When we first moved to our current home, I spent a lot of time designing the perfect home office. I love my office. I work from home as a freelance writer and author, so I thought it was important to carve out a little space just for work. Some place I could focus on writing instead of getting distracted by dishes, laundry, and errands. Some place that was close to my kids’ playroom but still felt separate.
That system worked really well for a year or so. Then the kids got older and the rhythm of our lives changed. Life didn’t get busier, exactly—just different. I noticed how rarely I was able to sit and write in my pretty home office. Instead, I roved all over the house with my laptop, looking for pockets of time to write. I wrote at the kitchen island while waiting for the pasta water to boil. I wrote in waiting rooms. Whenever I had half an hour left on the laundry cycle, I spread out my notes on the dining room table and typed as fast as I could.
I hated it.
I felt like less of a writer because I didn’t have the discipline to carve out a space or time devoted just to writing. I found myself writing less, not because I didn’t have the time, but because I was punishing myself for not writing “the right way.” Whenever I finally did make it down to work in my office, a little voice in my head would chastise me the whole time: “See, this is what you were supposed to be doing at ten o’clock this morning. This is what you used to do every day. Look how much more productive you are. Why can’t every day be like this?”
A lot of adulthood seems to involve telling that little voice to shut up.
As it happens, this is currently the season of Lent, when a lot of Christians “give up” something to help us focus on our relationship with God. For the past several years, I’ve given up excuses for Lent. Instead of thinking “I should really…” and immediately coming up with a reason why I can’t, I find a way to get it done. Even if it’s not perfect. Even if it’s not the way I want to do it. And as these things tend to go, practices I adopt in my spiritual life have a way of leaking in to the rest of my life, too.
The fact is that “I can’t write until I sit at my desk,” and “I’m not truly productive unless I’m in my office,” and “Real writers stick to a routine,” are excuses. So last week, (the day after Ash Wednesday, actually) I asked my husband to help me move my little roll-top desk to the hallway upstairs. Thankfully, he is the kind of husband that responds to requests like this with “Sure, when do you want to do it?”
My desk in its new location—at the end of the upstairs hallway.
The upstairs hallway is central to everything that goes on in our home. One end has a little alcove just big enough to accommodate my desk and an extra chair from the dining room. Since relocating the desk, I’ve found plenty of opportunities to sit and work on a blog post, answer emails, and even draft little bits of dialogue for a short story I’m working on.
I still prefer working in my nice downstairs office, and I’m still committed to doing most of my writing there when I’m editing or working on a freelance project. (We also have a cool standing desk in the office, which is not moving anywhere anytime soon—it’s huge!)
But if I can’t make it down there, no excuses. This time in my life still has plenty of opportunities for writing.
I just had to move the desk.