Well, no, I can’t exactly claim the same perspectives of Monet. But truthfully, I’d never deny the beauty of a room of one’s own. A space for writing or thinking, for arranging things just-so, for practicing what it means to make a small, seemingly insignificant mark on this world – or at least your own corner of it.
We’re all in want of our X on the map. A backyard willow to sit beneath. The front porch swing. A corner booth in the local bistro.
For me, it is my new couch.
Typing on the sofa, entertaining friends over chips and guac. A space for both quiet and laughter, equal parts peace and joy. On any given afternoon, with any given beverage, I retreat to my rabbit hole with something restorative on the agenda – notebook, novel, nap.
And then, as it happens, I miss my little ones with their pulsing bodies of energy. Remembering their big ideas and adventures, their explorations and experiments. How did they grow up so fast I wonder?
