Where I go to be alone
I have a place where it all works for me. It is where I write, where we brainstorm, it all happens here. It is far from exquisite, in fact it sits in my garage, this place I hold so special. I have an antique desk, a stereo that plays blues while I type. Many of my favorite typewriters surround me. I sometimes think of the thousands of pages that these heavy metal machines produced throughout their usefulness. I have a clock from the 50’s from a tiny rural hospital I used to work at that became condemned. A stop sign I found on the road when I was in 4th grade, a No Parking sign that wasn’t as legal a find as “STOP” was. My first fan letter on paper, my writer’s business card, a picture of Ann Frank and one of her father when he went back to the annex after the war. He looks so sad, and a wonderful picture of my parents when they traveled freely. A time when there wasn’t oxygen tubing, not even a cane. This makes me as sad as Mr. Frank. And my VW, with my cat who keeps me company throughout the night.
If you don’t have that place where you plan your life, make one. It does not have to be a thing of beauty, just special to you. Where you can think of what your day holds, the things you dream of and how to make these things happen. Surround yourself with items that are special to you, and you don’t have to explain why. Though anybody who really knows you, will understand.
A place of worship is there for the respite your heart needs. This place is will hold the science of your soul, the makeup of who you are, who you want to be. Put maps where you want to travel on the wall with pictures of the landscape that holds your dreams in the deepest part of the night. My friend Bobbi, the founder of Scribblers taught me. Instead of having the cemetery be where my thoughts reside, I have where I write, where I cry many of these nights, and where I dictate the little stories that grow inside of me. Impregnating my inspiration with characters who I love with my entire being when the end comes. And everything, and everyone has an ending. You write what that will be. Then live it.
Don’t dwell on the reasons things won’t go as planned, even though it rarely does. There is just too much we have no control over, but that is ok. Maybe it will work out better than you would have ever designed yourself. Trust the karma that is good and everywhere. We just need to learn to recognize the silver linings. It may be so faint, the light appears white. Isn’t that the color of angels, of heaven?
It is not the place itself. For that is only materials, fake, and designed by people as flawed as the next guy. It is the place that you build inside yourself. The room, garage, wherever, is just the place you feel comfortable to grow, even if failing is possible. Burgeoning is painful. Even as kids we heard that we were having ‘growing pains’. But to wax into a productive, kind adult takes looking within. I do my germinating at the little old desk in my garage. It is where one day I will see a bloom.