cardboard floors

There are parts of the house I used to avoid.

The parlor floor, with its high ceilings and tall windows, has always held the most promise. But right now, it’s covered in cardboard — a thin layer taped across the floorboards to protect what’s still in progress. For months, it’s felt like a reminder of everything unfinished.

Lately though, I’ve been showing up anyway.

On days when I get dressed up — heels on, trousers sweeping the floor, a sheer brown shirt that moves like water when I walk — I find myself drawn to this room. The light hits differently here. My box braids fall down my back in long, sculptural lines. I look like myself. I feel like myself. And that matters.

What I’m learning is that beauty doesn’t wait for perfection. Some of the most grounding moments I’ve had in this house have happened not after something was completed, but right in the middle of its becoming. I’m trying to honor that. To step fully into the spaces that aren’t done. To imagine what they’ll hold one day — the gatherings, the quiet mornings, the fullness of life moving through them.

Standing here, on floors still wrapped in cardboard, I remind myself: you don’t have to wait to feel at home.

You just have to show up.

-L