It’s probably a weekly if not daily discussion in my family: we need a bigger house, but no, what we have is perfect for us and we can adapt it to our changing needs, but still, one more room would solve all our problems, and yet why move when this is still working well for us most of the time and a small house (about 1150 sq ft, if you’re very curious) is what fits our values, though look at this house that’s for sale. It goes on and on, and it’s mostly just talk. We are happy where we are and moving is not something we’ll ever undertake too happily.
So we are at the point where we try to make things work. I don’t have an office space anymore, since our third bedroom has become the guest/baby room, while the baby still actually takes space in the master bedroom (which could otherwise accommodate a small desk). So I created a nook for myself in the basement/laundry room. I don’t have a desk there, just a small couch and my bamboo lap desk. And all the art and spiritual symbols that inspire me and mark this space as mine.
My plan was to get down there every evening for two hours at least, but it rarely works out according to plan. Nonetheless, whenever I get some time to spend in this place, I feel reconnected with myself. It’s because all the objects and all the energy gathered there say nothing about who I am as a mother or wife, or daughter or friend, but only who I am as a writer, editor, and translator. It’s a space that’s all about my work, and aren’t I lucky to have it right in my home? (Or under the home, as it may be.)
I come sometimes here in the evenings, put on a load of laundry, and sit with my laptop or a notebook. The smell, warmth and slightly lulling sound of the washer are all part of the experience of disconnecting this space from the upstairs where the children run wild. It feels good. I feel very lucky. It’s not a whole room of my own, but it’s kind of perfect for me. I don’t think I need the room. What would I do without the dishwasher?