Yesterday was a bum day at work. The kind of day that just wrecks your confidence in people and perhaps even your choices. I should have seen it coming, I spent the weekend pining for a house. I’m in ‘nesting’ mode and that usually means long visits to Trulia.com to browse homes upstate. The Poconos, the Catskills, along the Westchester Reservoirs. I spent most of Sunday with football in the background as old ranches on 2.3 acres whizzed by my screen. This one caught my eye…but it was too close to town, too manicured.
Now, I’m priviledged. I live in a condo in fashionable Williamsburg, with a view of arguably the most social park in the city, McCarren Park. …it has resurfaced tennis courts. I can get my hipster on by just walking outside.
But a man isn’t a man until he makes a homestead. Growing up on a teacher’s salary, my family of 7, sometimes 8, moved around a bit, but we stuck to the outskirts. The rural lands where big houses were cheap and easily accommodated a sprawling growing family with not a lot of money. I attended (seriously) a one-room schoolhouse in Concord, NH, like this one in Croydon.
Anyway, I digress–at work yesterday–I was reminded that when people are ugly, its often when they’re trying to act “pretty” and “nice”. Coupled with my dissatisfaction that I was far away from owning a home (my savings have been consumed by other things this year), and “pretty-ugly” behavior, I felt a kind of ache in my chest.
Finally, I was able to scratch it late last night–by cracking a key chapter of the novel I’m writing. Here are a few of the research materials, below, held up by tall-ship bookends acquired at Brimfield this fall.
Writing soothes the soul. The ache has faded. Writing is a tough and lonely affair, but oh so deeply satisfying.