Finding My Place

I find myself wandering through the house today looking for a place to settle in. I feel over run and seeking the solitude I can usually find in spades during the week.

My 16 year old nephew is here much to my son's delight! He truly worships his big cousin. I really couldn't ask for a more patient and caring nephew. He takes my little emperor's demands right in stride! They are currently in the basement deeply involved in car racing games and my husband, scenting the testosterone in flow, is repeatedly drawn down there for a game or two himself. Even the dog has opted for all the action over his usual position under my desk as a furry, snoring foot warmer.

Alas, my desk. Its gone now, making room for the the crib and change table. I had converted our spare bedroom into a cozy office space for just these kinds of days. It now sits stripped bare and awaiting redecoration and re-assignment. I have been spending more time writing in the kitchen which is nearly always flooded with light but its turning out to be a very impractical space for my computer. I am constantly shuffling back and forth with the competing needs for the hub of our house. That space doesn't belong to me alone, it only feels like it for short periods of the day.

What I am seeking is a space of my own. A place I can come and go from. A centre and a base where creative thoughts are born and nurtured. Most days, that space has little to do with anything other than the space I carry around inside. There are many days when I can happily sit in the middle of the din of everyday life without losing a single thread of thought. Today, however, I am aware that sometimes what I need is a physical space that allows me to honor what is moving through my creative veins.

I have established a new writing space. I reclaimed the old desk and dumping ground that was our media room but I still feel like it lacks my mark. I feel like an awkward visitor when I sit here to write. At least it is now tidy and organized and that makes it much more inviting. Today, when I sat down to write, I lit a candle, popped on my headphones to drown out the washing machine whirring away in the next room and the exuberant shouts from downstairs. There is still something missing though....ah, that's it! I have just dug through one of the packed boxes from my office and found my little Buddha statue. I'm not a practicing Buddhist but the site of him perched on my spartan desk makes it feel a little more like my space.

I've been thinking a lot about the space and place for my writing practice as my due date approaches. I'm not at all surprised by my sense of rootlessness today as it has been building in my awareness over the last few months. My restlessness isn't just about writing - I wonder who I will become as a mother to this child and how that will compare to my motherhood journey so far. I wonder if I will lose sight of writing in the blur of sleepless nights and full days. I wonder what life will be like when we move into our new home and what space I will claim for my own there.

I feel the pressure of days ticking down and feel frustrated that my book is not any where close to completion. It is just a tumble of thoughts without coherence. I had thought it would be done before the baby arrived but it simply doesn't look like that. I suspect the birth of a book is much like the birth of a child - but the pregnancy can be much longer and more unpredictable! I wonder if it will ever reach completion - and if it doesn't, will I judge it as failure or simply embrace it as part of my journey so far. And why am I so tied to a time frame anyway?!?

I wonder.... and while its well and good to wonder and wander in the future, I am clear that right now is where I exist. This is all I can affect. Simply living in the present and discovering that I can create the time and physical space to write in , whenever and wherever I am. That offers me great hope and inspiration moving forward. Don't get me wrong, I'm incredibly excited to have a new child coming into my life but I would be lying if I didn't say that I'm just a little concerned that I will lose some of myself in the process. This was my experience last time and, come to think of it, it was a great gift. That sense of loss was the catalyst to discover and reclaim even more of myself.

I wonder if other mothers or mothers-to-be have this conversation with themselves. It feels like a lonely one and not one greatly encouraged. I sometimes bump smack into the beliefs I carry about appearing ungrateful for the miracle that this child is. I realize that motherhood and martyrdom can often walk very close together, although few would dare call it that. There seems to be an expectation of society at large that says mothers need to sacrifice and be long suffering. I find that very hard to buy into intellectually, although I seem to have absorbed its message along the way and its realization invites big waves of energy rippling through my body. How does unspoken misery and unrequited dreams translate to loving, meaningful relationships?

It seems that finding my place is as much about creating a physical space in my home that is just for me, as it is about creating the internal space for me to be the fullest expression of me -the mother, the writer, the wife/sister/daughter/friend, the dreamer ..... my Self. And now there is a warm, furry body squeezing into the space under the new desk as the dog abandons the excitement downstairs - and the baby is kicking. Yup, all is right in my world - I have claimed a space that is mine and the writing is easy!