Shrinking Private Space

There is a practice I heard about one year ago, called “sit spot.” It means finding a place to sit outdoors for a substantial period of time. The Wilderness Awareness School on the West Coast designed this practice for aspiring naturalists to attune themselves to their natural surroundings.

In the place where I sit most often, at the kitchen counter with my computer, I can observe my refrigerator. It makes noise sometimes. Besides that, there’s not much going on.

Yesterday, I showed up at the small nonprofit where I do some work to find the gate down. My boss didn’t answer her phone, so, confused about whether to leave and come back, go home or go to a cafe, wait or reschedule, I sat down on the fence around a small tree. The fence was cold but bearable. I pulled my fingers into the palm of my gloves, pulled up my hood, and peered out- and to my surprise, the view was pleasant. I usually try to spend as little time as possible on street corners of fourth avenue. However, I actually found the cars, the snow, and the commuters with inappropriate shoes entertaining enough, and nice to watch.  I wondered if I was seeing what the world would be like without me.

The problem with my home, perhaps, is that there’s no space without me. Generally, nothing happens unless I want it to, which feels like quite a burden when I’m not sure what I want. And yet, I have three floors of my family’s home to control, manipulate, like or dislike, accept, reject, and change. That’s a lot of self-centered decision-making to do. And it ends up feeling lonely and conceited.

I sometimes wish my house were ten times smaller. Sleeping in a tent helps. But it’s still such a journey to make my way out of private space, into the world we all share. And meanwhile, I’m stuck inside, many yards away from the street or the backyard, and the only things I can be attuned to are the refrigerator and the hyperactive buzzing of my unstimulated brain.

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