Something great happened this weekend. I really started to love my apartment. This is big for me. I like it – even though the American kitchen is not my ideal set-up – but I’ve never really loved it. It’s so modern and I’m an historian who’d much rather live in something from 1820 than 2018. But this weekend that all changed.
Ever since I came home Saturday afternoon with my little table and two chairs for the balcony, I’ve been out there every chance I got. Writing, reading, gazing across the water … I love it. It’s not quite my Thinking Bench (more on that in another post) but it’s definitely love. This is something I can’t get in an old building. For the first time, I feel like living here is worth every penny. Today, when I almost ran screaming from a meeting (spreadsheets with tasks in green, yellow and red just have that effect on me), I dreamt of my balcony instead.
I need to love the place I live in. If not, I get restless and start dreaming of the next place. I’ve lived in enough places to know this. I need a place to read, a place to sit with my notebooks. If I can have that, then I’ll be happy. Now I have that. At least for the next six months. The table is big enough for my Mac so let’s see what I can do with that space. I still have Chocolates on My Pillow to finish and the next project to start.
Amazing what a little trip to IKEA can do. Told you it was a good place for a writer.