Every day, I planned to write. Every day, other demands got in the way. Writing had become something like dieting…I never got past the “good intention” stage.
I longed for a place where I could be completely alone, with no telephone, no responsibilities to anyone except myself, and no email to distract me or to add to my daily burdens. One morning, I surprised myself with the answer. We own an office building thirty minutes away with several empty spaces; one could be mine.
I decided on an upstairs unit with a large window overlooking the street, but before I could put my folding table in place, someone had rented the space. Don’t get me wrong; that’s good news because renting the space pays better than writing at this point in my career. I thought to myself, well, I didn’t want to carry my table and office chair up the stairs anyway. My second choice was a tiny office on the ground floor at the front of the building.
I moved in Monday after going to water aerobics. I got out of the gym at 9:15, and found reasons to avoid starting work until 12:30. I ate breakfast, bought a birthday gift, dropped off the laundry, purchased an office chair, ate lunch, and could finally think of no more excuses to avoid the new office. What was I afraid of? The quiet? The backpack full of papers from my writing drawer, papers I hadn’t taken time to look at for months?
Finally, I went into the office and locked the door behind me. I suddenly felt free. No one could barge into my thoughts. Today, my thoughts would be mine. There would be no interruptions. As soon as I had built my chair (with three nuts and bolts left over!) I wrote for thirty minutes. Next, I organized the bag of papers. By 5:00, the end of the pile was in sight. I stayed another half hour and could say, “I finished the project I set out to do today.”
Ah, what a good feeling…like taking a long, deep breath. I can’t wait to go back and breathe again.