It happens sometimes, that in our practice, we arrive at ‘a-ha’ moments. Such moments, upon our initial fascination, and upon closer inspection, turn out to be particularly resembling common wisdom. They often belong to the realm of general knowledge.

I have an example in my recent experience, while learning a useless trick of spinning a pen around my thumb. I started by trying a couple of times and failing. Watched gifs and videos and read tutorials. Next time, about ten minutes into practice, failure after failure — I still didn’t learn the trick. But something happened. I had my first aha moment: I realized that I was sending the pen on a wrong trajectory. It was far from the first signs of success. But that was a step ahead. That revelation would not have been possible without the initial practice. Multiple repetitions, without putting any thought into what I was doing, without losing the motivation — that was what got me to that first step on a learning ladder. I wasn’t succeeding, but I was learning something. That’s what kids are good at. And that’s, probably, something that we call “an inner child”, that center of curiosity and readiness to fail, without turning away from the task.

This particular “insight” that I had can be translated into a common-knowledge phrase “practice makes perfect.” So simple, so familiar. But it feels completely different when you arrive at this from your own experience, as something you felt rather than something you overheard. Something that you thought rather than something that you agreed with. And this is what helps us grow. Even if in a questionably useful task of pen spinning.

I’ve been thinking about the notion of personal space, one’s own place. Not everyone has the same environment, not everyone follows the same path. But the need for a space of one’s own is quite common, as well as how we have own spaces during our lives.

It’s funny how this topic is going to be about the title of this blog, “before… and then…”

Before, as a child, you have a room of your own. As a teenager, however your day went, however things are are, when you feel like the whole world betrayed you, you can and go and lock yourself in your room. It can be a prison if you’re grounded, it can be a castle if you just want to be left alone.

Then, you grow up, move out, maybe live in a dorm and share a room, or you live in a shared apartment and have roommates. You can have a room of your own (hopefully). Then you mature as much as to afford yourself an apartment of your own. This is your space, more than a room, hopefully, you very own space where you can fully enjoy your privacy.

And then, you meet someone you are ready to share your space with, you move in together. (Surely, just one scenario, but common, and mine.) As a couple, and later, maybe, as parents, you have a shared place, a house or an apartment, and most likely, you don’t have such a thing as “your room” anymore. The entire place is yours, but only your kids — again, if your living arrangements allow — get to have something to call “my room”. You have a bedroom, that you share with your partner, hopefully. Unless you can afford a big house that includes separate rooms for various needs, to accomodate the habits and wishes of each family member, their own sacred spaces, and common areas, you probably don’t have a room of your own anymore.

To carve out a private space, most people have to work it out somehow — a cupboard-sized office is one example. Or claiming the kitchen as your working area — both if you’re cooking and working on something “yours” using the kitchen counter or a dining table as a desk. I like to work from my dining table, actually, in part because it offers easy access to tea, my preferred writing and thinking fuel.

I like looking at how different authors write, and how people work in general, those of us who use desks or something like a desk.

Douglas Coupland prefers to write on a plane, Neil Gaiman has a gazebo for writing, and other people who write have or had so many different setups.

The working setup, of course, is not limited to writing. This is work, in general, than many people do from their computers, or notebooks. Some need more privacy than others, and a specifically setup place for the proper state of mind.

Since I was a kid, I paid the most attention to rearranging my desk. More than the rest of the room. Moving things around, placing different books, or decorations, or notebooks, trying various containers for pens and pencils. Then all sorts of gadgets came, and my working space contracted to the confinements of a laptop screen, placed either on my lap, or on a desk. So the importance of having a chair and a desk counted, and little else. Having something to drink, too, like water or tea. Having a place to put my notebook to take any handwritten notes. Working from a cafe started to become a thing for me. The sense of this weird mix of private and public. A coffee shop itself being the public aspect, and whatever I had open on my computer, the private. Felt good to be around people, and at the same time disconnected. But still, I needed my private space to do work.

I’ve been talking here about personal space. But there’s also another aspect of it — personal time. The idea of having a room, or any kind of space to focus on the work, is not enough. Or, rather, having this kind of space also means that it accommodates you and gives you uninterrupted spread of time to do what you came here to do. It’s harder with kids, harder with the pace of life of someone with many commitments. It’s a choice, again, divided by the circumstances. I tend to enjoy a much smaller number of commitments now, one of them simply sleeping well. And so many desirable activities clash with the time devoted to sleep! Yet again, time is an important part of the equation: the luxury and the comfort and the pure need of one’s personal time and personal space.