It May Only Be A Closet, But It Does Have A Window

​I have a little closet in the back of our house that I've converted into an office. There's a desk, bookshelf, small lamp and wooden rack running along a wall that holds my running medals. I've lost weigh recently. That makes it's easier to squeeze myself into that tiny space to read and write every morning. Still, the fit is hardly comfortable.

More than once I've sat in that space wondering, do the famous writers of the world have to write in such inglorious settings?

I suppose that wondering suggests a couple of things. One, the idea that where famous writers write is key to their fame. And two, underneath the writing I do in that closet, is some desire to be a famous writer. 

The other day, sitting in the office that belongs to that far from famous author, I was reminded of the true value in writing. For the famous and for the not so famous. 

So I forgot to mention another thing I have in this office. I have a window. As I was searching for the words to plug into the next sentence for an article I was writing, I turned and gazed out that window. I wasn't hoping to find anything as much as I was looking to escape the words refusing to show up on my keyboard. Windows just happen to make great escape routes. 

They can also be filled with beautiful surprises. 

My eyes were drawn across our backyard into the distance to a sparkling playground in the sky. The ice from the day before was now soaking up the sun. Like our dog likes to lay in even the slightest beam of light blazing through our front door, creating a sunny bed on the entrance way floor in our house, ice seeks the sun. And when it finds it, one of the most beautiful pairings in nature springs to life.  

Like much of nature - the scene is fleeting. The opportunities to catch it can be small. The saddest part of that is many of those opportunities are lost because I don't take the time to seek them. I spend time racing ahead in life, taking note of all I don't have, instead of giving thanks for the windows in life I do have. 

Maybe the greatest luxury we all share in life is the window. In windows, we all have something uniquely ours. Our window. Our view. Our beauty. Through our windows we all get to see a moment in time that will soon be extinct. How we remember them, and maybe write about them, is all that carries them forward. 

How many moments are missed because we're frantically searching for the next open door and not gazing out windows? How many moments in time face the darkest of extinctions because no one stops to create a memory; no one stops to absorb a light that can shine on others forever. 

​As I write this I'm suddenly grateful. This is a tiny closet, but at least it has a window.