|Laughing Lotus, NYC|
A little less than a year ago, I moved out of the apartment where I'd lived for three years. I left behind a mint green desk, two windows from which I could hear birds and kids riding bikes, and a terrace. I gained a boyfriend, a cat, and a washer & dryer...but modern amenities can't really make up for the room I lost—the small, single room that was 100% mine.
Our cat hates when I'm at my desk. She hates when I'm on my laptop, hates when I'm on the phone, hates when I play music.
It's very hard to write here.
This summer, I'll be tackling a lot of writing projects, including the novel I started in December 2010. I imagine I'll be spending a lot of time in coffee shops.
Space is a luxury in New York. It's never taken for granted. On the subway, when we're locked into our earbuds and our books, we're creating space/the illusion of privacy. I also feel a sense of space when I go to the dance studio where I've taught for four years, and I can run around barefoot. My yoga mat is a space. An old friend described yoga/pilates as a reminder (esp. for writers) that we're not just existing from the neck up.
How do you make space?