Words and Photography by Morgan Day Cecil

I live in Portland, Oregon, a city full of hip, young artisans, craftsmen, and entrepreneurs who all seem to be curating something.

There are folks in my town who curate donuts. Plenty who curate motorcycles. Lots curating leather goods and Pendleton products. And, of course, coffee and beer.

But curating isn’t unique to Portland. In fact, “curate” has become a marketing buzzword for those with blogs, websites and company Pinterest boards.

My husband and I also curate, leading workshops to help couples create a life of true romance and meaningful adventure together. One of the first lessons we teach is the art of curating memories.

The verb, to curate, comes from the noun, curator, which literally means, “one who manages or oversees, specifically as the administrative director of a museum collection or a library.”

We manage the objects we put on display in our home. We oversee the shoes stacked in our closet. We thoughtfully collect books and wine with the heart’s desire to collect meaningful things so those meaningful things can be properly appreciated.

The mind is a mysterious thing. It possesses so much power and capability and also so much tendency to sabotage. A relationship is made marvelous or miserable first in the mind and then in the home.

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