It was time for a fresh start, and I write about that here.
This will always be my website. But for daily writing I’m building a new house, somewhere else.
I think Mabel would understand (insider joke for the OG’s and also hello).
This summer so far? A+
The humidity has not yet begun to drown us. The rain has been plentiful. The flea market finds are at an absolute gold standard. I’ve been drawing, and cooking, and for some reason the squash bugs have not descended like the Egyptian locusts of old, so I’m enjoying this gardening honeymoon while it lasts.
Does anyone else out there get suspish when things are too good for too long? Like, is this a real life Hallmark movie, or a deceptively peaceful montage right before a disaster movie? Is there a rogue possum just on the other side of the backyard fence? A sinkhole forming under the garden? An angry wasp queen plotting a hostile takeover? Did the squirrels form some kind of union? I don’t know. But I’m staying alert. I can’t help but feel the universe is quietly buffering… loading… preparing to drop something. It better not be the other Birkenstock.
Until then, I’ll keep buying $10 pottery vases I don’t have room for, puttering around outside, and carrying on in this new phase of my life where I don’t care about wearing makeup or pretending I’m ever going to fully organize my clothes closet. Inner peace, but with a side of clutter and SPF 50.
Because let’s be for real, the glass isn’t half empty or half full. It’s probably just leaking somewhere and I just haven’t found the puddle yet.
It’s time for my annual “What’s In / What’s Out” list — otherwise known as: a user manual for how I’m living this summer, until further notice.
Also just kidding, it’s not annual. I’ve never done one before. But the other day I realized I’d seen at least a dozen internet-things (spanning from articles to Instagram to TikTok) about what we all should or should not being doing. Apparently, gallery wall decorating is “out” and that sent me straight into outrage-land. Gallery walls, and more importantly, weird art, can never be out. Show me one minimalist beige influencer whose house wouldn’t be improved by a framed picture of a Victorian lady and her pet duck.
So, I decided to make my own list. And this list is for me. Not you. You can have your own list and do absolutely whatever you want. You can decorate your house in Chevron patterns that make my eyes cross, and I will applaud you. We get one life, one body, one family, maybe a couple of houses, and only a few summers. Make it count. So, here’s what’s in and out for me, this summer. Take what you want, leave what you don’t. Your mileage may vary. But please promise me that if you hang a picture of a woman and a duck, you’ll post it.
IN
OUT
That’s my highly scientific, deeply researched list. I hope you still do whatever makes you happiest this summer, whether that’s gallery walls, chevron, snack plates, glazed-donut skin, or not. Just remember: one life, a few summers. I hope you make yours exactly what you want it to be.
What do you do when you hit a slump? Slump can mean many things. It can mean a dead-zone in your creative life. It can mean delays in your career. It can mean boredom or stagnation in your personal life. We all hit a slump periodically, but what can you do about it?
We have the always-present options of doom-scrolling. Or eating too much. Or binge watching Netflix until it insults us by asking if we are still watching as we scramble to find the remote to assure it that “YES I AM STILL HERE AND COMMITTED TO FINISHING THIS TRUE CRIME SERIES TODAY” as we also find a spare Cheeto on the couch and pop it into our mouth. Wait, there’s no we in that sentence? That’s just me? Well never mind forget that example.
And while meditation, therapy, or taking a walk are timeless choices, I’d like to suggest my favorite slump-defeater: thrifting. Flea markets, antique stores and Goodwill are my go-to choices, my way of shouting “PARKOUR!” and vaulting over a slump and back into a place where I can find inspiration and humor and weird stuff.
When you find a porcelain doll head in a Ziploc bag labeled “make offer” you’ll have so many questions you’ll forget about your creative slump.
You will always crack a smile when you find an apron that says “Kiss the Cook, She has Legal Custody Now” and your career worries won’t feel so heavy.
Whether it’s a taxidermy cat, a set of dentures mounted on a plaque, a motivational poster with a dolphin that reads “Don’t Cry. The FBI is Watching” or a painting that could easily be Elvis or Jesus depending on the angle, you will always feel better. You will always feel like laughing. And you will feel curious, if not a little befuddled. And laughter + curiosity = slump-buster.
