We’re in the middle of redoing our upstairs bathroom, and today we went to the stone yard to choose the countertops.
We arrived with a plan (or so we thought). Something safe. Something quiet. A marble, maybe a travertine. Neutral, timeless, predictable in the best way. But we left with something entirely different: a bold green slab threaded with yellow veining, and a backup option in a matte black stone scattered with crystals.
I knew I’d enjoy the stone yard. I’ve seen the interior design posts, the neatly framed slabs held up like trophies of good taste. What I didn’t expect was to feel like I had stepped into Mother Nature’s private gallery.
Every slab felt like a standalone artwork. Dramatic, imperfect, bold. And knowing these pieces came straight from the earth, formed over time with pressure, heat, and patience was overwhelming. If you dig deep enough, if you look closely enough, it’s all already here. The color, the texture, the movement. Proof that the earth has been making art long before we ever tried to replicate it.
I felt genuinely high on life. Maybe it was the crystals. Maybe it was the sheer abundance of beauty in one place. Veins like brushstrokes. Tiny rivers frozen mid-flow. Small fractures and flecks that made each slab feel alive. I could have stayed for hours, just standing there, taking it all in.
In the end, we chose a green-and-white quartzite for the bathroom. I fell for it instantly and thankfully, so did my boyfriend. It felt right in a way that didn’t need explaining.
There’s something grounding about choosing a material that already has a history before it ever enters your home. This stone has lived many lives before it will ever hold a sink or catch morning light. And soon, it will quietly become part of ours reminding me, every day, that the most beautiful things are often the ones that already exist, just waiting to be noticed.
