I lived all alone in 600-ish square feet in Sugar House and that was bliss. I had a work room, a sleep room, a kitchen, bathroom, and living room. I had closet space and cupboard space. It was a little tight when my family came to visit, but not too bad. Perhaps with the right furniture arrangement I could have fit a whole family of Bavarians in the second bedroom, but I didn't have the foresight. The only downside to the apartment in Sugar House was the lack of gardening space. I had my container garden on the porch, but that was never very prolific, unless you count the cacti and chrysanthemums, they were happy with the conditions available. And I annexed a little plot of poor, damp soil (if it could really be called soil) in the common area. (You know, it is rather a chore to find a plant that will take damp soil and hot dry air all in stride. Pansies almost made it, and would have, but for the slugs.)
In Missionary Land I lived, usually, with members. That meant I had about 50 square feet to call my own-- 60 if you count the portion of the fridge and kitchen cupboard I was allowed to use. I kissed gardening good-bye, but for a few service projects during the summer. (Incidentally, I was thinking the other day and realized that of my 17 months in the state of Wisconsin I spent 13 of it in winter or "Near Winter", which is a more accurate term than Spring or Fall. I'm still not really sure how I feel about that.) And though I survived my dirt and space deprivation it wasn't an ideal set up.
Now I live with Sandy. Indoors I have only a little space, much more than Mission Land, much less than Sugar House. Outdoors I have whatever I am willing to cultivate. There is, in fact, more yard than I have energy to properly care for. So I have a few relatively organized beds where I've spent my time and energy. When I feel too tight inside all I have to do is grab my gardening gloves and head outside.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can see how it all works now... I mean, I can live in a little bit of space in one area of my life as long as there is space to move about in another. This shuffle-ball-change thing I do in physical space occurs in all aspects of my life. When I allow myself to become too tight, too confined in one area another must give way.
The foot zoning lady I see explained that as she zones my feet (or anybody's feet) she holds a picture in mind of what the perfect me looks like. For example, if I have heart trouble she imagines a perfectly functioning, whole, clean heart. She said that she can get a general picture of a person as a whole as she zones them, she can then know what kind of "perfect picture" she needs to imagine for that person, an image of what they need. I asked her what picture she kept in her head while she's zoning me. Answer: me on a bicycle, wind in my hair, feet off the pedals, laughing.
Dang.
My first mission president asked me all the time, "Sister Wilcox, are you having fun?" I thought that was the stupidest question ever. I'm a missionary, sir. Missionaries work hard, they don't have fun. Turns out that was a very short-sighted response. I packed myself so tight into what was "supposed" to be that I lost sight of what actually is.
Fun is packed away in a tidy little storage basket on a trendy veneer shelf in the best organized closet of the most charming little bedroom in the smallest little IKEA apartment in Sweden.
Today I harvested our entire broccoli crop-- a few sea green sprigs. The broccoli is in a rather poor spot of ground. I'm surprised they came up at all.
But it did. I'm going to let some of it flower.
