I moved out in November and experienced the usual mix of emotions that come with changing homes: nostalgia for the old place and its daily routines in the neighborhood, as well as anxiety about the change. It took some time to adapt to the new place, during which I couldn’t focus on anything other than organizing my space to make it familiar—with my stacks of books and notebooks, my laptop, bed, and closet.
For some reason, I can’t seem to write fiction unless I’m fully settled down. I can produce non-fiction, diary entries, random thoughts, comments—anything but a story. I’m currently reflecting on what I typically write when I’m traveling or away from home. It appears that my focus tends to be on the experience itself. New places consistently spark fresh stories within me. I either document them immediately or store them in my mind until the time is right to transfer them onto paper. When it comes to fiction, my brain generally craves the sense of stability and homeliness.
We still have snow with occasional sunshine. It’s simply winter, and given all the stay-at-home habits I developed in the past year, there’s nothing to complain about. The neighborhood is quiet, filled with many friendly faces. The hills are taken over by cute white bunnies, roaming freely and seemingly enjoying sharing this habitat with humans.
I’m back to using my daughter’s 8th-grade desk, the one she had chosen herself. Although she was the one who chose it, she hardly used it, so I ended up borrowing it on and off. Initially, we thought of giving it away, but we decided to hold onto it at the last minute. I don’t really dislike it, and it serves its purpose perfectly well. It provides enough space for my laptop, lamp, microphone, and the bulky desktop organizers. While the current desk setting might not be my dream desk, it serves its purpose, and I’m grateful to have it. I know I will make some changes along the way because this is how I function with changes: I go through phases, making one change, getting used to it, then moving on to the next, and so forth.
I like to have solid ground under my feet.
I’ve also promised myself to sift through my papers, organizing and recycling them. It’s time-consuming to sort through what I accumulate in the span of a few months. I began a system just before moving out and managed to dispose of a couple of recycling bags’ worth of papers. I made a lot of progress, but there’s still more to be done.
I have also adopted a new strategy for my writing. I’ve developed more confidence in myself, my ideas, what I write, and how I write it. I trust that my stories are mine to tell. I’ve also established a seasonal writing schedule, changing it every three months.
I’m starting to find my way to a good writing routine in my new house. The best moment, just like before, is in the morning, preferably before breakfast. After breakfast, I get caught up in the daily hustle of work, home, and life.
I love living near the mountains, but I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m now further away from the city center, something I’ve avoided so far. I’ve always tried to live where I can access all the services, stores, and places without a long commute. However, this year, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and be less reluctant to life choices for myself.