I'm observing the darkness of my little writing room, a greyish light struggling its way in through closed blinds. My desk is a mess. I feel the need to clean, but where to go with all of it? Thesis papers, Christmas cards, piles of collected images that I save for web design inspiration (but have yet to use), cards and paintings and an old newspaper, water bottles, coffee cups, plant, pens, candles, lamps, notes, lavender oil, legal tablets, stacks and stacks of books.
There's a dog a my feet and a cat curled up at my side. Rather than go to work today, I would prefer to open up the blinds, clean out this office, and begin again. Always, there is so much that I want to do in this one, short little life. I feel such a sense of spaciousness on the inside, I want my exterior world to reflect that.
Today I breathe deeply and revel in the question: Where to begin?