Living Space

I was watching a TV show last night when someone perfectly summed up what I had been pondering over for the past two weeks.

Two characters had just moved to a new city. One said “This city is a prison, I don’t want to make a life here.” And the other character replied, “Life happens where ever you are, whether you make it to or not.”

While I hadn’t been able to put words to it, that was exactly what I had been thinking over the last few days.

Let me explain. Many of you saw my Facebook post about my current living situation which started “There’s a hookah on my kitchen table…” (Thank you by the way for the huge response to that, you made my day.) Anyway, my current living space is less than ideal, which is hard for me because space is very important to me.

From the age of 7 to 18 I lived in the same house, the same room, in the same bed even. Which is probably where my obsession with living spaces came from. It was comfortable and familiar and safe, which is vital for an introvert like me. I need a living space to center my life around, kind of like a crab shell, somewhere where I can curl up inside and feel completely at home.

But in the past 11 months I will have lived in four different rooms, twice the amount of places I could remember living in before this year. And considering my current career path as a photojournalist, that’s a trend which is likely to continue. So I have had to learn how to make a living space for myself no matter where I am. The space might look different, but the essence remains the same and gives me hope.

 

As I was packing up my dorm room three weeks ago I gently picked up every one of these books and placed them in a cardboard box. Lovingly I felt their covers and thought about the various dingy used book stores where I had found them, thought about the many cold nights I’ve spent curled up under a blanket devouring their pages with my eyes. Having their cloth covered spines sit on my shelf labeled with venerable authors and fancy titles makes me feel sophisticated and a little pretentious (which are secretly my most favorite feelings in the world).

And as I slowly packed them into an old fruit box rescued from the recycling bin I wondered just how many times I would have to do this in the next few years. They are big and bulky and annoying, and I know my dad will look at me sarcastically every time he has to lug them up a new flight of stairs, but they make me feel at home. They were the very first thing I unpacked when I got to my new room. As soon as I saw them sitting on the self again I knew I was home, and suddenly life felt very manageable.

If I could, I would fill all of my living spaces with odds and ends which remind me of who I am, where I’m going, and where I cam from. However, the constant moving and  tight budget does require that I be something of a minimalist with my stuff accumulation.

I made these pillows during the summer of my senior year, right before heading off to college and starting a life for the first time. Now they remind me of long afternoons spent pouring over measurements and fabric, ripping out stiches and starting over again. I blasted the Beach Boys and other oldies in the background while I contentedly swished summer skirts around my knees in time to the music.

They certainly have a rustic feel to them – which is just a fancy word for “Oops, hope no one notices that because there’s no way to fix it now” but they make me happy.

Plus they are incredibly handy to have around. In the dorm they were tossed around from place to place depending on how many people we had over, where they were sitting, and who needed a pillow sarcastically thrown at their head. Now they sit in a pile on my floor. I lounge on them with a good book or some annoying homework, and a friend used them as a bed for three nights straight once. They are now just as much a part of creating a living space as my books. I see them and think about all the parts of my life they have seen and they make me feel at home.

Of course, it’s not about needing “stuff” in order to make a life. Quite the opposite in fact. More or less everything I own is in this room with me right now. But I take the things I have and attach meaning to them so that no matter where I might find myself I can look at them and think about the lives I have made and the new one I want to make now.

My jewelry is an excellent example of that. Looking over these necklaces I think there is only one which I actually bought for myself, all the rest where given to me by important people in my life. There are a few which I don’t wear any more but I keep them to remind me. In the morning I put together an outfit and then look over to find some jewelry to put with it. Some days I pick a necklace just because it matches well, some days I pick a necklace because I want to remember that person that day, but in either case I seldom get dressed without thinking about someone in my life. They don’t take up much space and they are easy to move around, but they carry with them so many memories.

So the trick has now become learning how to make a life, make a space, wherever I am. Because no matter how temporary or annoying a living situation is, it’s still home for the moment. And life will happen there whether I make it or not – so I might as well make it good.

I’m getting better and better at this with time. I still sometimes wish that I could go back to a previous living space, to the way things were, to the safety of that feeling of home. But I’m also learning to enjoy the challenge of setting up a new living space time and time again. Each one reflects a piece of who I am right then as well as who I was and who I want to become.

…

Transitioning constantly is hard and frustrating and scary, but it’s certainly not uncommon. I know many people who live life in a constant state of flux and I admire them for it. Those who do it well know how to make a life, how to make a living space, wherever they are. It’s a talent which takes time to develop but once you manage it, it makes the future just that much less scary.