I live in well-defined spaces and travel predictable paths between them all. Home. Work. Sometimes (maybe) the gym. And back around again to all the next day. These are the physical spaces of my life, but each and every one has some mental and emotional real-estate too. Boundaries. Habits. Expectations.
Summer’s freedom widens me and my personal space. We travel a bit. We journey off to our June, July, and August traditions and find a moment or two to contemplate one or two new adventures.
In summer, I have more room, more time, more empty pages in my notebook, more open air to breathe, and more space — to be me.
Except maybe I’ve still got the day-to-day boundaries set and all the fences marked off around the space I’ve defined as me. Maybe I’ve limited my opportunities for growth and new experiences because my well-worn patterns of living and thinking and being are more automatic than they are inspired or spontaneous or authentic.
Maybe I don’t even think about such things anymore. Even though I want to. Maybe I just don’t get around to it because my groove is deep– and that’s the one I walk.
Because. Because I am a wife. A mother. A daughter. A sister. A friend. A teacher. Spaces I live in. Rooms in my house.
Well … lately I’ve taken on a twist. Somewhere back there, I took a left when usually I make a right. Later on, down the road, I see how right works just fine and gets me where I’m going, but all the while, I’m glancing over my shoulder and see some other road I should have driven.
But not this time.
You see, I’m writing. I’m taking pictures. There’s a new addition to my house. More space. Some creativity. Fresh possibility. Yes, and even hope.
It’s possible this blog space will be mine and mine alone. Maybe no other person will ever read or feel or understand what I write here. And my pictures will only be viewed by a loving few.
My space is bigger.
And I grew.
I’m connecting to #wholemama at Esther’s amazing space. Drop by. You’ll like it there.