My husband gave me a desk for my birthday this year. And by this I mean he cleaned out our spare room (aka "the office") so I could make room for a desk and some of my personal things.
My desk is utilitarian. A boxy black tabletop affixed to a tool bookshelf on one side, and a smaller one on the other. On it rests my laptop computer, a box of bills to pay and paid bills to file, and accouterments of an ordinary office. I look up and see a collage I made more than 10 years ago, framed and reminding me that no one can squelch the light that shines within me. I also see a picture of my family and another of my nieces and nephews. Hastily decoupaged tins, commandeered from the bathrooms where they once held cotton balls and band-aids, now hold my dusty collection of designer markers and colored pencils collected long ago to supplement a stamp art habit. And, of course, a photo of Paris, taken on my first trip there with BMG more than seven years ago.
Looking around the 6' x 4' space I've been granted in the office, I am reminded that it is energizing and essential to have one's own space for creative endeavors.
Now that I have a desk, I'm finding myself excited about all of the computer projects that were piling up. Projects like:
- Help my husband organize the accounting and project management system for his business
- Teaching myself Wordpress so I can work on our blog and other social media properties
- Helping my husband set up an Etsy shop to sell his photography
- Starting to write again
- Starting to do more paper crafting
I hadn't realized how much being forced to pay bills from the kitchen counter or being relegated to the cat hair covered couch to do my blogging in the wee hours of the morning before my hubby flipped on ESPN was cramping my style. But it was.
I write this at 10:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning. ESPN is, in fact, blaring from the living room (which is also the kitchen and the dining room in our tiny home). But I'm neither distracted nor bothered by it. And, from my little space in the office, all I can see are the tools of my productive life. There are no rugs that need to be vacuumed, dishwashers that need to be emptied, litter boxes that cry to be cleared, and washing machines whose silence reminds me it is time to throw their contents into the dryer.
It doesn't take a lot to make this girl happy. And I am happy to have a room of my own. Thanks BMG.