Office Space

Sometimes, it matters...

I have a lovely office on the second floor of our home. It was once our (tiny) master bedroom, when we first moved into this 140-year-old house. A year later it became my stepdaughter’s bedroom when we swapped for her basement bedroom. After she moved out, the space became a bare bones office with a futon to double as a guest room, which I used daily as I worked on my master’s degree online. When 2020’s hellscape rolled in to town, I shared the little space with my husband, who was sent home from the office, and we were crammed in here like some sort of prequel to War of the Roses. Eventually he went back to the office, then we converted our shed to his office when he began working from home full time, and this space was once again mine.

It underwent a major facelift in October 2024. Walls painted the darkest blue, an expansive, dark floral area rug, a new, small and dark grey couch with a chaise end—the whole thing converts into a full sized mattress. The masterpiece is the built-in bookshelves my husband built along one whole wall. Books about theology, books about writing, and random other books I mean to get to grace the walls. Guests have stayed here, my kids have used it for sleepovers or, in my daughter’s case, when her room is too messy for her to tolerate. Then I learn she’s sleeping in here and kick her out.

I haven’t been using this space regularly in a long, long time, you see. Not really since December 2021 when I graduated from my graduate program. There was a several month stint in 2023 where I was earnestly working on my standalone novel, but that process and routine went to shit in February 2024 and, after subsequent shitstorms, it’s been hard to get anything back on something that looks like a track.

I have a friend who used to ask why I wouldn’t surrender this room to one of my boys, as they share a bedroom. The answer is, because.

A home office space has become essential for all members of this family at various times, including for each of the kids if they prefer not to do their homework at the kitchen table or in their bedrooms. Instrument practice for myself (flute) and my younger son for a while (guitar) happen here. Sleepovers are best hosted in this non-bedroom space with a TV! (My kids don’t have TV’s in their room, but that’s not really a virtue, as they have their phones). Each kid has found escape here at one time or another. It’s been a sick room for colds, flus, and COVID cases, and a quiet refuge that seems to suspend space and time. It feels quieter in here, though objectively it’s not any quieter or louder than the average of anywhere else in the house. The vibe is different, one might say.

For a while my older son’s PS5 was in here. It was not quiet in those days. We have guests (family and friends) just enough that a dedicated space is warranted, and on top of that the boys have shared a room almost their whole lives, and their room is big enough to accomodate that since they mostly only sleep in there. Sure, my older son is almost 18 and might not want to share a room for a lot longer, but the solutions for a college-aged kid in search of their own space are much broader and can be dealt with if and when the time comes.

When my writing creativity is dried up I practice creativity in other ways here. Embroidery, playing the flute, reading, and curating the gallery walls in here provide the oxygen mask for the imaginative part of me that, in turn, provides the oxygen mask for the rest of my life.

At this point, I thought I might want to share a picture, but almost immediately decided against it. It’ll never do it justice. You can’t photograph auras and vibes. Maybe I’ll sneak a little video and post it in the substack feed one of these days but, for now, trust that it’s wonderful up here and, soon, more novels will be born here.

Until next time,

andrea