Virginia Woolf Was Right


 

Last week, I made a somewhat cross-country trip to gather the rest of my belongings to return them to Colorado. If someone had told me years ago that I would not only move to Colorado but also love the state, I really wouldn't have an answer for them. It's amazing how we (or others) plan out our lives to the most minute detail, only to have the Universe laugh at us. I didn't plan any of this and yet this is the happiest I've been in a very long time. This is the first time in which I am truly myself in all the messy and colorful glory. I'm no longer held back by a desire to please everyone, to search for that acceptance by outsiders that is short-lived and really not worth it. I am living my life the way I want to, mistakes and all. I love Colorado. I love the fact that the people here are laid back and "what you see is what you get". I love the fact that you've got a major metropolitan area to delve into, yet drive only twenty minutes and you're in the middle of a vast forest. I love the fact that I am not some weirdo here; in fact, I'm the norm. Now that my belongings (books, artwork, Moon Knight statues) are in my office, I finally understand what Virginia Woolf meant with regards to a room of one's own. This is my world, my room, my sanctuary. Of course, I feel at peace in the entire house, but my office is MINE. No judgment, no questions. Just me and my books and tea and artwork. A room of one's own to create and inspire. A place to meditate and ponder your life. A quiet sanctuary when the world gets too noisy and crowded. A room to simply be. My desire to travel and explore hasn't died down; in fact, it's increased exponentially. Yet, I am also comforted by the thought that my home base will be waiting for me. My room will be ready for whatever I find on my explorations or when I need to recharge. Thank you, Virginia. 



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