Sacred space

This past week, a couple of people at the day job and I were discussing coffee shops in Columbus that are good for writing. There are: Cup O Joe in Clintonville, Cup O Joe in Bexley, Cup O Joe at Easton, Bexley library (one of the quietest places in town), Luck Bros., Cafe Brioso, Stauf's. None of them are perfect for me. Some are too quiet, some are uncomfortable, some are too crowded, some have annoying parking situations. Some are better than others.

It started me thinking about "sacred spaces" again. When I mean sacred space, I mean a place where I can work, where my creativity is able to flow freely. It's like finding the right temperature for a shower. It's not like that at all, but a good metaphor is eluding me. I've found the right tools: a space pen (I got a new one for Christmas! One with an iPad stylus!), my moleskine reporter notebook. But a special, perfect, sacred space is not around. My desk at home is cluttered in trinkets and pictures and is wobbly. The lighting is too harsh with the overhead light, too dim with the lamp on my desk. Back to the terrible shower metaphor: it's too hot or too cold.

My wife and I have been talking about moving to a bigger house, which is becoming more and more of a necessity as our son grows and ages. He's going to be 16 months and will soon need a room of his own. His toys need to be out of the living room! My wife and I need separate offices. In thinking of moving, I've realized what my sacred space might be. 

1. A large, solid, light colored desk. More of a table than a desk. Something like this. 
2. Shelves for my trinkets. My Roger Rabbit collection needs to be out of the way. Except for one figure: the figure in the picture above. 
3. A giant dry erase board. The one I have is much too small. I want one that expands across the wall. Tall. Long. One where I can step back and see an entire story at once. 
4. A Popeye arcade game. One of my first desires as a kid. Used to process ideas, something mindless to help work on things subconsciously.

Until we are able to move, this dream will stay in the back of my mind. My sacred space. My ideal space. My space.

Sigh.

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