this morning i woke up,
peaked my head out the window,
looked around and realized how much i love my little space in my room.
when i was first given the tour of the house back in mid-december and shown my potential room, my heart sunk.
shared room. cramped quarters. a strange mattress. not a fan.
oh how the times have changed. i adore in my little nook.
emma calls it my cubbyhole, which is pretty fitting since the bed fits into a perfect groove beside the bathroom wall and there’s barely a foot before the roof starts its slant towards the attic.
but let me tell you, nine times out of ten, it’s a mess.
anyone who knows me wouldn’t be surprised. i’ve just never converted to the orderly, clean, neat side, and to the potential chagrin of a husband, i’m not sure i can.
i like the mess. i might even love it.
besides being able to find everything right away because it’s right there on the floor, ha, i like seeing everything. that sounds like the weakest argument to have shit lying around ever, but it’s true!
i like having this visual and colorful chronology of my life surrounding me.
i can touch it and feel it and look at it and be instantly aware of how i am participating in life.
honestly, however odd that sounds, i think that’s it.
and it makes me happy.
i brewed some blueberry rooibos tea and put it in the sun while i took a few photos. some evidence.
and i’ll try to explain what i mean.
emily’s alberta cup sitting beside it.
next to the heineken lighter i bought to light sparklers for the bobsled finals, but that got taken away at security.
next to the black marker i bought in south africa to mark the world map i bought to mark my journey.
next to the hot chocolate packet emma threw at me the other day while announcing she should steal more from work. which i in turn agreed with because i love hot chocolate.
next to the fun dip packet i bought for 80’s night with katie, which was a bust, so i’ve ended up eating the sugar while studying (i could eat 10,000 of those dipsticks).
next to the cinnamon i eat with my oatmeal if i feel like it.
there’s a stack of misfits:
a postcard. paperbag envelopes. the bible. shipping envelopes. a book.
and beside that, a little black holder (my attempt at organization) that is holding on to:
a year-end newsletter from sarah.
greyhound tickets and amtrack tickets to portland (in two weeks!), my most favorite things to have lying around.
more postcards, photos and an address book.
a letter from my dad (one of the best things, let me just say. nothing better.)
and a letter from hailey (typewritten!)
and a napkin given to me by a new yorker with rad spots to go to in the city (saving this for may!)
my adorned dresser.
laminated photography and inspiration. the afghani dude, i love.
and post-it notes i typed out with lines from donald miller’s latest, “a million miles in a thousand years” (which i can’t recommend enough). if you have a personal canon, something that hurls you off the cliff and reminds you how you want to live, and live better, write it down and put it in your face. literally.
“the ambitions we have will become the stories we live. if you want to know what a person’s story is about, just ask them what they want.”
“we can’t say it, Don. it’s not a book; it’s a movie. we have to show it. a character is what he does.”
the drop spot.
when my eyes get tired and i lean forward from my pillow, it’s the first place i can chuck whatever it is i’m reading.
“mandela: the authorized portrait” that i swear clocks in at twenty pounds.
and a big notebook. if you read this, you’d be as familiar with my dreams and ideas as i am. it’s my outward brain.
and the magic carpet.
with my library books: some jeffrey sachs, some stephen lewis, some lonely planet.
a gluestick (another thing i love).
a broken into case of granville island winter ale. “vanilla-like finish” indeed.
dishes with remnants of breakfast (toast with avacado, legendary).
that “catcher in the rye” i mentioned.
and my beloved typewriter. it’s keeping page two of a letter to my dad company. and waiting for more poignancy of thought before it gets plopped into the mail.
and that’s not even the top of the dresser:
stumptown coffee from kate, bob dylan photos, a hunting hat, my wooden elephant from uganda, that empty box of milk duds from that time we all went to the cinema…
as i said, it makes me happy.
and i’d like to think that if someone walked up to my cubbyhole and poked around for five minutes, they’d learn a lot about me. as if what you surround yourself with is just this physical manifestation of who you are.