Change

I like to think that I'm good with change.  I love traveling and imagining myself living in my destination.  I'm infamous for calling my husband from, say, Dallas, and announcing, "Pack your bags!  We're moving!"  I enjoy looking at real estate listings and envisioning where I would put our furniture if we bought each house.  Rearranging furniture is my jam, and man-oh-man do I love purging and reorganizing the pantry!

But I'm also a sucker for steadiness.  Every summer, without fail, I reorganize my library.  The fiction titles are alphabetized, and the nonfiction books are arranged according to the Dewey Decimal System.  When I go home to Georgia, it makes my heart ache to see that my room, once covered with my friends' signatures on every wall and ceiling surface, has been repainted.  And when I drive past a well known forest to find the trees cleared, I tear up.

Yet I am currently making some big changes in my life.  I just began a new career, one I never anticipated, but one to which I believe I've been led.  It meant many heartbreaking farewells, including farewell to a career I loved so completely, the only career besides writing that I ever envisioned for myself.  Still, my first days in my new venture have confirmed that when I made the change, I was right.  Emerson once wrote, "Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.  Accept the place the divine providence has found for you, the society of your contemporaries, the connection of events" ("Self-Reliance").  I have been sitting quietly for months, listening.  And here I am.  It's no surprise to me that the day I made the decision to change is the same day I found out that Sweet Divinity is now entering the editing process at its publisher.  This is the beginning of a new era.

So naturally I needed to make more tangible changes to match the changes inside of me.  I've been practicing yoga every morning (and I bought an essential oil diffuser which has added even more sensory experience to my practice), and I created a dedicated writing space.

Our family playroom has been a disaster for months.  It wasn't even usable space anymore.  The room was crammed full of toys, discarded souvenirs, and furniture that didn't seem to fit anywhere else in the house.  Also, for months I've been longing for a dedicated writing space.  It's been too hot to write outside on the back porch, and having a four-year old in the house doesn't allow for much privacy.  Yesterday I found my husband cleaning the playroom and, within twenty-four hours, I had my own space.

The desk at which I write was originally part of my mother's bedroom set.  It's late '60s/early'70s green and off-white, with a green vinyl cushioned stool for a seat.  When I was growing up, the desk and seat served my grandmother in her sewing endeavors.  On this desk she made all of my theatre costumes, summer dresses, and even a formal dress for my senior Sweetheart Dance.  Its central drawer contains literary finger puppets of Virginia Woolf and Zora Neale Hurston, cards printed with inspiring quotes, and your typical desk necessities.  Another drawer holds a notepad, post-its, index cards (because I LOVE writing on index cards!), and daily checklists and planning sheets.  The middle drawer contains my stationary--because I refuse to let the handwritten letter die--not on my watch!  Finally, the bottom drawer holds mementos--mostly artwork created by my kids, but also my Hamilton playbook and Disney Magic Bands.

The top of the desk and the area surrounding it are decorated with items that inspire me.  In addition to the photos and art pieces I've already written about on the blog or on social media are a candle scented to evoke Edgar Allan Poe, a Jane Austen prayer candle, a mug from the Library of Congress, working notebooks for my ghostwriting project, and whale bookends that I've stolen from my son because he can't yet appreciate Moby-Dick (yes, I know Moby Dick was a white whale).  In future days I'll be highlighting these inspiring objects on social media.

If you feel as if you're in a rut, I encourage you to re-imagine your space.  I didn't spend a cent on this project, but I feel renewed and, honestly, more established in my writing.  Even if it's a shelf in your bedroom, I ask you to re-imagine a space today.  Shift some items around, purge what doesn't bring you joy, and bring to the space objects that feed you.  I promise you'll feel renewed.

And a little cat-cow yoga wouldn't hurt either.