I went to Ikea last week. I have only been to Ikea twice. I get excited about it, then I get there and I get overwhelmed.
I like to think about my house, how I want to live. I browse through Pinterest and Apartment Therapy and imagine – I want a four-poster bed, a reading nook, a grown-up tree house, colourful rugs, dozens of vibrant pot plants spilling out of the corners.
I also want the minimalist look, blank walls, scrubbed wood, a single beautiful bloom in a simple vase. It’s hard to unite these two desires. It’s hard to unite myself into a single person. I spill out over my edges, sometimes. I want everything.
It’s been a hard year, and now I’ve found this domestic happiness. I get excited about organising the kitchen cupboards. I bought kilner jars at Ikea, and then I stuck labels to them all and now my kitchen looks like an instagram post.
Except now I’m trying to make pea soup, to use up the dried split peas I had, and what do you know – they are so old that they are refusing to go smushy, but instead stay hard and slightly crunchy. It’s been cooking for hours. I gave up on it as a dinner option, and instead cooked something beige out of the freezer. I’m almost giving up hope. They feel like they are getting crunchier instead of softer.
I worry, sometimes, that my dreams have become so tiny. I used to dream about travelling the world, visiting Japan, writing a best-seller. Now I would settle for a label on a kilner jar, and some decent pea soup.
Maybe it’s not so bad though. Tiny dreams are achievable.