Most gain wisdom and lessons of life from peers or experiences, but I find all the knowledge I seek in my personal desk. People have happy places, specific locations found either mentally or physically, and my desk is my happy place. About four feet of pure mahogany, a few drawers filled with paper and writing utensils, a laptop, and various books and posters are what drive me to write. Patience, commitment, and tranquility are needed in order for me to lay down my thoughts on the infinite canvas of your typical Microsoft Word document. When I pull out my heavy red office chair, reboot my laptop, and play music relative to what emotion I want to form, I feel fully prepared to start my session of consistent writing.

For an abundance of time I was trapped in the awkward area of my living room, forced to write in the open, having no guard against commentary, whether it be snide or supportive. The living room and all the constant distractions that come with it only impeded my way of finishing any writing whatsoever. It was only by my sixteenth birthday that I had acquired a laptop - and in turn - we moved my sister’s dusty old desk into my room. I spent countless hours making everything perfect, from dusting the hard wood, to setting up my preferences in my computer, to putting inspiring books on my shelf, to even setting up posters around the perimeter of my sanctuary. Soon enough it was finished, my fortification was worth every passing hour’s worth of labor, and it became my lair devoted to writing.

Repetitive clacking is fueled by inspiration, inspiration is fueled by emotion, emotion is fueled by experience, and I gain all of that and more with the sanctuary of my desk.