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.

My history with jeans in general, and Levi’s in particular, is a winding road.

In the Soviet childhood, you don’t just own a pair of Levi’s — or any jeans, for that matter. There was a black market for jeans. In the late 80s–early 90s, my family was lucky, as we had distant relatives in the U.S., and we sometimes got parcels with food and some clothes from them. Then my family traveled too, before and after the USSR collapse, and I vividly remember at least two pairs of Levi’s that I had: straight/slim corduroy reds and pinks. Fancy, right?

In the immediate post-Soviet times, good jeans were hard to fine and extremely expensive (well, under the circumstances of poverty, that 90% of population was living with, everything was expensive and out of reach). The markets were where a lot of people bought clothes, and they were overflowing with fake Diesel, and Mustang, and what have you. I almost never had to go through the ordeal of looking for something there, in muddy rows of these clothing and shoes, and the “fitting rooms” behind the self-assembled curtains with dirty mirrors. Thanks to my mom who, during out time living abroad, was wise to (a) choose quality items even for a kid, and (b) buy things for me to wear as I grow. I’m still immensely thankful to her for this. I wasn’t dressed in the latest fashion of the town. But I had my Levi’s pants and jackets.

From one of my first jobs, I saved up (yes, saved up) to buy my “first” pair of Levi’s. I remember they were black, skinny, in the 900 series (I’m thinking 911s, but now I’m not completely sure). This might not be the smartest move — after all, remember this was still the time when the “real thing” was crazy expensive, but I wore them with joy and pride, and a lot of brand awareness.

When the “dark times” passed, as I had more freedom with my money (and more of “my own money”, making a living), and as the consumer market exploded, there were all sorts of other jeans. Levi’s stopped being the most-wished-for unicorn. There were Calvin Kleins, and Diesels, and then jeans were just… jeans. Just casual pants that you buy without even much thinking.

A couple of years ago, I went without jeans at all, for a year. Well, I had one pair of white jeans, and wore it only occasionally (in my view, it doesn’t count). It went easier than I imagined, after all, I wasn’t as hooked up on jeans as before, there were plenty other options, and my style has changed significantly, too. Today, as I have recovered from the half-life on predominantly wearing only jeans, I know I can survive on dresses if I want to. And that’s when I go back to the Levi’s store, without the reverence I’d have as a teenager. But that’s a prerogative of a lot of things during the teenage years, so I guess it’s long lost anyway. Without the reverence, but still, with joy of getting me something affordable and desired.

“Affordable and desired” is the happiness formula — something that you can have, and that you can afford. Something that won’t clutter your life, but will become a good possession, helping, nice, not treasured as much as not to use, but used with care.