I look around my room, one I have occupied since I was in high school seven years ago, and I, now more than ever, feel like I have everything I need.
I have a desk that can stand at my command, sitting in one corner of the room. On the desk is a working computer that has aided me since my college days, allowing me to connect to the world.
I also have an analog clock on the left side of my desk for as long as the battery powers it. It serves as a reminder that time moves on and that it can never be recovered. Next to the analog clock is a small globe reminding me of how vast this planet truly is. There is far too much I’ve yet to discover.
Surrounding my desk are shelves of books. I’m not joking.
Left. Right. Behind. Above.
Books are everywhere around me: History, philosophy, business, politics, psychology, social science, nature, classics, novels, science, mathematics, memoirs, and biographies.
Should I be reminded at any moment of a particular title, whether for work or entertainment, I feel confident knowing it’s only within arm’s reach, as it will continue to be throughout my life.
On the left side of my desk, on top of three books of the empires of early Latin America, is something I recently found at a discount retail store: a faceless chrome figure seated in thought, hand pressed against its face, its polished surface reflecting the world around it. This chrome figure couldn’t have been positioned more perfectly.
On the other side of the room is a mounted whiteboard, ready to use. Right below the whiteboard are more shelves of books, also ready to use.
My closet is full of the clothes I wear, along with the occasional tools I use whenever need be.
My bed is at the opposite end of my desk, with a nightstand and a lamp next to it. There are more stacks of books near my bed. And before I doze off, I’m allowed to see my workspace one last time, reminding me once more of how much is left.
I’ll say it again: I have everything I need.
What more could I possibly ask for except to make something with it?
