The older I get, the more I find myself drawn to simpler times, not because life was easier then, because it wasn’t, but because it makes me feel more connected to family members who are no longer with us.

My grandparents and great-grandparents were hard workers. They raised world-champion bulls, canned vegetables in hot kitchens, hung laundry on clotheslines, tended gardens, mended clothing, and made do with what they had.

But there was a richness in that simplicity.

Recently, while helping my Dad clean out my aunt’s apartment who moved into a nursing home, I brought back to my home the lace curtains that had hung in her windows for more than 25 years. I would consider them fancy just because they are lace, something you don’t see much of anymore. They had been hanging so long, the top of the curtains – the part the rod goes through – were stuck on there, probably from years and years of dirt and a little kitchen grease.

But they still smelled like Aunt Martha – Anais Anais perfume.

When I got home, I debated on washing them, but that meant the scent would be gone. When I unfolded them and hung them up in my kitchen, for a moment, I was standing in her apartment again. The sunlight filtering through those curtains. The familiar comfort of a place that felt unchanged no matter what was happening in the world outside.

I realized in that moment I didn’t bring home a piece or two of fabric. I brought home pieces of a life that no longer existed.

Lately, I’ve noticed myself creating a life that looks a little more like the one my aunt, grandparents and so many others did before.

I’m cooking more from scratch. Not because it’s trendy, but because there is something satisfying about knowing exactly what’s in the food on my table.

I’m buying clothes that look like they are from a different era.

I’m following farmers and homesteaders on social media, fascinated by people who know how to grow food, care for animals, preserve harvests, and live off the land.

The world moves fast. Faster every year, it seems. We’re constantly encouraged to buy more, do more, achieve more, and keep up with everyone around us.

Lately, I’ve been asking myself a different questions.

What if enough is enough?

What if a good life isn’t found in accumulating more things, but in appreciating what we already have?

What if success looks less like hustle and more like peace?

I’m not moving to a farm, at least not yet, but I am learning that simplicity isn’t about where you live. It’s about how you live. It’s slowing down enough to notice the birds outside your window. It’s making a meal instead of ordering one. It’s sitting on the porch in the evening and watching the sun go down, often with a glass of whiskey in hand. It’s surrounding yourself with things that have stories instead of price tags, like my new to me lace curtains hanging in my kitchen.

Life doesn’t have to be grand to be meaningful. Sometimes the most beautiful things are the ones that have been quietly loved for decades. And maybe that’s what I’m really longing for as I get older.

BRB, headed to do some antiquing.

Love. Give. Live.