She’s lived in every home I’ve owned and briefly been loaned to each of my husbands as I experimented with other working spaces (does anyone remember my haunted antique lawyer d
esk?). She is back in my space, my studio, my office, and deeply in my heart at this moment.
Fall in love – like real love, be in a relationship with a block of wood and two clunky iron thingys that hold the wood for a desk?
Completely and utterly.
This morning she is strewn with remnants of my pencil case carried to the Elizabeth Gilbert Rob Bell thing in the woods of the Hudson Valley in NY. Three lip glosses claim their parallel space between the pens and paint brushes – all beloved and daily used tools of my creativity.
How do I know I’ve fallen in love with this inanimate – but is she really an inanimate object? EVERY time I sit here, my whole body feels an openness and clear-like-fresh-spring-water LOVE. We’ve built this over time. My trust, once given freely from immaturity, now takes time to build, and this desk and I have some serious time on task BECOMING together. Tears well up and let me know I am alive and I feel. Maybe it’s the menopause, but I’m pretty sure it is the love and life and work and creation this desk, and I have shared.
Today she holds my book stacks and a freshly lit “Ancient Tome” candle made by my former client, Michelle.
Yesterday, she held me as I went super deep on 3 different coaching calls that I truly felt helped my clients. New rosemary mint hair oil to soothe my menopausal itchy scalp, 4 different eyeglass cleaners, and all the computers and technologies that
allow me to share my heart, show my work, and connect with you from the calm safety of my own home. How could I not be in love? This desk and I have stories to tell.
And so we will.
