I’m Feeling You, Virginia


Behold, my "desk"

Behold, my "desk"

This is my desk. You have no idea the shame I feel, showing it to you.

Calling it a “desk” sends entirely the wrong message. First of all, it’s only desk-like in that it is a piece of furniture with a flat top and four legs. In truth, this piece dreams of one day fulfilling its destiny as a dining room table. At present, however, it mostly functions as a holder for the motley assortment of junk that I find in my hands at any given moment in the day.

Secondly, to say that this is my desk gives the impression that I accomplish work here. And, well, that was my intention. But, I don’t. Or, not regularly. Of all the places that I work – couch, bed, coffee shop, subway – I work here at the “desk” least often. There was a time when this nomadic work life pleased me. I felt so footloose, slinging my computer bag over my shoulder and heading off to catch a few minutes of work somewhere. (In those days, that was the important part: that I was going somewhere. Somewhere where no one demanded juice or dumped markers on the floor or wanted to hear Goodnight Moon for the thousandth time.)

But, now, I find myself discouraged by this necessary transience. When I am working, I frequently need some material or resource that I neglected to pack. My computer battery dies, but I don’t have the cord. Or, I need to find a quote from a book that I know I have back at home on my bookshelf. I feel like I’m in a long distance relationship with my creative self. When we first reunite, it takes a long while to get settled together. I type out phrases, then erase them, self-conscious that nothing sounds right. By the time she and I are in full make-out mode and going gangbusters on some blog posts, I glance at the clock and – for the love of…! – it’s time to pack it in and say our farewells.

Lately, I’ve been longing for a space to call my own. Not a couch in the living room, where I sit like a waiting target for any and all persons who enter and want something from me. Not a dining room, cluttered with the assorted detritus of my life. No, the room I envision is mine alone. It’s not fancy or big. But, it has room enough for a desk and chair. It has natural light. It has walls lined with bookcases and an armchair for reading. A table for a snack, pictures on the walls, and a plant or two.

I’m taking this longing as a good sign. It means that I’m finally unsatisfied squeezing in my work in stolen moments, in any old location. I have serious work to do, work that needs dedicated space and time. Virginia Woolf famously insisted that women need a space if they aspire to have any success at their art. So, I’m wondering: do you have a wonderful space in which you do the work you love? What’s it like? If you don’t have one, what would it be like?

Inspire me, won’t you?  I’ll be over here at the cafe, taking notes while I dream up my writing nooks in the sky.

5 thoughts on “I’m Feeling You, Virginia

  1. Jayle

    Oh how I know this yearning for my own space…and I quote Virginia, too, when I’m particularly whiny about it!

    I must tell you about a friend of mine with a dreamy space – so you can be jealous of her, too. She has an entire little house in the back of her actual house – she refers to it as a studio. Walls full of shelves and cabinets, counter tops and desk space all around…an island in the middle with more drawers and work space…and windows and skylights…it is dreamy. She writes and does photography and is a fiber artist and her studio transforms itself to meet whatever mood strikes her.

    So when I’m quoting Virginia I often think of this lovely space my friend has and imagine having one of my own.

    Hope you can create yours very soon!

  2. shannon Post author

    Mission accomplished. I am jealous. Very.

    *sigh*

    One day, I, too, will have a lovely space that suits my needs and calls to me with its beauty.

    I will, right? Right!?

  3. Gigi

    Hold it — your space — in your mind. Hold it tight, and it will be there for you.

    I read recently about a woman who wrote letters to her future (as in as-yet-unmet) husband. In her letters to him, she spoke to him as if he existed, endowing him with idiosyncratic traits and values, trusting and believing the energy she was sending into the universe would help her destined husband find his way to her (which of course he did).

    In that vein, here is my letter to your as-yet-unmet-but-inevitable space:

    “Dear Shannon’s Space,

    My heart gets full when I think of you out there waiting for Shannon to find you. I know you feel her desire to get to you, to get down to her work in your loving embrace. I know when she finds you, she will yowl and leap and squeal and write with delight. In the welcoming embrace of your light and freedom, your refuge and warmth, she will write and write and write and write.

    She’ll read a bit with you, too, and dream a bit and think a bit and just sit a bit.

    But mostly when Shannon is with you, Space, she will get her work down. She will immerse herself. She will lose herself to her work and find herself in her work.

    I am so excited you are there for Shannon, lovely Shannon Space. She deserves you. She needs you.

    Do you see her on her way to you, as I do? Yes, I feel you do.

    I can’t wait for you and Shannon to be working together soon. With love and gratitude from her Gigi. “

  4. shannon Post author

    Gigi, your letter to my future space brought tears to my eyes. Tears of gratitude for you. Tears that prick with wanting the place that you describe. Tears of anticipation that I will someday find such a space.

    I love ya, Gigilini.

  5. Chrissypants

    “I’m in a long distance relationship with my creative self.”

    I love your writing more every day.

    You must admit that the “small” space you’ve described sounds larger than any room in our apartment. Still, I can’t wait to build your space with you.

    c

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>