A Room of One's Own

When I was a child, I had a room of my own. It was small but I didn't realize that at the time. It seemed fine to me. The window looked out on a vacant lot and a house on the other side that was creepy. An old couple lived there, but we rarely saw them The man occasionally left the house , driving his beat up car, never looking left or right. At Halloween kids were afraid to go up to their front door, but a few were dared into doing it. I worried that he was looking out his window into mine, and I think I saw him doing that one night. From then on I closed the blinds even on hot summer nights.

My closet was miniscule and for some reason I always thought I could hid in there if necessary some day. Why I thought that is a mystery.

The rest of the room was ordinary with a vanity and dresser and twin bed against the wall. At night Dad would knock on the wall and say, "Night, night, princess."

I'd respond, "Night, night, Prince."

Eventually that stopped when I entered teen years and Dad was replaced by my boyfriend, not in the next room, but in my life. But that is another story.

In college I had a roommate. During my sophomore year, my boyfriend and I were married and from then on I never again had my own room. I had given this condition some thought before the prompt. My daughters each had their own rooms, but their Dad and I shared one. I envied the wealthy Europeans I saw in movies who had their own rooms that connected so that one could have privacy or intimacy, a great idea.

Now that I have begun meditation, I would love to have a room of my own. I would meditate there, write, read, be me. I think our guest room is soon to undergo severe remodeling. What a refreshing idea.