I’ve been freelancing for three years now, and the lack of an adequate work space is creeping into my bones. In the far corner of the main living area of our house, I have a small desk which is completely covered with post-its, notes, papers and calendars. It’s a flipping nightmare. I think it was Einstein that said, “If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what then is an empty desk a sign?” It makes me feel better when I think of that quote. Despite my chaos that I call a “work space”, I would rather have a cluttered mind than an empty one, I suppose.
Right now I’m working in a coffee shop. There is a cute high school student sitting near me who has been ferociously writing on tiny pieces of notebook paper with a Number 2 pencil. What is she writing?
There is a brilliant graphic designer/anime comic creator that is here every single day. He has the biggest portable charger I have ever seen. He wears headphones and bobs his head as he maneuvers the black and white characters on his screen.
This coffee shop is in an old warehouse and when I look out the window there’s a mural of a girl with her head stuck in the clouds. I’ve been coming to this coffee shop for ten years and just now noticed this mural. Is it a sign? I do feel like I have a terrible case of wanderlust these days.
In saying all of this and in not saying anything at all, it’s clear I need my own work space in my home. I want a huge flat-topped wooden table where I can spread out my thoughts. I want a monstrous cork board where I can tack post-its and notes to my heart’s content. I want an essential oil diffuser and the Lumineers or Brandi Carlisle or the Wailin’ Jennys crooning in the background.
I know. These are first-world problems but when one’s goal is to produce written work every single day, it’s certainly helpful to have a space she can call her own. Alas.