Some time over the last two weeks—while my therapist was traveling for the holidays—a pipe burst in his office. So, while it is being repaired, we had our session yesterday in a different office, a colleague’s office.
And I immediately commented that it must be challenging to re-orient himself in sessions. Because rooms can take on certain energy and bring out certain consciousness. We grow safe in familiarity. But, then again—because of that—they can also bring out new ideas and conversations that might not be had otherwise.
I remembered the one other time we’ve ever switched rooms—just about a year ago. In that session, we had a radically different conversation than we’d ever had before. In fact, the whole conversation centered around unpacking the movie Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me and its spiritual implications.
And, not surprisingly, yesterday we had a radically different conversation than usual. In the temporary new room.
For years now I’ve been fascinated by the relationship I’ve had with space. How my life has changed depending on the spaces I surround myself by. It’s why I could never travel the world and work like so many colleagues and friends. As my space changes, so does my consciousness. I’ve never had any trouble putting work aside when I travel. Mostly because I’m in a different consciousness. I’m allowing different aspects of my psyche to rise up in relation to where I am.
But that also means that when I do work—like teaching when we’re visiting family or from Garrett’s conferences—I’m always a little thrown. And I need to really ground myself to shift back into what feels so natural at home.
I remember when we first bought this place. We took nearly two months to move in. And it was only a mile down the road from our previous home. So I used to come here during the day sometimes—to a big, empty place—and work on the floor. I remember feeling into what it’d be like to work here. Or live here.
I don’t have a dedicated office like I used to. Instead, I have a lot more open concept. And somehow that actually feels more expansive for my work. It feels more like an artist’s loft. And I can pretty much guarantee that my work wouldn’t veer its way into the art world so much had I not moved into this place.
And I don’t know that my self-care regimen would be so robust without a bathtub in the middle of my condo—calling to me, beckoning to me, reminding me to care for myself.
Maybe it’s my sensitivity, but it’s also why we’re so conscious about what we bring into our space. What artwork, what photography. Because it changes a lot for me. It alters the energy of the space.
When we first moved in, one of the first things I thought about was how to integrate our energy with the home’s inherent energy. It was originally built in 1920 (though obviously had renovations), and it carries a rich history.
My dad had the brilliant idea of using one of the window benches as one half of the dinner table seating. With chairs on the other side. That way our space is dining experience is shared between what’s inherently this place and what’s us. Old and new. Merging.
And I immediately went out and bought bowls made by local artists from our neighborhood to fill with crystals. So we can start to connect with the community. Our home.
And it changes the way I conceptualize. It’s subtle, but it does.
I remember where I lived when I first started work in PR. And when we first started our own PR firm. And when I first decided to leave PR, when I got sick, and fell in love with Garrett.
Fascinatingly, at that exact time, as I began to explore my spirituality, we had a beautiful sunroom with a stunning glass round table and red curtains at its entrance. It was basically asking to be a psychic parlor. It’s where I ended up reading books on Kabbalah and practicing Tarot readings and learning how to use a pendulum. I wonder if I didn’t have that room exactly like that, would things be different?
Three months before I left PR, Garrett and I moved. To a much more expensive (for us at the time) three-bedroom condo overlooking the entire skyline of Boston. It was in a new, trendier neighborhood. And it was the first place that we lived just us two. It’s where I got a book deal, wrote a book, and released it. It’s where I started my new business—in my private home office. It’s even where I saw clients in-person, something I’d never do in my current home. It’s where the Five Master Energies and the entire Sacred Circle work first came to me.
Had we never moved, maybe I never would have had the courage to start this business. Or write that book. Or journey into the Circle work.
I generally believe that we grow into whatever space we have. And that doesn’t mean that bigger homes suddenly make us more expansive. But homes we love, things that resonate, things that inspire somehow bring out new, hidden aspects of ourselves.
Space does change consciousness. And it’s interesting to be aware of what changes we’re bringing forward.
How do you relate to your space? How has your space changed your life?
It’s shockingly powerful. Whatever we call home.
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