a room of one's own?

I remember getting a good chuckle out of Virgina Woolf's call to women to get a room of one's own so they could have that space to think, and write, and be. This is because for many women, myself included, having your own room to escape to is a fantasy, a pipedeam, a luxury that we are not afforded because of financial constraints which lead to space constraints. I always saw her call to solitude to be naive of class constraints and realities. While I may not have my own room, I do have the next best thing. Weekend mornings and my backyard.

In my 20's, I used to welcome the weekends, so I could stay out and up all hours, sleeping off the night's activities until 3pm. However, with my new working schedule and the demands on my body to be awake at 6am most days, I find myself in bed earlier and waking on the weekend at hours I never before thought human.

There is something special and holy about having a room of one's own, or in my case the hour after I wake up before my husband and daughter stir to get ready for the day. Rainy days I am able to sit by the sliding glass doors on the sofa and bathe in the warm, misty glow of a muted sunlight. I crack the door to appreciate the music of rain through the leaves. On a sunny day, I take a good book and a mug of latte from a can out to the patio. This last Saturday, I did just that.

Oh joy! The wonder! It is remarkable the things you notice when you take just a little time to sit and be. I watched a chipmunk, who lives behind my flowerbed, scurry from his den, past my feet, and up the wall of a neighboring apartment. Like clockwork, he would return within five minutes; his cheeks bulging like a sack of potatoes, filled with seeds to be foraged away for the winter. I saw and heard two doves consider each other, conversing in musical coo's and whoo's. And I contemplated the actions of a good number of squirrels doing their work, preparing for the impending seasons. Most of these things go on under our noses without taking a moment to stop and be witness.

After a year on the fourth floor of an old Chicago walk up apartment, I feel blissed out each time I think about the grass and space outside of my backdoor. Being close to this is exhilirating and reaffirming. We only live in a small suburban apartment complex, which is a far cry from the rural space which my soul so deeply craves. But it is something, and it is enough. I don't think I realized that it was enough until I was able to watch the dance and hear a few notes of the song of the season cycle in my backyard. But I really needed to carve out that time, open my heart and soul to be able to hear it. I need that room.

Amazingly, Virginia was right, having a room of one's own is crucial. However, I now realize that having that room isn't necessarily about the physical confines of a room but allowing yourself the space and time to have room. This room helps us to grow in ourselves, our delights, our souls, our creativity and, ultimately, towards God. I think Mrs. Woolf was on to something.