06/02/2026
A few days ago my bonus mom sent me a text while she was traveling in Europe.
It said: “Now that I’ve spent quality time looking at beauty in Paris, I think I understand you better.”
I laughed when I read it, but honestly, I’ve never felt so seen. Because she is right. I’ve always had a relationship with beauty that feels deeper than just liking pretty things.
It’s why I can get lost staring at my garden or a sunset.
It’s why I care about how a room feels when you walk into it.
It’s why I get emotional about old trees and beautifully worn wood tables and a perfectly ripe strawberry.
I can just hear Poppy saying, “Mom, stop talking about how beautiful the strawberries are!”
Beauty is my love language.
It’s how I care for people.
It’s how I create a sense of welcome.
It’s how I tell people, “I see you and you matter to me.”
Maybe that’s why home has always meant so much to me.
Not because I care about things.
But because I care about how people feel.
And beauty has always been one of the ways I help create that feeling of love and belonging.