Hanging Out With Myself

Did you ever carve out your own private sanctuaries when you were growing up, and wanted to hang out with yourself? I found nooks and crannies everywhere. At five years old, I tucked myself inside my bedroom closet, then slid the doors closed so I could watch Mickey and Minnie on my little Donald Duck projector.

At eight, I sat with my heels hooked into the slats of our white ranch-style fence as I wove stories in my mind, or painted them with oils from the little art set that was a miniature version of my father's.

At eleven, I woke up early on summer mornings, and threw on my favorite shorts and T-shirt, so I'd feel cute when I rode my bike to Duck Creek Park to draw and write, with the trees and sky wrapped around me (and my peanut butter and jelly sandwich).

And as an adult? Years ago I had a job in a boutique that specialized in high-end men's fashion. One day I looked at a rack of the superbly tailored designer pieces, and started to laugh. Because I loved the niche where they were displayed far better than any of the clothes...and all I wanted was to curl up in that space, and write.

I will always find those little jewels. Always laugh at myself for wanting to curl up in them. And will do it whenever I can.

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