A developing central theme in my life these days is: creating space.
Something said by One Proned to Analogy recently has gotten lodged in my brain. (Were I writing a real publishable memoir, I'm sure my editor would demand a few paragraphs of character development here, but I'm just not going to do it.) She is moving to a new, larger space, just like I did two years ago. She said, "If I can't find a space to get away in that house then there's something wrong with me."
There's something wrong with me.
I moved into our spacious monster two years ago, with aspirations that it would fix many operational flaws in my life, and it has. There is more space for my family. There is more space for the stuff we have and the stuff we do. But life is not about stuff. Life is about living. Why haven't I outfitted my house for how I want to live? Or at least some portion of it?
We have a spare room opening up soon. That's a long, yet poignant story about my tendancy to give away gifts that I do not first have for myself. I gave this room to ungrateful people when I despirately needed a room for myself.
Within the next few weeks, we should be getting this room back. I immediately jumped to the plan of using this space for family fun and activity... a play room. I'm not sure how that would be much different than most other rooms in my house.
I have been starving for a personal space for creativity, quiet, reading and other things that nourish me. Yet, this never even occurred to me as the possible use of a free room. Until my best friend mentioned this. I am so grateful that she said it, even though she probably had no idea it would affect me so.
So, I'm dreaming of a room with lots of open space, a comfy chair, lots of books, music, color... and that might be about it. Dear Hubby has requested that there be some sleeping facility for guests. I realize he is probably right, even though my recent experiences at hospitality have been disasterous. I'll consider it.