Window to the inside

By Cortney Philip

HappyNews Citizen Journalist

For the first time in my life, I have my very own writing area in a room that serves no other purpose. In my old place, I loved to give friends the "Grand Tour" for the sole purpose of poking fun at my lack of rooms to hold my interests.

"This is the library," I'd say as I pointed at my bookshelves. Then I'd shuffle 2 feet to the left. "This is the dining room and over there is the study," I would gesture at the card table and the computer desk. This went on for about 10 feet worth of shuffling. The finale occurred when we reached the grand foyer (or the rug in front of the door).

My writing room doesn't have a lock and key, but I'd like to think Virginia Woolf would be happy for me anyway. I'd honestly rather not close the door at all because my cats wandering about and the occasional roommate interruption will keep me from going off the deep end (and walking into a river with rocks in my pockets).

I have another confession to make. My writing room is the basement of the townhouse I'm renting. The only reason I ended up lucky enough to negotiate my own workroom is because no one else wants to hang out in the dimly lit, echo-filled basement next to the hot water heater. But already I love descending the primitive staircase that feels like a metaphor (and provides cardio-vascular exercise every time I have to refill my coffee cup).

My computer desk sits against the wall with the only window in the basement right above it. The tiny window at the very top of the wall made me choose the desk's location; I've already fallen in love with my imaginings about what the window both symbolizes and literally represents (because writers are notorious procrastinators). When my roommate and I walked around the townhouse with Post-Its for where our furniture would go, I put my desk Post-It smack under the window for one reason. When I first saw the window, it reminded me of a prison movie in which the hero gets placed in solitary confinement, and the only thing that sees him through the experience is the delicate flower that blooms in the crack of his miniature ceiling window.

That's me! I thought. My prison window flower will see me through dark writing episodes spent in solitary confinement. My window also boasts a bit of flora (a hearty-looking weed).

Actually sitting here and staring at the window, however, leads me to ponder the deeper aspects of the window's mysterious allure. In literature, windows conventionally represent transformation. Upon passing through a window, the passer becomes changed by the new environment on the opposite side.

Take Pollyanna, for example. Pollyanna was the typical golden child and could do no wrong until she dared climb through her bedroom window. Because of her sneaking out experience and subsequent accident, her life could never be the same afterward.

For me, my window got painted shut at some point during its life and wouldn't make a good escape hatch, but it certainly makes me fell less trapped in my head (and chained to my desk).

In the dark, windows become mirrors. Mirrors serve as many metaphors: they reflect the true self back to the viewer, serve as a way for humans to view ghosts and become entry points to parallel worlds. I feel a bit like Alice pondering what might be on the other side of the looking glass.

I project my soul through that window as I imagine all sorts of less-than-ordinary neighborhood doings happening just past the reflective glass. Cheesy as it sounds, I believe my little jailhouse window can be all these mythical things for me. Perhaps the window will be a key to unlocking some secret writing potential I've had lurking inside my psyche all this time.

At the very least, it's given me a lot to think about and a good kick in the rear to do some hard work. Even if my window ends up being just an ordinary basement window in a few months, I can plant a garden for myself to look at while I work (or maybe just one delicate bloom in the corner).

Either way, next time you look at a window, try to find the less-than-obvious symbolical possibilities of what might lie behind it.

This story was produced by Happynews Citizen Journalist, Cortney Philip. Philip lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan and works as a freelance writer.

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