Realizing that a place to grieve was critical to his healing, Ashton D’Silva Marcon turned to his new space.
I’ve always loved distinct rooms. Homes with a library, parlor, dining room, and private offices light me up. Having a room with a door that opens and closes with my things, set up in the way that I like with agreements to protect its integrity is a fine leisure I’ve had for a few precious months this year.
I was dealing with a rough patch in my life this past fall where I began to notice wounds that were aching to be healed once and for all. I began to fall apart and learned that taking time for rest and grief in solitude, is critical to my resiliency. I intensified my therapy program and reached out to friends and family. Discussions with my wife led to me using our spare bedroom that had not been anything other than a extra room with revolving stuff it. Almost immediately my mind began to work at how I would arrange the room, what I would put in it and what would I do in it?
Within a couple of days, the space began to take form. It started with a large oak wood desk where I could write, draw and wonder what my imagination would drum up. Then the rescued white book shelf that hugged closely all my books, all of them! This was the first time that I had all my books looking at me. Next, a brown leather arm chair so comfortable the moment I sat in it I pictured those days where I am out and about working and playing until the late evening and come home exhausted and sink into my chair. A record player in the corner kept my ears perfectly attuned to the moment of being in a sanctuary. Many other cool things brought my space to life, my cherry oak paddle, topographic maps, photos of family and my wife, a drawing of, Lucca, my favorite place in Italy and I can’t leave out the bottle of bourbon with two glasses for any guest who may be invited in.
I slept on the floor of my room one night. I had created this space to rest from the responsibilities and commitments in my life. I needed a private place to grieve my pain, licking my wounds so to speak to begin to heal and lastly to express my creative imagination. That night, I had a revelation. I did not need this space any longer! My life does not stop and resting from it is not authentic for me because the responsibilities and commitments that I have fuel everything else that I do. Grieving and dealing with my pain in seclusion is something that I’ve done for too long and it is no longer working. I share my life intimately with others, so my need for privacy is limited here. Lastly, I am a creative person and I am capable of generating my creative imagination anywhere.
My sanctuary for my soul is no longer a room with a closed door. I exist in every inch of my home and no longer require a cave for my masculinity. It simply is carefully placed everywhere I am.
Photo credit: Flickr / Phil and Pam