Day 7: The Importance of A Comfortable Writing Space

Hello, my lovely Creators!

Recently, I went back home to Texas for a visit, and while I was there, I grabbed a few things of mine that I left behind when I moved to Arizona. I pretty much left behind everything when I went. Most importantly I left behind my books. Boxes and boxes of books sit in my old bedroom of my family home, waiting for the day they can return to a proper bookshelf.

One thing I’ve noticed on this journey of mine is how vital it is to feel comfortable in your space. By space I mean the place where you sit every day as you open your document on your computer and start typing, where you sit with your notebook and your pen or pencil, the place where you take out your paints, open your software, set up your stand and sheet music. The place where you create, whichever way it is that you create.

For my boyfriend, his space must be clear of anything that could make it difficult to concentrate or could get in his way. As of late, he has added these funny looking arms to his table that hold up one of his monitors and the tablet he draws on which connects to the computer. They allow him to bring monitor or tablet closer or push them out of the way. It makes things more efficient and straightforward. He does 3D art and the fewer distractions, the better. Having fewer items around him is all good and fine for him, but that doesn’t seem to work for me.

Before I moved, I had a room to myself that had my desk and computer in it, however, my desk was far from empty. I had bonsai trees and pictures in frames sitting at the corners. Shelves of varying sizes sat full of books around me. There were seven in all if you can believe it. I’m sure there would be more now if I had everything set up properly. Knick-knacks filled up the small spaces on the shelves along with more pictures. I had candles placed around the room and lanterns with tiny tealight candles sitting on standby for when I was ready to write.
That was my thing; I loved having candles lit while I would write.

When I left home all that was left behind, and little by little I’ve been bringing a bit of home back to Arizona with me. On my last visit, I managed to snag a couple of my lanterns. It’s all part of my master plan to make my space more like it used to be. I even have a new bookshelf set up right next to me with the few books I brought with me and a few that I’ve bought since I came here.

The point I’m trying to make is that although people can write anywhere, and I have, sometimes it’s good to have space just for you for that purpose. It’s something that I have noticed about myself at one point. I didn’t feel like myself anymore. I felt empty and alone in a place that did not resemble me at all. I know we are not defined by the thing we own but if they are things that bring you comfort and ease your mind, are they not important?
I know that when I move from my apartment, it’s going to be quite tricky packing up all these things and carrying it all down a flight of stairs, but it’s worth it.

Little by little, I feel more comfortable in my space and little by little I feel more like myself.

I don’t know why I keep giving you guys two stories each time I post. I guess I want to share it all with you. These were written a day apart, so there you go. Let me know what you think.

After a year had passed, she had decided that perhaps the only reason she could not move on was that she had been fighting against the lesson. All this time it was something that only she could learn by herself without a teacher or other students to help her along the way. She had wanted to take a leap and do it all on her own. At that moment, she had realized that the only way to go forward was to make the small steps she detested all her life. It was a life lesson about pride, and she failed.

 

She looked up, gazed around the room, and out the window. Her lungs ached to return to the normal function of inhaling fresh air. She was no longer hiding in dark alleys or hunting and killing the monsters that everyone else thought to be a myth. The fear of false accusations and an execution subsided with every passing minute. Life had returned to normal or at least the closest thing to it. As she turned the last page of the book, a sense of satisfaction set in. It barely lasted before the sadness grew in realizing her story was over.

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