Following Joy: The House I came to Write In

The house I came to write in is filled with books, and other synchronicities: dancing shadows of pine trees in every room just like Grandma’s house, wind chimes akin to a gift from a friend, a telescope (my husband and I had a conversation about renting one only two nights ago), and a framed tribute to women artists on the bathroom wall to boot. It feels like I’ve been here before, perhaps in a parallel universe.

Just like that, glimmers of “yes, keep going — you’re moving in the right direction” always seem to show up when you allow joy to become your roadmap.

p.s. How incredible is this antique book on Titanic?