I’ve recently started a new job – working from home. Interesting how my new location has completely changed my approach and perspective. The kitchen table, my desk. The mustard kitchen cupboard doors, my office. The shaky louvre windows, my air conditioning. The fridge, my office break area. I’m inspired, not just by my surroundings but mostly the timing of things.
I’ve replaced my morning commute with faffing about in my dressing gown. Lingering over coffee, sometimes outside whilst birds swoop energetically between bushes and trees. Reading the paper online, headlines mostly, a casual flick.
Lunchtime is something to look forward to. I step away from my table/desk, into the office break area and wrap last night’s leftovers, or something savoury, in a piece of flat bread. Then I move outside to sit on our creaky deck, under dappled light and the distant sound of a lawnmower, somewhere. I leave myself a sneaky ten minutes before I need to get back to my laptop.
Back inside. My old piano. She’s smaller now – or is it that I’m bigger than I was when I attended regular lessons after primary school. She’s a little out of tune – but sounds fine to my ears. I’m trying to learn a couple of songs that I transcribed from the internet. Chords that slowly come together. A drawn out, slow-mo version of the real thing. And for ten minutes, I’m completely there. Riding on the notes, finger fumbles, and the sound from within the beautiful wooden exterior. It’s a different language. A different part of my brain. Almost meditative.
Then I close her lid, push in the stool and return to my office.
Lunch break finished.
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