We Choose The Stories We Live

I have tried, and probably failed, for years to explain my love (and what some would call obsession) with Magnolia at the Silos. Especially now that I live in Waco and am often surrounded by people who are indifferent or even dislike the Magnolia aesthetic and empire, I find myself trying to rationalize even in my own mind why I have been and am still so drawn in to what Chip and Jo have created. I've struggled to put into words the affect the company, design, and buildings have on me but as I was looking at images of their fall displays this evening (of which I haven't had time to see in person yet) it dawned on me why I have such an infinity for all things Magnolia. It's because the story they have created has allowed me to, on many occasions, just breathe. Just be. Just enjoy.

That might sound silly, so let me explain. I have always cared about what I surround myself with. I am a nester, a collector, a designer, and a decorator. I shape the world around me (which is usually just my apartment) to tell a story about who I am and how I see the world. It's as simple as the plants I choose to nurture in my space and as complicated as the people I choose to invite into it. What and who I surround myself with matters. And the environment in which I live shapes how I see the world and who I see myself as. I don't know if that's just me, or if everyone reading this is thinking "Duh. That's what life is." But either way, here we go.

Over the years I have walked into friend's homes (whether dorms, apartments, or houses) and saw that they had blank walls, or mismatched ugly furniture, or things hung in odd groupings with little rhyme or reason behind their decor choices and wondered how they could even stand to be in there all the time. Cheap picture frames hung too low to the furniture, rugs placed in awkward spots and couches turned at odd angels sent me into a tailspin of thoughts about how these people could possibly be comfortable in that space. It was a mystery to me.

Having grown up a bit I now understand that not everyone thrives on aesthetic beauty or intuitively knows how to throw a cozy living room together, but my need for order and beauty in my own spaces hasn't changed. Now don't get me wrong, I know I have lived a life of privilege that has allowed me to have nice things, either because of my parents' generosity or the paychecks I now receive for the great job that I have, but regardless I've always had the luxury of being able to focus on beauty in my life, and not just survival. That does not go unnoticed by me, and I am extremely grateful.

Walking into Magnolia, Magnolia Press, or Magnolia Table you see immediately that everything is well thought out. From the seasonal displays to the messages on the mirrors in the bathrooms, to the fonts used on tags and menus, there isn't a single thing that has gone unnoticed or over looked.

For someone with obsessive compulsive tendencies and anxieties, walking into a place designed by Joanna Gaines (and her team) is like a breath of fresh air. There's nothing out of place or disorderly. There's nothing that doesn't fit or seems thrown together at the last minute. For someone like me there is a calmness to order and beauty and a well thought-out design. The musicians that Chip and Joanna hire to bear their souls on stage, the causes and families they interview and donate money to, the food they offer on their menus and the values they choose to highlight all tell a story about how they see the world and they welcome everyone else into it.

Magnolia is thoughtful and proof that there's someone else out there who sees the world in stories and moments and possibilities just as I do. It creates a world of hope and thoughtfulness and love. It displays messages through its images. Messages that say how you see the world matters. What and who you surround yourself with matters. The stories you tell yourself matter.

It's this time of year that I'm usually getting really excited in anticipation for the fall Silobration, celebrating Magnolia's birthday at the Silos. On a late, chilly October evening (usually close to or on my birthday) my mom and I bundle up (most often with raincoats and boots) and stand in line for hours and talk to strangers, most of whom are tourists (which I once was also) just hoping to get a single evening of the promised Magnolia magic. We all file into the grass in front of the Silos stage and sing along all night to my all-time favorite band who sings music that absolutely speaks to the very heart of me. Our feet would be killing us and we'd both need to pee but not want to lose our spots, and our noses would be frozen and usually there's someone standing in front of us who is way too tall to be at the front of the stage but for a while none of that matters. Because we're bearing witness to moments of great art and faith and stories and thoughtfulness and hope. And in the great chaos that is life, time slows for just a moment and I can breathe. I can appreciate the moment and all the beauty in it.

This year, for my first time in five or six years, I am going to miss this story being a part of my birthday. I am going to miss a chilly evening on the lawn, possibly being rained on, near Halloween, with the stars above and bright stage lights, surrounded by strangers who for just an evening come together to enjoy the same story and share the same light.

If you managed to get to the end of this post and still don't understand my love for Magnolia then... you probably never will. And that's fine. I just hope you have something, somewhere, or someone in your life that helps you breathe a little easier. That reminds you of the things you love and the places that bring you comfort. I hope you find a space that moves you to tears and a story that makes you wish you were a part of it. That inspires you and delights you and fills you with joy and peace.

That's all.