These Four Walls

We work hard at constructing our own four walls, and then we either ignore them and all the sanctity they might give us or we allow ourselves to feel imprisoned by them. Or we remake them, adorning a few

windows, painting brush strokes, hanging a picture here and there. That’s what I did, well...with a whole-lotta help from a friend.

Corina had come over for dinner a couple weeks ago, bringing with her an amazing gift: a tapestry from Africa, her recent trip. After dinner, we hung it –– two women armed with hammers and nails and visions for a beautiful life. I looked around my apartment at all the white space, all the voids I wanted filled with...with whatever it is I hope to realize about myself and wish to convey to anyone who happens to observe a slice of me. Since that evening, I’d become preoccupied with the fact that I had fallen into an abyss of sorts –– a blank place not defined by me, by the person taking up space in this apartment and in this life –– and that I had better not waste any more time imprinting it.

So, much to my anti-shopping chagrin, Corina and I set out on a mission a few days later, guided by her shopping-and-design-savvy ways. I have to tell you: we cleaned up! Hours and store-stops later, we foraged the market for a loaf of bread and some olives and came back to my apartment, the blank canvas, for a make-over party, fueled first by wine and a few pre-dinner noshes.

Nails were hammered, pictures were hung, plants were potted and candles were lit. And then dinner was cooked and more wine was poured. By evening’s end, looking around at the transformation –– the emergence of who am I and how do I envision that me –– I couldn’t stop smiling.

Do you remember invisible ink? Do you recall the magic of spelling out a message with milk on a blank page, holding the white piece of paper over a stove burner, waiting for the heat to reveal your message to the world? That’s what it was like for me that day. Shopping with a friend, it turns out, is not so bad. We hunted and gathered and brought back to my camp the loot we thought spoke of me. Now, here I sit, looking around at these four walls, wondering why I’d needed so much time on a blank page to see myself. Sometimes, it’s through the eyes of friends that we recognize ourselves.