Wabi-Sabi, Or The Beauty Of Imperfect Beauty

My dad bought me my first book about wabi-sabi. I don't know how he knew about it or knew it would resonate with me, but he was my dad, so he just knew stuff.

As I understand it, wabi-sabi is a Japanese concept of humility and acceptance of time and imperfection. It means accepting who you are in your soul. It means loving something because it is meaningful, and this makes it beautiful. It means that objects are beautiful when they aren't perfect or mass-produced, but when they develop character through age and use.

Wabi-sabi is not shabby chic.

Wabi-sabi isn't just decoration, it's the way you conduct yourself in your daily life. It means you are perfectly yourself and you don't wish to be anything else. It means you revere experience and humility. It means to live as simply as possible, so as not to clutter your mind or your heart or your home.

For me, the goal of wabi-sabi is to love every space I am in. I often describe myself as a minimalist, but in reality, I aspire to be a wabi-sabi-ist, where every item in my home is chosen for it's experience and beauty. I'm a big-time homebody, but I like to think it's because I love the space I create for myself. There's no place I'd rather be than home.

I've shared some pictures of my home, so you know I have a lot of old stuff here. Here's one more item I love, my grandparents' telephone table. They are both deceased and they gave this to my dad, who gave it to me (along with the bookcase). What I find remarkable about this table is the fact there will never be a telephone for it to hold, ever again. Isn't that amazing? In two generations, this piece of furniture has become obsolete. It's a little scratched and worn in places, but I love it, because it was an active and useful part of my grandparents' lives. I put a few of my favorite books on it, and I store pens and paper in the drawer instead of a telephone book.

I aspire to live more wabi-sabi.

P.S. for those that weren't blog readers at the time my father died, that teddy bear under the table is made from one of his shirts. My dad always wore suspenders, so the bear has suspenders. It's a gift from my step-mom.