Everyone has their own comfortable ratio of how much stuff occupies a certain amount of space. For me, the illusion of less stuff just embodies a sense of neatness and organization, and if I’m being honest, a lot more inner peace. I like to keep as little out as possible, even if it means stuffing our closets and cabinets and drawers full to the brim. I prefer clear countertops in the kitchen, save for the appliances that we use daily, for practicality’s sake. Although, I have considered putting away the microwave and coffee grinder daily, but living with another person doesn’t make such decisions so easy. Compromise does the world good, I suppose. The dining table is usually twelve feet of pure wood, sans centerpieces, lest we buy fruit for the week. The couch has no pillows, but is still equally as comfortable. And the floors are bare. Which is mainly what this post is about.
When we moved into our current space a year and a half ago, I obsessed about buying the perfect rug. I lost sleep over what size is appropriate for the living room, and the dining room, and the office. I learned about all sorts of “proper proportions” and rug materials and eye-appealing patterns. I even bought a few and tried them out.
Rugs are advertised as the perfect accessory. Supposedly a tool used to separate designated spaces in an open floor plan, they are also useful for muffling sounds and for comfort when you feel like playing board games on the floor. Ever played a board game on hardwood? I have, and my knees still feel a little resentment towards that one afternoon.
Eventually, after exhausting myself thoroughly on the topic, I let it go, and am all the happier for it. You see, no rug felt right. No pattern felt neutral enough to last a lifetime, and rugs were too much of an investment to make do with a few months of use. No rug was wide enough for the 12 foot table, or narrow enough for the loft. The “appropriate sizes” made the whole space feel cluttered, as if the ceilings miraculously shrunk a few feet. And the open space no longer felt open. But the worst thing? Rugs muffled the acoustics of the 24 foot ceilings. And that just won’t do. The thing with advertisements is, they can convince you of needing something you actually don’t.
I’ve found happiness with the beauty of exposed rich, deep, mahogany-hued wooden floors. It’s been a perfect place to lay down my yoga mat. And it’s kept the open layout, well, open. We could play a little furniture tetris whenever we want, depending on the occasion we are hosting. People feel as if there’s more square footage to the place, without there really been much. And sweeping floors has been that much easier. Rejoice for simpler weekly habits. Plus, I just feel so much more sane. So here’s to a little bit of sanity, and to absolutely no rug.