I’ve always hated this refrigerator. It’s one of those rental, freezer-on-top situations.
Leaning in, I wondered if it was too late for a fridge cigarette. I could feel that familiar end-of-day anxiety starting to roll in. Did I get enough done? Can I do something I want? In there somewhere, there’s a bigger question, “do you deserve joy?” Whoops. Said the quiet part out loud. It’s giving eldest daughter, sure, but also entrepreneur (in this economy?).
And it’s not a real cigarette. It’s what the internet calls diet coke. But mine is a stevia sweetened caramel-free clear vanilla cola, and I could not love it more. It makes me so happy. There’s caffeine in it, so I ration, but I swear it helps me dial in and focus.
Recently, I used one to bribe myself into organizing the dreaded storage closet. Memes on Instagram promised if I cleared out the old paperwork and such, I could make space for new ideas and good things to enter my life. A refresh, if you will.
After five hours of sifting and sorting (and resisting the urge to throw it all away), I found a note I wrote in Nashville. I kept flashing back to that day at Frothy Monkey. Jason and I had a table on the patio, fully charged laptops, lattes, and the best server.
Is there anywhere that unlocks you?
Frothy Monkey does that for me. I sat down to write that day and the ideas just poured out. I’ve been trying to recreate this feeling back home. Surely, now that I’ve organized, this is imminent.
Salon gatherings and Six Hour Sundays also unlock that liminal creative space.
Time to plan my next brunch… :)
ps: I have an apple cider donut recipe coming to your inbox. She’s gluten-free and effervescent and I’ve nearly finished photographing her (by the window at magic hour, of course).
Love this. Creative spaces must be protected!