My room is my sanctuary, but it didn’t start like that. It used to be a garage in a row home built in 1925. I can’t imagine what it was before that. It’s been redone 5 times over, and when I moved in the spiders had more real estate than the carpet. But I made a commitment to make the small carpeted off area my safe haven. Now, it’s my favorite room in the house.
Decorated in tapestries and custom artwork and cozied up with Philadelphia sports memorabilia, my room welcomes me home every day. It has some wood furniture and some plastic, a cheap black rug, and enough books to keep me occupied for a decade. It’s draft but well lit, comfortable but many workouts have happened there. Nothing can be seen out of the small marbled window, and airflow is somewhat of an afterthought.
I’ll never fully understand why, but I love my rough and tough room. It makes me feel safe. Like I’m the king of my own kingdom, like I’ve ruled well and my dominion has afforded me a soft bed and secure walls. I am the king of this kingdom. And I always will be.
Until the lease runs out in May.