When Mr. Transportation and I were first shown our current house, one of the dings against it, according to my husband, is that the primary bedroom included this weird nook off of one corner. “What on earth are we supposed to do with that?” he grumbled. I, meanwhile, saw it and immediately envisioned a cozy, sun-drenched reading nook.
Fast-forward fifteen years (!), and I had done almost nothing with the space. Part of the problem has been time and prioritization. I have five million things I want to accomplish, and three million of those all seem more urgent than decorating a space I won’t have time to relish anyway. The other part of the problem is crippling indecision. I had a vision of what I wanted to do with the space, and unless I could perfectly match my vision, I didn’t want to waste my money.
Then came my encounter with Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman. This book gave me a fresh perspective on time and how I might better prioritize what I do with it. Burkeman zooms out and points out that very few people really matter in history. For every Alexander the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte who re-shape nations, there are millions of others who have existed and been forgotten. Chances are, I, too, will be one of the forgotten. I found this realization to be both humbling and incredibly comforting. I have mentioned that I feel called, even pressured if I’m honest, to promote my theories on happiness. Burkeman’s treatise reminded me that, even if this work has some importance on a micro level (and that’s a big IF), it’s not all that important at the macro level. And if my “important” work is really not that important, then everything else (chores, social obligations, community duties, etc.) doesn’t even approach importance. My productivity stress vanished overnight.
But at the same time, all of this is important at the micro level because our time on Earth is fleeting. While what I do does not impact mankind (much, if at all), it does impact me, my circle of loved ones, and my community in the here and now, and I don’t want to waste what little time I have. I intend to be a positive force in my tiny corner of the universe, and force, in my opinion, is a result of a thousand small actions building over time.
With this perspective shift, I re-evaluated my values, my goals, and my priorities. One goal that moved up my list of priorities was Me Time, time spent relaxing into an activity that doesn’t necessarily have an objective beyond enjoyment (autonomy, safety, physiological, expectations). And this is how I found myself browsing at a vintage furniture market. What drew me to this market in particular was a friend of mine with a beautiful eye for interior design. She curates a collection of stylish furniture, stocking several booths at the market, and I’d had the intention of supporting her endeavor for months (social).
Me at one of my friend’s booths. Isn’t it lovely? Her home is even lovelier, a draught of bliss every time I visit her.
While walking through the market, I happened on a bookcase that almost matched the bookcase I had in my vision of my reading nook. Then in one of one of my friend’s booths, she had a wooden screen. I had this idea that I would wall off the nook with a screen. It was gorgeous, but as I told my friend, it was too effeminate for a space that is meant to be a haven for my husband, also. She pointed me to another one she had found. Again, it was not quite right (not my preferred color), but I was fresh from reading Four Thousand Weeks and thinking about how short life is. I asked myself, “Do I want to possibly wait another 15 years while I look for the perfect furniture or do I want to enjoy my home with furniture that will do the trick for now?”
Later that day, I suddenly found myself with a reading nook! It has been bringing me daily joy ever since: a quiet, well-lit space that I can retire to when I need to recharge my batteries. Perhaps one day I will upgrade it to the vision of perfect I had in my head, but I’ve already become a bit attached to this space that developed somewhat organically.
The entrance to the reading nook. The wooden screen provides a sense of separation. A dog bed at the foot of the chaise is a comfy spot for my ever-companion.
The nook has everything I need to enjoy a good book: plenty of light, a comfortable chaise, and a side table for my cup of tea!
I’ve read thousands of books, but only a small number have I enjoyed so much that I’d consider reading them again. My nookcase displays all of my favorite books.