The first house I bought was\u00a0arguably the smallest dwelling in Benedict Canyon. I called it the \u201cDoll House.\u201d\u00a0Not the cute kind. It was two stories with one narrow cylinder stacked on top\u00a0of the other. Downstairs there was a small living room and a breakfast nook
with a wooden bench. Upstairs was the bedroom with an attached balcony that felt\u00a0rickety, a narrow closet and a bathroom with a shower. The ceilings were so low,\u00a0both upstairs and down, if I had been much taller, I would have grazed the top\u00a0of my head when I stood up. The house needed a sign at the door: No people over
six feet beyond this point.<\/p>\n
I wasn\u2019t alone there. I lived with\u00a0a musician boyfriend (he was obviously under six feet) who was up all night\u00a0composing music. He\u2019d be going to bed when I was getting up and heading
downstairs to make coffee. My first book, \u201cAwakening the Healer Within,\u201d\u00a0published by Simon & Schuster, had done well. I had an idea for a second one,\u00a0a novel set during the AIDS epidemic, but I didn\u2019t know where I would write it.\u00a0I\u2019d had a large bedroom\/office in the rental where I\u2019d lived before but here,\u00a0there was hardly enough room for my laptop, my printer and my notes. There was\u00a0hardly enough room for me.<\/p>\n
I told myself it was impossible to\u00a0write there, I needed to wait until I could afford a larger home, but there was\u00a0a catch 22. I had to write to make the money to buy that larger home. My hard\u00a0earned discipline kicked in and I refused to find an excuse not to write. I put
my laptop on the table in the breakfast nook, I put the printer under the table\u00a0and I spread out my notes on the bench beside me. There was no room for\u00a0accoutrements. I liked having photos and crystals and other sacred objects\u00a0strewn around when I worked but it didn\u2019t matter. I had one thing to do and I\u00a0did it. I wrote.<\/p>\n
It was cramped at first but I\u00a0reminded myself that even though my body felt confined, my mind could go\u00a0wherever I wanted it to. I settled into the bench and that spot became my safe place.\u00a0Each morning when I sat there, my mind recognized what was happening and I was\u00a0able to focus. I lost time and I let my imagination flow as I put my attention\u00a0on what was in front of me. Months later, when I had finished the book, I had\u00a0proven to myself that I could write with consistency wherever I was. I just had\u00a0to want to. I had to stop listening to the negative messages I was feeding\u00a0myself and keep my eye on the prize.<\/p>\n
I had the Doll House for close to a\u00a0year when I sold it and bought a larger home that I called \u201cThe Sanctuary.\u201d My\u00a0relationship didn\u2019t last and the entire home became my safe place. Several\u00a0relationships and decades later, I still live here. I have a designated writing\u00a0room with a large V-shaped glass desk, a wall of shelves filled with books, a\u00a0lot of them are my books, and plenty of room for my computer, my printer and my\u00a0notes. I have two altars with crystals, Buddhas, Quan Yins and photos of thevpeople I love. I\u2019ve written bestsellers here, quirky novels, memoirs, poetry\u00a0and blogs like this one. But I never forget the Doll House. I never forget that\u00a0I can create safety wherever I am and do the thing I like best: Write.<\/p>\n
As a coach, my students often find\u00a0it challenging to be consistent with their writing. I know all about that. Ib\u00a0tell them to book their writing time like they would a doctor\u2019s appointment,\u00a0but I also tell them about the Doll House. I suggest they create a safe place in
their homes where they feel welcome. A place that feels like an invitation to\u00a0show up and do something creative. A place that allows them to feel\u00a0unencumbered. I was working on a novel many years ago when I called a writer\u00a0friend and said, \u201cI\u2019m trying to work on my book but my characters won\u2019t let me\u00a0in. It feels like they\u2019ve put up a barrier and I can\u2019t get through.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYour office is your safe place,\u201d\u00a0she said. \u201cStop trying to write. Just sit there and look at the beautiful\u00a0things around you and breathe.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned back in my chair and I\u00a0looked at a wooden Buddha I\u2019d bought when I was in Bali. I gazed at a clear\u00a0crystal selenite tower a friend had given me. I dropped into my center and\u00a0focused on my breath. I felt at home as my mind stopped looping and telling me
scary stories. In a short time, I could feel the barrier dissolve and I went\u00a0back to work.<\/p>\n
Wherever I\u2019ve lived in my adult\u00a0life, whether I was with someone or I was alone, I\u2019ve always created a safe\u00a0place just for me. I\u2019m in mine right now. I use it not only to write, but also\u00a0to make difficult decisions and change my mood when I start to go downhill. I\u00a0use it to clear my mind and settle my thoughts which is paramount for my mental\u00a0health. I have a sense of freedom here, a sense of being home.<\/p>\n
Maya Angelou said, \u201cThe ache for\u00a0home lives in all of us, the safe space where we can go as we are and not be\u00a0questioned.\u201d<\/p>\n
Our world is complicated and filled\u00a0with difficulties. The simple act of getting up and getting through a day with\u00a0some harmony can be a challenge. If we want to be courageous in this\u00a0unpredictable, vast world around us, if we want to be inspired and uplifted and\u00a0comforted, we need a safe space, however small it may be, to face our fears, to\u00a0stay mentally healthy and find our way out the other side.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The first house I bought was\u00a0arguably the smallest dwelling in Benedict Canyon. I called it the \u201cDoll House.\u201d\u00a0Not the cute kind. It was two stories with one narrow cylinder stacked on top\u00a0of the other. Downstairs there was a small living room and a breakfast nookwith a wooden bench. Upstairs was the bedroom with an attached […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":2603,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[9],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2604","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blog"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2604","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2604"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2604\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2605,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2604\/revisions\/2605"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2603"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2604"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2604"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.andreacagan.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2604"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}