I found this book at one of my local thrift stores. I have not started reading it yet, but I will soon. Because when I saw this title all I could think was, “Bold of you to think you’ve locked this topic down, Mr. Charlie Shedo, let’s hear what you have to say about how to treat the ladies.” Once again, thrifting shifted me out of “I have nothing to write slump mode” and into curiosity. When you call yourself a “storehouse of marriage wisdom” you’re just begging to get a critique. And that critique will happen later on my back patio, with a Coke Zero, and zero creative slumps in sight.
So if you’re in a slump, or you’re just having a very Monday-ish Tuesday, I recommend venturing to your local goodwill on your lunch break. You might find a dog sweater that reads “Ask me about my trauma.” Or a VHS tape labeled “Linda’s fourth wedding.” Or a ceramic goose dressed as a nun. You will probably buy that vintage spoon rest shaped like a foot. A realistic foot. With veins.
Whatever you find, it will distract. It will inspire. It will help you laugh.
Slump? What slump?
My brain is like Waffle House. It’s permanently lit with multiple globe lights, there’s clanking in the kitchen, the constant urge for food, and all the while someone is muttering, “Hey, is something burning?” And the answer is probably yes, because my synapses are constantly on fire managing a litany of open tabs 24 hours a day. Even in my dreams I try to multitask. Having this kind of brain is a blessing or a curse, depending on the activity I find myself engaged in. But, if it’s the right activity, ADHD becomes a superpower.
This is what thrift and antique shopping is for me. It’s an activity that meshes a mix of laser focus, spontaneous discovery, and adapting on the fly. It’s also something I just WANT to do (which is key for anyone who deals with neurodivergence). But all that to say, it feels like a very specific superpower in a thrift store. My brain can hop from one item to the next, identifying it, cataloging it, comparing it to things I may already have at home. Also, one of those tabs is always softly whispering, “This could be the thing that makes you a fortune on Antiques Roadshow.” But let’s be real, mostly I just love to collect for the sake of collecting.
A few months ago I was at my favorite thrift store in the outside “garden” section where things deemed too outside-y (i.e. dirty) are piled. The prices usually reflect the location, and as I picked through the stacks on a cold rainy day, I spied a treasure. In the mix of garden hoses, plastic pots, used lawn furniture and chipped cement bird baths, I spied a waterlogged cardboard box containing a pair of old lamps.
They were covered in filth, but I immediately knew they were special when I spotted their witch-hat metal tops. I pulled them out of the box and my first thought was that the old wiring would kill us all, and the second thought was how amazing they would look in the garden. And when I spied the $25 price tag I knew they were coming home with me.
I brought them home and took a picture to reverse image search them. That’s when I realized these little lamps would not be going out into my garden to rust.
They are Peter Marsh lamps, circa 1960/70. He was a noted lighting designer in England, and his fairy-tale-gothic lamps were handmade with mosaic-stained glass panels, iron, and tin/metal details. Luckily, I have a husband who loves a good project, and he took them apart, cleaned them and rewired them. Now I have a set of wonderful weird vintage #witchcore lamps. My daughter told me that I needed to use that hashtag because it’s my “aesthetic” and I was like, “Okay sure I’m old and I hope you’re not pranking me because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Anyway.
Will these lamps make me rich on Antiques Roadshow? Nah.
What’s my point?
It’s this.
ADHD really is a thrifting/antiquing superpower because you can hyperfocus like nobody’s biz. You can zone in and see things most people miss. It provides you with pattern recognition skills, where you may be able to see the beauty and potential when others see junk. It also fuels you with the impulse to “just get it and figure it out later” because folks with ADHD usually have excellent gut-instincts (if they don’t spend time trying to argue themselves out of their feelings). In both thrift stores and life, ADHD brains excel at noticing overlooked opportunities, connecting random pieces into something useful, and pivoting quickly when the original plan goes out the window.
And that’s where the magic is. The messy, instinct-driven moments are usually what give us the biggest wins. You don’t always have to look polished to be powerful. Sometimes you just have to trust yourself, dirt and all. Sometimes your best skills don’t look perfect and linear. They look messy, intuitive, and maybe a little dirt-covered like my lamps, but they still get you somewhere amazing.
In short, since I’ve learned to understand my brightly-lit Waffle House brain, I’ve come to appreciate it.
It takes good care of me.
And I bet yours does too.
elizabeth-harrell.com 