What My Southern Upbringing Taught Me About Living a Beautiful Life
HOMEA MEANINGFUL LIFE
Tammy Renée | Creating the Beautiful Life
5 min read
There are things I grew up with that I didn’t know were meaningful at the time.
They were simply… life.
The way our home was cared for.
The way people were welcomed there.
The way time seemed to stretch when someone stopped by for a visit.
The way simple beauty was so quietly woven into our everyday lives.
And now, looking back, I can see that so much of what I value most in life began there.
That simple Southern upbringing had a life of its own, weaving its threads deep into the fabric of my being, so deeply that it's never left me. I’ve stood atop the Eiffel Tower in Paris and sat beneath the lights of Broadway in New York City. Yet no matter where I go or what I experience in my adult life, I remain that small-town Southern girl, shaped by a love for family, home, and the beauty found in simple things.
Home Was the Center of Everything
In the South, home is not just a place you return to at the end of the day. It is the center of life.
Overflowing ferns and red geraniums on the front porch
Beautiful pink azaleas lining the front of the house
Honeysuckle blooming along the back fence line
Lace curtains in the windows, with the light glowing through them in the evenings
There was a sense that our home mattered, not in a performative way, but in a deeply rooted one.
There was no need to call ahead if you wanted to stop by. Our family had an open-door kind of life. People were always welcome. Some of my richest memories are simply of people gathered together in our home, laughing, eating, telling stories, while we kids played.
My mother brought the gregarious energy. My father brought the food. Together, they created something I didn’t fully understand at the time, but now, when I get too busy to spend time with friends and family, I feel its absence.
It was about connecting with others. And how people felt when they spent time in our home.
And beyond this, home life was about the quiet rituals of gracious living.
Saying, “Yes, ma’am” and “No, sir.”
Writing thank yous, birthday cards, and sympathy cards.
Bringing a meal to a friend who was sick.
Welcoming new neighbors.
Life Was Meant to Be Felt
When I think back on my childhood, I don’t just remember what we did. Most importantly, I remember how everything felt.
The windows open in the evenings, listening to the sound of crickets and bullfrogs. The soft hum of oscillating fans on my grandmother’s screened-in porch.
On that porch, I can remember playing quietly on the blue-painted wood floors while the women in my family talked for hours.
I didn’t realize it then, but I was absorbing something much deeper than conversation.
I was learning a rhythm of life. A feeling.
There were fireflies in Mason jars — my father carefully poking holes in the lid so they could breathe.
There were afternoons spent blackberry picking with my grandmother, followed by bowls of berries sprinkled with sugar and cream.
There was peach cobbler made with my Granny in her kitchen.
There was the scent of gardenias on the path leading from my Granny’s to my Grandmother’s place.
And then, there were the roses.
I used to help my father in the garden. And when I was eight years old, he surprised me with a small raised bed on the side of the house for a rose garden of my own.
I was completely captivated and so proud as I tended my very own rose bushes. That love of roses became something I carried with me into adulthood.
Looking back, I can see that what I was learning wasn’t simply about how to garden. I was learning how to pay attention.
How to notice beauty.
How to create it.
And how to tend it with care.
We Carried the Past With Us
Another thing I didn’t question growing up was the way we honored the past. Family stories were always being told.
I heard them over and over again on that porch and around dinner and picnic tables. Stories about people I had never met, places I had never been, and events that had happened long before I was born. And yet, they didn’t feel distant at all. They felt familiar, like they belonged to me, too.
And we didn’t just carry stories from the past, we carried things.
I have a small poetry book that my great-great-uncle kept in his pocket during World War I.
I have an old hymnal that belonged to my great-grandfather.
I have a fragile teapot with pink roses that once belonged to my great-grandmother.
These things aren't tucked away. They are displayed, cared for, and treasured. They, and the stories that go with them, are part of our everyday life.
The Beauty of a Simple Life
Having said all that, we didn’t live a perfect life. We had family losses and challenges, just like everyone else.
We also didn’t live elaborate lives. We took about one vacation a year. The rest of the time, life was made up of simple things:
Campfires.
Playing in the woods with my cousins.
A day trip to the Gulf to go crabbing and have a picnic on the beach.
Sitting with my grandmothers doing handwork — sewing, crocheting, or shelling peas.
Gathering around the record player, listening to Frank Sinatra or Patsy Cline.
There was a rhythm to our lives.
A fullness that didn’t come from doing more or having a bigger life, but from being present in the life we were already living.
Me (always near the roses) with my brother in the 1970s
What I'm Carrying Forward
I am not trying to recreate my childhood. Instead, I want to live in the present while continuing to live by the values that have meant so much to me.
A home that feels cared for and welcoming.
A life that pays attention to simple beauty.
A pace that leaves room for people.
A connection to what came before.
A simplicity that allows life to feel full.
These things are not bound to a place.
They are ways of living.
How You Can Bring This Into Your Own Life
If this way of living speaks to you, begin simply by incorporating some of the same things:
Make your home life a priority. Not with perfection, but with the care you put into it.
Create moments of beauty. Open the windows. Bring in flowers. Light a candle.
Slow your pace. Linger in your conversations. As you go through the day, resist the urge to rush.
Reach out. Invite someone over. Drop something off for a friend. Write a note to someone and drop it in the mail.
Honor your own story. Display what matters from your family history. Remember the good things from your past.
Choose simplicity where you can. By simplifying life, we become more present to what remains.
A beautiful life is quietly shaped by the way you live your ordinary days.
And sometimes, as I've experienced, it's about remembering your past and intentionally choosing what you want to bring forward into the present.
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