Leah Farmer

Personal perspectives on faith, literature, and life.

I broke my happy place…

 

I read this in today’s reading and thought, “I think I broke my happy place.”

Being home for 31 days has shifted what my home means for me and what places inside my home mean for me. Some days it still feels like a nest, while other days feels like a prison cell. I know that is SUPER over the top wording, but I’m describing a feeling.

What has been my happy place is the big comfy chair, with a blanket across my legs, a big orange cat in my lap, and a book or my journal. I do still love this spot, but it has also become a secondary work spot. When I tire of sitting at my desk, I sit in this chair and get work done or attend meetings. I thought it would bring me comfort, instead it has kind of ruined the peace of sitting in that spot for me. So now I have to rethink my backup working location vs. my happy place.

sigh

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