become cluttered with meaningless material possessions: the impulse purchases from Design Within Reach, the reckless design-influenced shopping sprees at Ikea, the artfully arranged family photos on the Charles Eames reproduction sideboard.
Obviously, all of your furniture will need to go.
I own a Pottery Barn couch. I'm not proud of it.
You need to be willing to start over, to remove all the things that remind you of your past failures. Yes, even that rocking chair that your mother gave you as a wedding present. Do you really need a material object to remind you of your love for your mother?
Let it go.
There's so much to tell the architect. I can't wait to brainstorm some ideas. We could have stainless steel walls, and glass floors, and a stone patio out the back, looking over the reflecting pond. That would be amazing. There could be hardwood floors throughout ... no, wait, cork flooring ... no, no, travertine marble, yes, yes, and a solid maple plank in the middle of the living room, just resting there, slightly off-center with the fireplace, daring you to understand it, and the shower could be suspended over the staircase, on axis with a grand window opening up to a majestic view into my own soul ...
Sorry, I got carried away. It's a disease. I'm still working on it.
I'm sorry, Mom and Dad.
And Frank Lloyd Wright, I guess. (That jerk.)
What, Jody? You were about to say something?
I just thought it would make my life better. I told myself, just a little more concrete, just a little more, I can handle it. Anyway, it's just this one time. Then, the next thing you know, I'm at the Kimball Art Museum, spread-eagled against the cast-in-place concrete wall, caressing it, until the guards grab me and drag my naked self out to the street.
We've all been there.
Take a deep breath. It's just symmetry.
All right, I think that's enough to cover for tonight. Thanks for coming, everyone! See you next week. And remember, recovery is a slow process. Take it one day at a time, and you'll get there. Until then, just fake it til you make it.
There's coffee and doughnuts in the back. Oh, and Jody still needs a sponsor if anyone's interested.
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