“If you’re going to be a solopreneur when you grow up and work for yourself, best to practice by playing in small spaces by yourself for long hours when you’re a kid!”

Do we ever really grow up? I don’t think so. Somewhere, deep inside, there is this child lingering and longing to climb into that cabinet and play alone with your cat, or dig into a mountain of dirt and plant land mines of GI Joes, or dress up in your momma’s high heels and hat and climb the suitcases like they were stairs to perform your favorite song for your stuffed animals. ha! We never stop longing for that independent freedom we knew as a child.

Somewhere along the way it stuck with me. The fact that I wanted – needed – to have a level of independence, especially in work, that would allow me to… ummm… play in the closet!  So I started my own business, and as a serial solopreneur I have learned the art of self motivation, leaning on my imagination, how to effectively talk to myself and conduct market research, and of course, how to juggle 100 balls and still be able to pay my mortgage or rent and find time to have a personal life.

There is something to say for independence, but sometimes ( I will admit quiet hesitantly) I think it might be nice for someone else to take my closet space and tell me what I need to go do!  Only rarely… maybe, sometimes.

So to all you children at heart that want to be independently working (nope, I didn’t say wealthy), here’s to spending time alone in your closet. Practice makes perfect!  ; )

Lovely night to all…

Sandy

PS – The amazing photo is by one of my favorite contemporary photographers – Alain Laboile.

Recollections

Midnight…
lights dimmed across the eclectic apartment
filled with colorful objects
unnecessary things
square pictures 4 by 4
line the edges of her mirrored door
. . . framing her stories
but his image is not there
the glow of lights all in place
the fan hums
working to diminish
the dinner of fried fish now finished
windows open
allowing the sounds of the street
to be heard
wafting up into the apartment
like the scent of fresh bread
memories of Paris and love fill her head
from the street
indistinguishable conversations
drown out the silence
offering the same comfort that he did
that she is not alone
when together their hearts were home
There is sustenance in the city
a calm belonging
to the blackness of the night
the gooseneck lamp
directs a stream of light across the bed
where the blankets are loosely spread
. . . from an earlier wrestling with a nap
where she tried to find a place of peace
in her mind
where she laid a few hours before
she now rolls back the covers
laying her head she longs for her lover
. . . closes her eyes to dream
of what she cannot have
memories of laughter
longings for her children
a life lost in gravity
a ghost pushed toward fantasy
of mere thoughts
conjured images
now she will go to sleep
to dream of a story that cannot exist
to find a way back to the places she missed
Quiet outside
inside hissing
steam pipes
behind her head
give her a calm assurance
that things are working with steady endurance
the hum of the cars
outside the window
remind her of her beating heart
and the flow of her blood
through her veins
they keep her alive just the same
This is what its’ like to be alone
objects tell your stories
inanimate mystical friends without flesh
or blood
or beating heart
serve as memorials
and surround your life
to remind you
who you are
lest you forget
…and it’s so easy to forget
in our own minds
we can wander
deep into the recesses
of who we think we are
only to be fooled once again
that it’s not the way we’ve been
The origami starlights hang over
the tiny kitchen cabinets
she put them there
to remind her of a cozy home
and to fill the empty space
of art and love and passion not erased
. . . of a blank corner
in her life
carefully stacked books
on the mantel
color
clutter
statues
teapots
old cards
and the statue
Degas’ dancer
avance sur
an image of an old room
where shoes hang on the wall
and a veiled woman
walks through
who is she…
images déporté
reflections faded
innuendos remembered
suggestions given
dividers
partitions
apparitions
space fillers
space makers
fluffy pillows
warm rugs and blankets
window open she turns out the light
lays down her head and begins to rewrite
to uncover his memory
and remember the story
one more time…
so she can fall asleep tonight

© Sandy Hibbard 2017 Brooklyn NY