After leaving the apartment I had lived in since I moved to Los Angeles, I’ve had a season of “nomad” life. It’s been interesting, as it has given me food for thought about personal space and how we respond to it.
My first stopping point was a hotel that serves those needing “extended” lodging. It was a room with a kitchenette. As places go, it wasn’t bad. a reasonably comfortable bed, space, a table for my laptop (and free wifi, which was nice). But it was a neutral place. Likewise the Motel 6 I was at for a time, although without the kitchenette.
Neutral space was a good place to be after leaving someplace I’d been for so long. But it had none of my own decorations, which I miss. My various dragons, for instance, like Snoozy, who used to reside on top my TV.
Then there’s my artwork. Those pieces of my art are expressions of myself that were always present. Being without them to look at has made me realize that even though there is pleasure in having these externalized aspects of myself, there can also be a sort of muffling consequence of their presence. They are well-known, not necessarily surprising to me. I had perhaps begun not to see them.
And of course, there’s the matter of furniture. My desk chair, with its comfortable seat and adjustable height. Sitting in chairs that have a lower seat that mine has been hard on my knees. Or my sofa, which had been carefully selected for the height of its seat, its depth and length. And my bed, with its air chamber mattress that can be as firm or as soft as I want it any night. I do miss these things.
I’d come to take these things for granted. Even though I actually thought otherwise. It’s when you are without something that you really begin to appreciate it.
What really brings an edge to these musings is the additional experience of living in someone else’s space. It isn’t that the other places are bad. Not at all. Just different. One hostess is far more orderly than I am usually. Everything has its place and it is obvious she is good about putting things away. I felt that I was relearning orderly habits while staying there. My next hostess has a more relaxed approach to things, perhaps necessarily, because of her teen-agers. By comparison, I find my own nature lies somewhere between those two examples. I’ve had my desire for order rekindled, but also the affection for relaxed “lived in” environments. A third location I’ve stayed at was a return to larger space. It was like relearning how to live in multiple rooms.
When I was growing up, the mother of one of my friends was the sort who was hyper-protective of the living room furniture — covered in plastic, with plastic runners on the carpet. I imagine the plastic was taken up when adults were entertained, but not when the children had friends over. I always thought it odd, for it seemed to make the “living room” considerably un-life-like.
What will it be like when I once again have space of my own?
I don’t know. Elements of the décor will change, of course — some parts won’t be reused for various rasons, and inevitably the layout of the furniture will be different. But re-establishing myself in a space of my own will be interesting. I have a fresh appreciation of what having my space, my own home, means to me.
As I leave another temporary haven, I am very thankful for these spaces belonging to others. Thankful for the concern of the friends who have helped and thankful for what I’ve learned of myself in the experience. I’m now hoping that I can “pay it forward” to others — soon.
