For a writer such as myself, a desk has always been a necessary piece of furniture. Many people work in offices where desks are essential. Teachers have desks. Some people work from home these days and having a home office with a desk is vital to their job. I wonder; however, if desks are becoming less important. Younger generations that have grown up with laptops and Ipads, seem to be comfortable anywhere. They write from their beds or while sitting on the sofa with the television on in the background. They write at the kitchen table or at the local coffee shop. Many of them need only their smartphones, from which they scroll, talk to friends, and pay bills.
I had a wonderful desk for more than twenty years. It was a vintage, solid oak desk with a small matching oak chair. It was likely a teacher’s desk at one time. It had three ample drawers on the right side with a pull-out writing surface above the drawers and one large drawer in the center for pencils, pens, and writing paraphernalia. When I moved into the tiny house that I am now living in, my desk was too large to take with me. I gave the desk to my daughter (who never really used it) and now she is selling her house and moving into a smaller place.
Yesterday, I had to sell my desk. It made me quite sad. I have spent many hours at that desk, often with my cat lying to one side or sitting and looking out the window. All of my cats seemed to know when my attention was deeply focused on my writing and they chose those times to receive their daily dose of love and petting, while I was working at my desk. I have written and published two books while sitting at that desk. I have written other stories and poems on it as well. I miss my desk. I miss the pretty, flowery gift wrap that I had used to line the drawers. I miss its familiarity.
I have had to learn to make do without my desk. I have learned that I can write from most anywhere. I can write with pen and paper. I can write with my laptop, as I am doing now. I miss the convenience of having things I need at only my arm’s length away, in the drawers. I hope that I can get another desk one day, but these days it is almost impossible to find anything made of solid wood, or made with the care and craftsmanship that once went into a piece of furniture. So I must grieve for a while over the loss of something that has been part of my life for a very long time. The desk is going to a good home. The man who bought it intends to put it in the new house that he is building, so that consoles me.
One day, I will have to sell my truck, too. We have spent many hours together and shared some unforgettable journeys. Learning to let go – it is the way of life, but it is rarely easy.
