This is the story of a little blue cupboard—and how it reminded me of the soul of a home, and the beauty of creative expression in a world obsessed with beige.

I've been browsing Marketplace for weeks on end, looking for furniture for our new house. The area we have moved to doesn't seem to have as many options as if we lived in a city, so day and evenings, I scour the internet to try to find pieces that can make our place home and give it some soul.

My partner and I are both very involved in the interior design. Unfortunately for me, he wants a hand in all the interior design decisions. That's his slightly gay side coming out to play, I joke.
While he has good taste and I appreciate the teamwork, I also scoff at the need to gain anyone's approval when it comes to all things creative. Including, choosing the furniture and where to put it. But alas, I also want him to be happy with our living sanctuary.

One area of the house that I have most looked forward to decorating has been my office, because there, that's my kingdom, in which he has no say.
I am the Queen and ruler and can pick and choose where anything goes.

A while ago, while scrolling Marketplace, I was looking for a cupboard for my office to keep my art supplies in. Most of the listings were generic, mass-produced pieces of overpriced furniture. Then a little blue cupboard caught my eye. But I quickly dismissed it as it was out of my budget.

Over the weeks while scrolling I continued to think about that little blue cupboard, like little reminders from my intuition. Then it popped up on my feed again with the price reduced to $80. I offered $50 and the seller accepted.

We drove over an hour to pick it up, in the rain. It felt like a long journey.
We got there and the owner walked us through the house to look at the little blue cupboard. The house was nice and clean, but...generic and uninspiring. Modern, wooden floors, nothing stood out. The furniture looked like it was bought straight from a catalog. The same...everything looked the same. It was a well-kept house, but it was missing something. It felt empty and cold.

As we walked through to the back of the house, we entered the dark laundry. The owner told us to disregard this room as it hadn't been renovated like the rest of the house, yet.

As if we would care.

Why would we?

We turned the corner and there she was, in the middle of the dark room, sticking out from the browns and beiges like a sore thumb. I fell in love with her straight away.

He told me her story, it belonged to his grandma, many moons ago. Then when he and his wife had a baby he added a blue coat of paint over the top of it and scratched it up in all the perfect places, added shelves and kept her in the baby's room. As the child grew she was cast out to the laundry room. Not fitting in with the renovation plans. Hidden.

Until now.

He asked me what I thought, thinking I would be disappointed. To his surprise, I said I loved her and handed over the money quickly.

As she was carried out of his tidy, cold house, I couldn't help but look into a bedroom to try to look for something unique, something that told me a bit more about who he was. The only thing that stood out was a large photo of a smiling, old man, who I thought may have been his father. A special photo, in a special, central spot.
The only thing that told me about this man.
The only thing that conjured up any feeling in this cold house.

As my little blue cupboard exited the space, It felt like one of the last bits of uniqueness had left the building.
The last bit of colour. The last bit of soul.

As we drove home, I wondered where I'd put her.
How I would make her a feature in my office. I marveled at the perfect blue colour that invoked a sense of peace and joy in me.
As she entered our house she brought something with her.
That spark, of my own style, my own uniqueness, of my own creative expression.

I found a spot for her, cleaned and styled her with some of my favourite things. Once shoved into a dark corner of the laundry, she is now a prized possession and bringer of great joy.

Sold for $50, now priceless.
A unique piece of antique art for me, with character, soul, and a story.

I wonder when we all decided to follow trends? When did we allow stylists to dictate the look of our own spaces? When did we have our own imaginations highjacked by society's constructs? Where has our creative spark gone?

I really do believe a space can represent the creativity and aliveness that we hold inside of ourselves, but these days buildings are looking more square and drab, walls are almost always white, and interior design is beige and too styled.

Where is there room for our uniqueness? Where do we make room for our soul's creative expression in a world that likes to put people into tidy boxes so they forget their spark and 'joie de vivre'?

Allow yourself to ponder on this for a while, look around your room, your house, your office, clothing, and life in general...does it represent who you really, REALLY are?

You know...the REAL YOU, the one before society, parents, teachers told you how to be.

Or are you allowing your spark and uniqueness to be put in a box of belonging to a lost society that wants to paint everything beige?

How do you honour your uniqueness?
Where do you allow it to breathe life into the mundane?

Will people recognize it as uniquely yours if they see it?
Ponder.
Allow yourself to ponder on this, Wild One.

Raising a glass to your unique expression.
May it remain firmly grounded in how you choose to show up in the world.

Stef Xx

P.S. If this story stirred something in you…a longing to reconnect with your own spark, your uniqueness, your soul’s expression—I want you to know, you’re not alone. The To Be Wild Membership is opening again soon, and it’s a space for women ready to come home to themselves, in all their colour and creative expression. Keep your eyes peeled—doors will open very soon.