Yesterday there was no day job to rush out the door to. There was a slow padding across the house in socks to my new office.
This weekend, I transformed the dining room into my home office. It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a while. It’s not much — nothing purchased, just the dining roon table, slightly askew, so I face inward, my back to the window. One chair recruited as my office chair, a few things moved in from other rooms. Not much, but it feels different. As Luxuriating points out, it’s all about the intention. I have a new place to go to in the morning, even if it’s only a few feet from my bed. There are new routines — they may become rituals — that are falling into place: get dressed, morning tea, light a candle, answer emails, work down the to do list. As things settle, there will be days for paperwork, days for errands, and things will take on a rhythm. For now, all is chaos and new and odd and babysteps. This feels good. This feels right. And that is the intention.
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