Over the past two weeks, my parents have been away. And in the past two weeks I've had moments of frustration and, with no one at home, I've had the space to really explore those emotions. Not that I don't love my parents or appreciate having them around, but to have that space to really dig deep is so important. There is no shield that automatically comes up, no muzzle that gets attached. Emotions can ooze, scream, cower, shake, and blurt things out.
I know that discovering my own emotional landscape has been a immensely rewarding experience, albeit tough and not always pleasant. At those moments when I've felt vulnerable, emotions usually bubble up like freshly popped pop corn, spilling over, spilling out. And then there are those moments when you feel awful and you have no idea why. There are also times when you are jubilant, quietly content, radiantly happy. All moments in the emotional landscape.
Many times I've said that I love space. It even led me to try out an intro to architecture (my misadventure into and quickly out of architectural practice). But what I've come to realize that while I do really love a great open space, a thoughtfully constructed architectural space, a cozy room, and places with personality, I think I prize emotional space above all else. It allows me to just be a bit of an emotional mess without judgement, just let it all out, let things play out (it's not necessarily hysterical or anything), but just let emotions come to fruition, to completion. And then beautiful writing can happen (or angsty or terrible, but all necessary), and creative work ripens. Emotional space, it's a beautiful thing.