October 3, 2017 § 10 Comments
I’m in Malaysia. As I write, it’s already tomorrow, which feels a little like magic–twelve hours ahead and not watching the hotel TV unless it’s accidentally (surprise CNN, tragedy leaving me sad and shocked but unsurprised). Offline as much as possible, to make room for my brain to wander and wonder and my hands to scribble. It’s easier to do that on vacation–it’s like I have permission from the God of Accomplishment to relax away from home.
It’s harder to make room for thinking at home. To make room for anything, really. My friend the relationship advice guru says if you’re single but ready, start sleeping on one side of the bed. Clear some space on the bathroom counter and in the closet. Make a place for what you want in your life. That sometimes the space for what you want is filled with what you’ve settled for. It’s hard to get rid of stuff that’s “OK” and open up a big fat nothing, trusting you’ll find something new. But new people, new ideas, even new clothes in the closet need open space before they show up.
I think about what I make room for at home: books in an actual bookshelf instead of closet piles, because I respect books. Sharp knives and a cast-iron pan because I love good food (it hurt to toss those perfectly good knives that weren’t actually very good). Time in a busy schedule to vacuum and do laundry and bring an after-work juice to a man loosening his tie because I’m finally able to value and make room for a good relationship.
In Batu Ferenghi in Penang, Malayia, I make room for ridiculously cheap foot massages, about US$7.50 for thirty minutes of sheer bliss. Turn the phone off, make a few polite comments and discover I do not speak enough Malaysian to do more than nod and smile, then lie back and think. Make room for thinking in a room full of armchairs and ottomans and other people lying back to be reflexology-ed. Outside the front window, there’s a shrine. A little red slant-roofed temple, just tall enough for a statue of Kuan Yin, Goddess of Mercy, and shelf space for offerings. A bunch of bananas. A sweet drink. At the massage room, spiritual connection is here on purpose. For this goddess, they have made room. Prayers, genuflections on the way into and out of work, an opening for reverence, for appeal, for gratitude.
Back home, I finally moved my desk downstairs, put up a good light, put the books I read most in arm’s length. It was still hard to write. Making an Instagram-ready space wasn’t enough. I returned (as I always do) to appointments. To making writing a scheduled job. A four-hour shift with two writer buddies and a table at the coffee shop, because it’s easier to show up for someone else than to show up for myself. Technically, I would argue as a Buddhist, we are all gods. Practically, I can make it to the altar when it’s a date with another being.
Ritual gets things done. Going to the gym every day or every other day is easier than once a week. Writing every day–even for Instagram for five minutes–keeps me in the religion of making art, sharing the good news. Ritual is refuge when we are sad and shocked and unsurprised.
Maybe it’s a desk or a nice laptop or an appointment with a friend. Maybe it’s a conference or a retreat or a deadline. Whatever it is, do it–pray it–as often as you can. Make time, make space, clear out room for your own gods. Invite them in.
Allison K Williams is Brevity’s Social Media Editor and writes travel micro-essays at Instagram.