I remember when I worked in a cubicle and, later, in my own office (oh, happy day! To have my very own office!), and the biggest deal ever was to decorate that little territory and make it my own.

Poems by Pablo Neruda, by William Stafford, by Mary Oliver.

A quote from Stanley Kunitz’s poem, “The Layers”:

“I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.”

Back then, I was a psychotherapist specializing in creative arts therapy, so I had poems and drawings by clients on my wall. Funny notes from colleagues. Tasteful pictures of people I loved.

But now, I work for myself. I have my own little creative spaces wherever I go. Here in New York, my desk looks like the photo above.

Over my desk is a painting by Juan Antonio Picasso. On the wall are two pictures of Francisco and myself shot, absurdly, into the reflection of an Airstream trailer on display at MOMA. There’s also a note with the name and address of a friend’s boyfriend’s bar, a list of articles to edit for Matador, and a recipe for a drink that I clipped from Bon Appetit that I’ll eventually get around to making. Or not. I just like the looks of it there.

On my desk are books and journals with notes for projects done, in progress, or in the perpetual dream state. There’s the list of things to do, of course.

And then there are the items closest to me, the ones that have no value for anyone but me but which mean more than anything.

Inventory:
-Photo of Francisco and me in Boston: We’re both in suits. It’s very unlikely you’ll see us in suits again.
-Two shells from a beach in California: Souvenirs from a roadtrip in January 2008. The larger one still spits sand all over the desk. I don’t get it.
-Piano key: From a tour of the Steinway Piano Factory that Francisco and I took together a few months ago.
-Piece of granite in the shape of a heart: I found this in a fallow field in my hometown when I did an interview with the writer, environmentalist, and professor, John Lane, this past January.
-Empty cologne bottle: Even if Francisco hadn’t been the amazing person that he is, I probably would have fallen in love with him for this cologne. It’s an empty bottle of Miller et Bertaux, No. deaux. He bought it in a thrift store. We haven’t been able to find it since. If you do, let me know. For real.
-A cork from a bottle of Prosecco. Our first. I’m sentimental that way, you know?
-A little pot of ink for a real fountain pen: It’s called, not so nostalgically, Speedball. But I have a real ink pen and I use it.
-A Moroccan tile I use as a coaster for morning coffee and evening libations. Also a thrift store find.
-A letter from Cuba, written in 1981, which I found in the garbage: I found this in the garbage on my most recent trip to Cuba and it’s still cause for wonder: Who wrote it? To whom? Why was it in the garbage? I love it.

So here’s where YOU come in:

I’m endlessly fascinated by these types of details from other people’s lives, so if you send me a photo and brief description of your creative space, I’ll post it here. Don’t be shy and don’t say something silly like, “Aw shucks; my little space is a folding TV tray or it’s a neatly organized desk that no one would be interested in.”

I’m interested.

What does it mean to you? What do you do there? Tell us a bit about your space. What are the objects and what do they evoke for you each time you see them? Send me your stories (and a photo): writingjulie@gmail.com. I’ll post some of my favorites here as they roll in.