Come around to our back porch, step over nubby sticks of sidewalk chalk and scattered bubble wands, and open up the ancient screen door (I think you'll find it slams behind you in the most satisfying of ways) where you'll find a door with peeling paint and original hardware: the entrance to my office.
And by office, I mean one corner of the corner of the laundry room where I retreat to write.
When I began blogging in 2006, Dacey had just turned one. I soon discovered that because of my blog, my view on our days began to shift. I found myself bringing my camera along with us so I could take pictures of what we were doing - all of which I planned to post on my blog. Beyond the carefully shot and edited pictures, however, I found myself mentally narrating our days.
This mental narration was actually not all that new to me - it was a practice I had engaged in as long as I could remember, and I was shocked when I finally realized this isn't, you know, normal. But the ongoing narration had now taken on a new format - I was composting blog posts in my mind as our days played out.
At some point, I began to chastise myself for this. Why couldn't I just stay present in the moment? Why was my brain constantly writing writing writing? What had blogging done to me?
I began to think I would have to shut down my blog ... I just couldn't turn off the compose screen in my head.
But then (and I don't know when, exactly), there was this moment of clarity I experienced which allowed me to realize that the endless stream of words running through my head wasn't a symptom of bad mothering; it was, in all actuality, the expression of something that was as intrinsic to me as the freckles on my face or the flecks of gold in my hazel eyes.
I am a writer.
It has taken a long, long time to be able to say that without breaking eye contact, without shifting in my seat uncomfortably or qualifying it with some explanation meant to minimize it: as a hobby or in my free time or just a little blog.
In my life, there is one person who has always been way ahead of me in describing me as writer without so much as a flinch or stutter: my sweet husband. Even before blogging was a thing, he constantly challenged me - "What have you written lately? When are you going to write again?"
Last January, as an act of love and service and just inexplicable belief in me, he bought me a computer that was to be mine alone and helped me clear out an area for an office. For work. For my work.
And so, this is my office. And yes, it's in our laundry room, the one room of our house that appears to have escaped the years of updates and improvements this seventy-year old house has seen. Its wood paneling is marked and marred and the linoleum floor is so hideous that you can't help but to laugh. My desk is a Craigslist find that is strong and sturdy and marked up with all kinds of character.
We moved most of our art and craft supplies in here. It's strange, but somehow the physical proximity of watercolors and yarn and felt make me feel more creatively centered.
I keep meaning to put up some visual inspiration boards, but that hasn't happened yet. The girls have supplied plenty of artwork to keep me feeling inspired.
And because I'm very, very twenty-first century, I've even managed to find a way to make my writing mobile. I turned this Thirty-One organizing tote into a writing-to-go bag filled with journals and legal pads and pens and other tools of the trade. I can grab it and take it with me to another room or on car trips or weekends away. See? Very modern, don't you think?
Now, I need to prepare you for something. Some of you may not have office space, and maybe you are feeling a little bit jealous of my laundry room office right now. Well, prepare yourself to be just absolutely green with envy over these next few shots. I hope we can still be friends after you see that I have
a Shop Vac
in my office.
You're dying, right?
Oh! And look! A trash can! That never gets emptied! And because we don't have a garage, I get to keep all of Kyle's toolboxes and cord and cable boxes and all kinds of neat gadgets in my work space. You know you are going to want to pin that beautiful, inspiring shot on Pinterest, right?
What else?
Oh yes. I've shared many, many things with my friends and readers through the years, but never before have I aired my actual dirty laundry. But I feel like I can trust you with this:
(Pink laundry is one constant in my life.)
We do so love our old house. Big feelings of true love. For real. But one thing all old houses lack is ample closet space. And so anytime Laura and I Skype conference with our editor, they both get a lovely view over my shoulder of the overflow of Kyle's closet:
Also, we have a chest freezer in here. Sorry to deprive you of a thoughtfully composed picture of it. You'll just have to use your imagination.
So this is my office. It's not much, but it's of vital importance to me. It is a kid-free zone that I camp out in for several hours pre-dawn every morning. That is sacred time in this sacred space. I pop in and out as my schedule allows throughout the day. Sometimes I come here to hide.
And then every single evening after the girls are in bed, I deliberately turn off the lamp, close out Tweetdeck and Skype and Firefox and shut the whole computer down. It's a physical reminder that it's okay - in fact, it's good and necessary - to be done with work for the day.
And tomorrow morning, I'll find my way here again.
Because this is where I write.
Do you have a place to call your own where you take up your craft - whatever that craft may be? A dedicated room or physical office or a corner of the couch? I would love to hear about your space or your future plans for a space of your own ....
