03/08/2026
For several years, I owned an owl vase.
I bought it in Los Angeles — large, ceramic, deeply self-assured — and when I picked up and moved to Paris, it came along, too. Across an ocean. In luggage that had weight limits. That owl made the cut.
It was, I will admit, a magnificent object. Regal, even. It sat on the shelf and looked exactly like something a person with taste would own. The problem was that it was too tall to actually hold flowers, which meant it was not, technically, a vase. It was a tchotchke with a superiority complex. And every week, without fail, it needed to be dusted — including the inside, because it was hollow and apparently committed to collecting evidence of my domestic shortcomings.
I cleaned that owl for years. I moved it from shelf to shelf across two countries. I worked around it. I thought about it. I managed it. 🦉
And then, when we moved to New Hampshire, I finally let it fly away. It was bittersweet, as these things are.
What I’ve learned since, and what I now think about constantly as a mom of three boys who is deeply allergic to clutter, is that the owl was never really mine. I was *his.*
Every object you own is asking something of you. And the ones that give nothing back will drain you… one dusting at a time.
That reframe is the entire lens of this week’s video — what actually survived three boys, four years, and a genuinely ruthless editing process. Not products I used twice and photographed beautifully. Everything in it is something I reach for every single day.
Link in bio/stories. 🤍
What’s the one thing you own that you know should fly away — but hasn’t yet? Tell me below. 👇
📷 Alyssa Levy
