I have a thing about space, a need to reimagine it and rearrange it.
I’ve been redoing the common area outside my office at work. A colleague picked the colors, but I’ve been finding new floors, new furniture, even new trash cans. It has required a lot of energy but it energizes me.
It is open space I want. I find it more welcoming, which is why our own house has lots of space. My childhood had lots of space too: clear skies, open beaches, the Everglades.
Besides, I am my mother’s child. She liked windows and mirrors—just the illusion of space, as we didn’t often have big houses. I also share her claustrophobia; my favorite part of spring is the open windows. Air and light I like. (Thanks, Mom.)
Because of this, cluttered big box stores make me crazy. So do little boutiques with narrow aisles. I just want to get outside. And in space I own or manage, if I can take out a wall all the better.
Mom doesn’t get all the credit, though. Dad was an artist, among many other things, and gave me a sense of balance and color. I can hang a picture or design a newsletter easily enough.
But it is space I want.
People I don’t mind. They come, they go. It’s OK. It’s the furniture and the walls that get in the way.
But if you can’t toss it or tear it down, just open a window.
And be glad.