It is both ‘aloft’ and ‘a loft’, of course— I can’t resist a good play on words.
In 2014 I moved to a third-floor apartment, 46 steps above the street, in the old downtown section of my city. My loft has ten-foot ceilings, and I have exactly three windows, each seven feet tall, all facing north. When the landlord showed me the place, he casually mentioned that back in the late 1800s this whole top floor was one big room, and that local artists of the time rented it for studio space because it had such clear, strong north light. He had no idea that I was an artist as well.
Ah, now there’s a word. I am well aware that ‘inspire’ and ‘inhale’ are related, keenly aware by the time I have walked up all those stairs. On that summer day when I first saw this place, I was expecting a dusty garret; when Jeff unlocked and opened the door, I gasped. The room was flooded with light, had cream-colored walls, vintage dark oak trim, a galley kitchen to the left with a low peninsula countertop separating the kitchen from what was to become the magical Art/Writing/Dining/Living Room. I was sold. Inspired? You bet.
Now each morning I wander into this room full of potential, lift the shades, and welcome in the day. When I first moved here I caught myself imagining people saying, “….so this is where she wrote her first book…” Delusions of grandeur at the time, perhaps. But what I really saw and felt was my own potential. And perhaps that is the point of this blog, so you can see yours as well.