My nook.

Previously published on Substack on 1/13/25.

I am grateful for our rental house, but unlike any other house I’ve ever lived in, the furnishings here are not my own; they belong to our landlord. It’s like living in an Airbnb. In some ways, this feels releasing. In other ways, this feels strange to have no sentiment attached to any furniture or artwork or arrangement of things. And I have no designated desk or workspace of my own. This aspect has been both freeing and requiring an acceptance that I need to be able to work and write wherever I am.

What we do have is a room off the side of the house with a cozy couch, glass doors I can close, and windows that overlook our front yard. I continually find myself working there. The energy is quiet in this room, which is funny since there’s a giant TV on the wall. But there is also one wall of large windows that fill the space with light and beautiful views of nature. Now that it’s winter, I can see the mountaintop from here. I can talk to the tree that oversees my morning Listening Practice. There’s ease in this room that is peaceful and sets the tone nicely for the writing and dreaming I am meant to be doing while living in this house until June. I have spent a lot of time in this space wondering how to put all the pieces together, wondering where I go from here.

More and more, I’m realizing that, in a way, I’m starting all over career-wise at 46 years of age. And starting something new isn’t always easy. It’s so awkward at the beginning before you’re really in the flow. This liminal time has brought up my fear of being wrong, being imperfect, being in that state of learning (even though I'm always learning! You’d think I’d be used to it by now). A life lesson I am bumping up against: “healing” perfectionism. Yet again, I find myself returning to the art of simplicity. Beginning somewhere is better than beginning nowhere.

Simply yours,
CCR