A few weeks ago, I gave my heart to a plain white desk I bought from Amazon Prime. Itās a tiny wooden one, and I had to ābuildā it myself when it arrived in the mail.
In the front, thereās a tiny drawer where I can keep some papers that I need to protect. The only things I keep on top of my desk are a small gold coaster for my morning tea, my laptop, a white stapler, and a mini terrarium. And a curious cat or two, if Iām not careful.
I bought the desk not because I need another surface, but more because I need the structured space. A designated spot to be productive and contemplative. Sometimes, itās hard to be creative without that kind of haven.
This month, Iāve been focusing a lot on space.
The space of being, the space around you. The space outside of your mind that seems to impact the space on the inside of your mind.
Cluttered space, cluttered mind.
I know Iām not alone. Recently, I was chatting with a friend about famous writers who had small cabins or āshacksā built in their backyards specifically designated for their writing time. Roald Dahl had one. Henry David Thoreau had one. Some of these writing huts even had indoor plumbing and electricity (although I think that chips away at the serenity of a writing hut).
I completely āgetā that need for a creative zone.
For me, my physical surroundings directly impact my mental status. Sometimes I wish that wasnāt true. But it is. Iām constantly refining my space to suit my mood. When I was a kid, I would probably rearrange my bedroom a few times a year, just to get inspired.
Iām sure everyoneās space looks different. For some, itās a yoga mat, or a woodshop, or an office with a view of the skyline, but I think this outside space is essential to create peace of mind on the inside.
Occasionally, I find this productive space away from my home or office. Sometimes itās outside on a run or in my car or in a friendās living room.
For example, Iām currently camped out at one of my favorite local coffee shops besides Starbucks (This time itās Brewpoint Coffee, home of some pretty addicting pomegranate green tea and gluten-free muffins).
Sometimes, I need the white noise: the hum of an espresso machine even though I rarely drink coffee, the sound of people in the morning before theyāve been weighed down by the day, coins clinking in a tip jar.
But normally, my āspaceā is more intentional than that.
Itās that crafted ambiance to which you know you can retreat. The color of the plant I keep on the left side. The sparsely hung artwork on the wall above where I work. Itās the blank slate of a surface on which you can rely, even when all else fails.
