A Room of One's Own

I have a confession to make. Although I've missed my husband and daughter this week while they travel, I've enjoyed having my bedroom to myself.
When I was a little girl, I shared a room with my older sister. Somewhere around 10 or 11, I moved into a tiny, closet of a room with a bed that had built in drawers, which I loved. My room is where I went to write and read and dream. In college, in grad school, I shared a dorm room or apartment. Then, before I was married, I had a whole apartment to myself for a few years. For the past 19 years, I've been sharing my bedroom with a very thoughtful man, who makes the bed each morning when he gets out of it, still... to have a room of one's own, ah...
This week, when I get up at 5 or 5:30. I turn on the light rather than groping around in the dark. I don't have to worry about setting out my running clothes and hanging my work clothes on the bathroom door. I leave the door of the bedroom open so a breeze wafts in from the bedroom windows while I work on my computer here in this square hallway/office. I sit cross-legged on my bed facing the darkened windows to meditate and visualize. I put my hands palm up on my crossed legs and feel the possibilities in my palms, the open palms that can easily receive or give. A deep breath that I feel and hear in the quiet of my room. I open my eyes and look at the treetops through the three-paned, Arts & Crafts window. I am at peace.
In a few days, the rest of my family will be home. I'll mute my computer while I work early in the morning and I'll tiptoe out of the bedroom in the morning, trading strong arms and a warm body in my bed for the privacy that I'll have all too soon when the kids leave for homes of their own.