I share a house with my wife and two young daughters. There are also two cats and a dog here. As such, I sometimes find myself with less space than I might like. With the number of things that my wife and daughters seem to accumulate (my perception may not accurately reflect reality here), I often find that I'm without a place to sit and write. I built a small office in the basement and while that's a warm, cozy place to be in the winter, it lacks a window and is less than perfect for summer.
Writing about our house yesterday while thinking of Thoreau's cabin at Walden Pond, I noticed that we have a den, living room and dining room where we need only one room. I'm not about to remodel, but I'm happy to have drawn the conclusion. It takes me to where I am now, writing in the dining room.
This is the room we use least. We eat here maybe once a month and use it as a catch-all for our junk. That's it.
As I headed to the basement office, I looked at the dining room windows. It's a bright room with a big table. It isn't the kitchen so I won't be as inclined to eat. There are few distractions here and I can play music without disturbing anyone watching television in the den.
It's about perfect.
So big deal, I found a place to write. Who gives a damn about that? Well, I do, for this reason: I opened my eyes and saw what was there rather than what was missing. We've lived here twelve years bemoaning the lack of a place to write. Today, I saw the house we have and it is more than enough.
I wonder if the solutions to some of my more pressing problems are as obvious as this. I wonder if finding a new job is as easy as finding this new place in which to write. Wouldn't that be nice. I'll keep you posted on that search as I begin again to write on.