My wife and I recently moved. For us, this is not unusual. We’ve moved a lot in our twenty year relationship. Like fifteen times. Friends and family make jokes about our propensity to pull up the tent stakes. As I mentioned in an earlier post, many of our moves have been job related, but not all.
Moving is stressful, that’s for sure, but setting up a new house can be fun once the actual moving part is over. Which drawer should we use for silverware? Which cupboard for wine glasses? Where should we store our collection of Scarpa hiking shoes (yes, we have issues)?
The fact that we moved is not big news. What is though, is that, for the first time in my life, I have my very own home office. A place that’s all mine, with just my stuff. My collection of books, old photo albums, art work, knick knacks, reference materials, notebooks, and pens, lots of pens. No longer are these items hidden away in boxes or stuffed on the top shelf of a closet. They’re with me, on my very own bookcase.
My office is not big, but it’s all mine and it even has a window! Now, I have absolutely no excuse not to write. Which is a good thing, especially since I’m expecting the edits for my next release, On the Fence, any day now.