The Writing Room Redo

I am a writer. Which means there is an inner struggle taking place inside me on a daily basis. To be more accurate, make that plural - struggles. You have yours too, whatever your life calling might be, but, there are struggles that are unique to a person who feels the need to process life through words, while simultaneously feeling the weight of handling those words with care. They aren't to be thrown about whenever you feel like it. They are to be curated carefully. Distributed intentionally. Unleashed into the world after giving much consideration to the reader of those words. Yes, I care about that part of it, because a foundational principle of my life is to consider others more important than myself. So I ponder. A lot. Some of you might wish I pondered more and wrote less. You can write about that on your own blog.  

Lately, I've found myself more in the pondering phase than the actual putting words on paper phase, and certainly more than the posting phase. I've grown increasingly disappointed and often angry over the lack of care given to words - especially on social media. Whether they are the "my way is right and yours isn't" words, or the "look at me and what I got to do" words, or the "if you didn't like the Super Bowl half-time show you're a racist" kind of words.  That last one kinda put me over the edge when it showed up on my FB feed. I mean, my mother didn't like the half-time show and I'm pretty sure it isn't because she's a racist. Because she isn't a racist. But someone out there thinks she is and they put those words out into the world wide web. I think she didn't like it because she's 93 and would have rather watched Frank Sinatra, had he ever had the opportunity to do a Super Bowl half-time show. It just wasn't her cup of tea. But these days, if something isn't your cup of tea, some people think you're a racist.  

I haven't been writing as much lately. Partly because I've been buried in other work, but partly because when I sit down to write, I feel a bit paralyzed by those inner struggles I mentioned. Those thoughts that make me second guess, filter, and ultimately get up from my writing chair. I don't like it. I've also been feeling like something isn't right when I walk into my writing room. So I decided to do something about it. 

Environment matters to me. Vibe. Ambience. Place. I love curating a space that makes me feel inspired, motivated, and purposeful. I've revamped my creative space many times over the years, but a few things have remained in this room that holds so much for me. The words I've written in here chronicle a life that's been a beautiful combination of joy and sorrow, achievements and failures, and mostly, the faith and relationships that have sustained me through it all. I've had some pretty cool things happen in my life as a result of what has been written in here. Awards. Number one songs. Work that has ended up in print and then gone to places I've never been. That last one really makes me smile. 

For much of the past 18 years, the walls in this room have been covered with memorabilia commemorating those achievements. Statues, plaques, photos, sheet music. I would walk in this room and those things would serve as a reminder that some people think I can do this writing thing pretty well. Some days you need that reminder because you think everything you write is complete trash, or the day before you wrote something you love and think to yourself you'll never write anything decent again. I would look up at the things on the walls and the shelf across from my desk and think, "Apparently you can do this, so get to work." And I did. If I'm being completely honest though, the things scattered throughout my writing room also reminded me of a time when the music business looked different, so looking at them make me quite sad. And sometimes angry. And defeated.

I knew something had to change because considering the hours and hours I spend in this room, I need it to be a place where I feel inspired. Moved. A space that reminds me why I do what I do. So this past week, this room got a makeover. All the awards came down. The photos from special moments when my work was recognized no longer hang on the walls, but have been replaced with family photos and meaningful quotes. I decluttered and took out books that didn't have significant meaning or weren't on my current reading list. I changed the angles to accommodate my standing writing desk, the walking pad beneath it, and the keyboard that now sits behind me, easily accessible for when words need a melody. I painted the walls a dark green, bought a small recliner that serves multiple purposes: morning quiet time, late night writing, and reading time with my granddaughter Collins, whose portable crib now has a permanent place in the corner. 

It might sound silly, but I now have a renewed sense of peace and purpose when I walk in this room.  (By the way, I make no judgement regarding what other writers have on their walls. Whatever makes your space a place you want to be in is what's important here.)  I think I needed the freedom to write what is stirring in my heart regardless of where I hope it might end up, whether that's on a page in a book, in a musical songbook, or for the world to see on a blog. And while I do still hope my words are unleashed in ways that make a difference in the world, there are also words written in here which are only meant for those closest to me. And some words written in here should never see the light of day - the just-me-and-Jesus words. 

So, here's to little writing rooms everywhere that inspire the wordsmith and hold their thoughts and scribbles. Here's to spaces that make us feel like what we do matters. And here's to another day in this room. My room. Let the fun begin.  

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