On charm, patina, and being “too much”

Recently, a wonderfully preserved historic Gilded Age townhome near me was purchased and completely gutted by it’s new owners.

Before the sale, I remember hearing someone describe the original interiors as “too much work” to preserve.

And maybe practically speaking, they were.

But every time I walk past it now and look through the now barren windows, I feel a strange kind of grief. Because what was removed was not just woodwork or marble or old architectural detail. It was texture. Warmth. History. Irreplaceable soul. Evidence of a life fully lived before ours.

It made me realize how differently some of us move through the world.

Some people experience old homes as burdens. Others experience them as living things worthy of care, reverence, and full of endless potential.

This piece is for the latter.

I don’t want new. I want old.
I want charm. I want worn.

I want soaring ceilings
and rooms with a cozy feeling.

I want creaky hardwood floors
that have seen better days,

and stained marble fireplaces
whose embers have warmed winters away.

I want homes that others would say are too much
—
as I have often been accused of being such.

And if you’re interested, this is the property I’m referring to, before it was completely gutted inside.