I am at a librairy that sits on a lake. For some time I have wanted to come here during my writing time. Something in my blood begins to hum at the sight of water.
There are huge windows all along this side of the building. Walking in, I had a few things I needed to do at the back but I kept looking to the windows, eager to settle in and stake my claim on the water. Some tables were in use or too close to others that were full. I wanted distance from people and proximity to the view. A table right next to the window in a section that was empty seemed just the ticket. Only once I got there did I realize that getting so close I was overlooking the parking lot and my view was mainly, some heating units, a bike rack and the boardwalk. The lake was right there, but was nolonger my focus. And then I noticed some comfy chairs with handy little trays attached several feet behind me. I sat down in the first. It was comfortable and the lake now dominated my sight, but a bit of the pesky parking lot remained. There was another chair only inches away. I shifted over to it, dragging my bag and pushing the stack of books with my foot. And now the lake, it’s boundary of trees and the great grey sky are all I see.
I am trying to tell my story and I don’t know how to do it. In theory, I know I need to shift, pull back, relax and just let the new view come into focus, but I don’t know what that means practically. Maybe I don’t need to know. Perhaps I just need to do whatever it is I think is moving back and lowering myself down, trusting that a comfortable chair will be there when I am ready.