Ordinary Things Matter

Everyday life is not about big, important events, it’s about ordinary things that are almost unnoticeable—almost. When I had to buy new dishes for myself eight years ago I felt a combination of I can’t/shouldn’t spend money on nice things.  I went to Ikea and got reasonably attractive, cheap inexpensive and serviceable white dishes. They were adequate, but they chipped easily and showed every utensil scrape with dark grey marks. I grew to hate them and all they represented to me; my unworthiness, my sense of scarcity, and my failure to thrive.

A search on Google offered a way to remove the scratch marks using Bon Ami one of my favorite cleaning products but the marks come back as soon as you use them again. I spent countless hours browsing the internet drooling over dishes pretty enough to make me happy but practical enough for everyday use. I was looking for something ordinary that would bring me joy. Dishes that would stand up to lots of use without chipping, scratching or making me feel sad.

My search felt a bit comical, my taste oddly specific and my considerations included being a flattering backdrop for the food photos I take. Though this wouldn’t be a huge expense it was one based mainly on pleasure, and though I tried not worry about it, cost was a factor. I’d watch for sales, and hunt for discontinued styles, but I was cautious. What if I made a decision and then found something I liked more for a better price? I would gaze at photos, read reviews, and try to picture serving dinner to company on my new plates.

My search was thorough and comprehensive; one I could learn a lesson from about future choices, one I should certainly have employed in past decisions.

When I found them I knew. The mugs had a pretty and graceful shape (a deal breaker); the bowls were low and wide (a strong preference) and the color suitable to all seasons. They were exactly what I wanted, and I ordered them. I regretted it immediately. Was I crazy to be spending money on dishes when I had a set? Was I self-indulgent and profligate; who did I think I was buying china from Macy’s instead of Overstock? What kind of example was I setting for my daughter making such a frivolous purchase? I felt nauseous.

One of the things I have actively tried to instill in my daughter is a sense of her own value. She has a tendency to defer and demur to others, putting her desires last. Whether we’re choosing a movie or a vacation destination her usual stance is ‘you choose’. I wish she’d be more assertive about what she wants, and I understand that this is behavior I’ve been modeling (consciously and unconsciously) her entire life. When we’re struggling over making a choice I’m often reminded of Chip and Dale stuck in the doorway each insisting “after you” “no, no, after you.”

The day the box arrived I brought it in inside and opened it carefully, knowing I would re-pack and return the dishes. I would just look at them and hold them, maybe eat something from one, then carefully wash and dry it before packing it back into the box.

I looked up my Macy’s order history and was amused to find it was exactly one year ago I bought those dishes. They’ve been all I hoped they would be. Every time I use them I feel happy, and pleased. I understand they are just objects, but they are objects I use daily, and if an object, a small part of my everyday life can bring me a piece of happiness they are objects of great value. I could rhapsodize about all their wonderful qualities, but what makes them lovely to me might not matter to you. It may sound silly, but they remind me of my own value. 

Since then I’ve unpacked the nice flatware I got from my mother’s house, and packed up the stuff I got at Target, probably the same day I bought the Ikea china. Now we have beautiful dishes and nice, heavy silverware to go with them. I sometimes need to remind myself that it’s OK to have nice things. It doesn’t make me selfish or greedy, it makes me grateful and adds to my happiness. It makes me appreciate the ordinary; the little things. 

I have made many purchases that I regretted, but these dishes aren’t among them. I didn’t buy them impulsively or out of anger or misery. I bought them because in that moment I was able to embrace my own worthiness, grasp abundance rather than scarcity, and bring something beautiful and satisfying into my home and my life. Dishes are ordinary things, but ordinary things can have extraordinary power.