Musings on Space

Just as I gave up waiting, I saw a blue van parked in my driveway. My friend had shown up and was still in the van, on the phone. I let my dog pee in the small yard. She'd been patiently waiting for her walk. There was no sign of my friend emerging. I walked down the driveway and rolled the trash barrels up from the curb. He finally exited the van, four hours late without apology, bearing gifts. I smiled and tried to remain calm. I brought him into the kitchen and watched him eat lunch.

When you work at home, people think your time doesn't matter. You are always available because you are always there. My work requires a lot of open space and time to explore, make mistakes, and dream, but this doesn't mean I'm available. Even one social engagement in a week can throw off my rhythm.

When I am expecting a visitor I calculate that into the equation of my day and my week. It's a big deal. I like to bake and cook and clean for my guest, and this can take days of advance planning. Sometimes a lunch date is exhilarating motivation to do these things, but other times it is sheer sabotage, preventing any creative soaring or gliding. When I first read Journal of a Solitude I was very happy to discover May Sarton felt the same way.