I can't fit any more, yet I still look. The truth about the tableware obsession

I'm Misa, and I love Japanese tableware, Western tableware, and casual everyday pieces alike. In this note, I share the joy of arranging everyday meals with tableware, encounters with new pieces, and the dishes that have captured my heart.

My cupboard is piled high with dishes, and it's already reached the point where it's hard to take out the plates at the bottom.

There are plates sleeping in the back of the shelf that I hardly ever use, and even though I decided that I wouldn't buy any for a while, I still find myself stopping whenever I walk past a home goods store.

I used to wonder if I was the only one, but I think this is a common experience for anyone who loves tableware.

Today, I've been thinking in my own way about that feeling of 'I have enough, but I still keep looking.'

I'm not looking because I'm lacking

At first, I thought I was looking because I didn't have enough.

But in reality, the number of plates I can store and the combinations I use daily are already mostly decided.

Even so, when I see a new plate, for some reason, my heart is moved.

When I think about it, it feels less like 'because I need it' and more like 'because it seems just right for me.'

Even if the shelf is full, I might be seeing the plates not as 'replenishments' but as 'options for my mood.'

When I think of it that way, the act of looking itself doesn't seem so strange anymore.

The number of plates on the shelf doesn't decrease, but the desire to look only grows.

That might seem contradictory, but it could actually be a natural reaction.

What am I actually choosing when I look at plates?

It may seem like I'm choosing the plates themselves, but sometimes I'm actually choosing the scene that lies beyond them.

For example, I want to serve dinner on a slightly more refined plate on a day when I'm a bit tired.

Perhaps that feeling comes first, and the plate is just the form that receives that feeling.

That is why I feel that "whether it fits in storage" and "whether I want it" are judged in completely different places.

Even if my head is counting the number, my heart is not counting the scenery.

I think that gap is one of the reasons why I keep looking.

In fact, when I pick up a plate at a general store, I hardly ever think about "how many more can fit."

What I am thinking about is what kind of food I want to put on that plate, and what kind of day I want to use it on.

Even unused plates have a role

Every time I saw the plates sleeping in the back of the shelf, I felt a little awkward at first.

It was like a small sense of guilt, thinking, "I ended up buying something I don't use."

But when I look closely, those plates are keeping the "memory of my heart being moved a little" from the moment I bought them exactly as it was.

Even if the frequency of use is low, there are moments when I open the shelf and think, "I bought this because I liked it."

I think that is another form of satisfaction, different from practicality.

Not every plate needs to be used every day, and sometimes plates that only come out occasionally create a little bit of breathing room in life.

Thinking about it that way, maybe I don't need to reflect more than necessary on the fact that "they increase even though I don't use them."

Even if they are sleeping as inventory on the shelf, I think they are properly fulfilling their role in my heart.

You don't have to deny yourself for looking

I think the reason I look even when the shelves are full is not because I am selfish or contradictory, but because it is an expression of my desire to adjust my mood in daily life.

Of course, whether to buy or not is a different story, and looking and owning are not the same thing.

But if I deny even the moment of "looking," I feel like the very sense of enjoying life becomes a little cramped.

Perhaps the inventory on our shelves and the movements of our hearts operate on fundamentally different standards.

If we accept that premise, our feelings the next time we look at tableware might appear a little different.

On days when you think, 'I bought more again,' before turning it into a subject of regret, it might be nice to look back for a moment and wonder what kind of mood you were in that made it catch your eye.

I feel the answer lies not within the shelves, but within yourself on that day.

Thank you for reading until the end.