I used to sit on her bed when I was 11. I still remember the purple and yellow granny square afghan, soft and inviting. In the light of a large window, I curled up on her bed like a cat, reading her books and soaking in the solitude.
My sister's room was my favorite place to be when I needed somewhere to escape, and she was out. Eventually she graduated and left home, so the room with the purple shag carpet became mine and I'd curl up on my sherbet striped bed, reading.
At 11 life was simple.
At 40, not so much. I've been struggling, lately. Struggling to find my sanctuary where I can hide from the pressures and worries that feel like they are crushing me. I sit at my computer, staring at conversations fly by on twitter-and some days I just have nothing to say. Here late at night I write, then erase, and write, only to erase again.
Tonight, I lost myself in making dinner. The smell of spicy chili filled the air as I mixed and poured, brought warm biscuits from the oven, chopped veggies for a salad, and whisked salad dressing.
"You have to find a distraction," someone had said to me earlier in the day. "Your worry plate is full,"
Yes, it's full and sometimes, I need to close the door for a few days and re-group.
I need that sanctuary.
Some days, I think I find it in my kitchen.
Where's your sanctuary when life becomes too much?