I agreed to be part of a documentary film-maker’s exploration of tiny homes. In preparation for her visit today, I spent several hours straightening and cleaning my house. This proved fortuitous. Two sets of tiny home tourists happened by Angel’s Haven yesterday. I could proudly invite them into my space and accommodate their comfort and interest.
When I awakened this morning, I had a message from the prospective film-maker to our group cancelling her appearance today. Putting aside mild annoyance, I acknowledged her note and rose to make coffee. I looked around my home. The potential of its appearing in a movie had inspired me to make small adjustments and to accentuate features of Angel’s Haven which please me. I had been happy to allow strangers into the space without worrying that I had not adequately cleaned or that something looked amiss.
With Angel’s Haven looking so spiff, I decided to make my own video, an updated tour for my YouTube channel of how the place looks after seven months of living. In truth, I do keep it fairly clean and organized. Tidying a 200-square-foot space takes much less time. Perhaps I’m not a true minimalist, but I no longer make purchases which add to the clutter. I don’t need more tools or trinkets, though each visit to Kansas City has given me a chance to rummage through the shrinking pile in the storage unit. I make happy discoveries, return with three or four additions, and spend gleeful moments working the cherished finds into my decor.
I sat in my rocking chair this morning, looking at how I’ve arranged the space in which I write. I can gaze out the window from my desk. I see beloved faces and artwork from every vantage point. A friend could come and sit reading while I work. Everything lies close at hand, bathed in sunlight. This alcove reflects the essence of my existence — a place for creativity, a spot for relaxing, and mementos of my life and of those whom I have loved.
These days, when people ask me what I do, I tell them that I write.
“Oh, what do you write,” they ask.
“I’m working on a book,” I reply. “And I have a couple of blogs.”
They usually turn away. They avoid my eyes. Most folks expect to hear that one writes for an online journal, a television show, movies, or a newspaper. The world has always looked askance at those of us with works in progress, like the half-finished painting on an easel or the page in the platen. I accept their skepticism. Sometimes one must take a different view of any situation. From where I sat this morning, casting my eyes over the writing loft, I understood the direction of my life. I convinced myself. That suffices to keep me moving forward.
It’s the twenty-ninth day of the fifty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
A panoramic view of my writing loft seen from my rocking chair this morning. Light streams into the loft. Cool air dances through the space. Tres bien!