How often do we sit in empty rooms? The quiet is hard. The space can be even harder. We spend so much time filling the walls and rooms of our souls. Our stories are stacked on the bookshelves, along with others’ stories and our idea of what life should be like.
Sometimes, I feel like I’ve spent much of my life trying to follow others’ story lines for me. How to find happiness. How to find myself.
This is a thought that’s been brewing, and there’s more there, I know. I haven’t sussed out what I’m trying to say or where this will go. But, yesterday, during a joyful mid-week, post-finals writing date with M. Fenn, we used the prompt an empty room. And all of this stuff started bubbling up. I know I still need time with it, but it’s a start. It’s a thought. It’s a place that I want to go to and explore.
So, look for those in the coming weeks, hopefully. But, in the mean time… here are some of the pondering questions.
What would it be like to sit in an empty room and choose for myself what stories are told? To sit and listen to the whispers in my own heart to know what truly belongs there? To follow a path I listen for, which surfaces from my own words? What would that be like?