Borrowed Sacred Spaces

“Your sacred space is where you find yourself again and again”

– Joseph Campbell

Hello Darlings!

I recently booked a spot in Creative Study Hall at Schoolhouse Studios in Boulder. 

It was my first time attending, so I was a bit nervous when I received a text from my friend that invited me, saying, “Hi! Sorry. Running 10 minutes late. Start without me!” which, in mom time, is (and was) more like 20 minutes. Eeek. 

Pulling up, I couldn’t decide whether to sit in the car and wait, or gather the courage to jump right in. Apparently, Adeline was ready to party, as she started to wrestle and wiggle in her car seat. Honestly, so was I. 

I checked the event description one more time, just to make sure I was as prepared as possible: “Bring a project to work on with your hands while you drink coffee and chat with other local creatives. We will have a table available with a few art supplies set out for your exploration. This is a time to connect and create!”

Sounded simple enough. We got this, I thought. 

Approaching the humble little schoolhouse, I instinctively snapped a shot, and as I opened the door, the smell of fresh coffee and the warmth of smiling faces beckoned me inside. Artwork filled the walls, and plants covered every open surface. The furniture was a perfect blend of patterns and textures, and the small sitting area in the corner looked like it held juicy little secrets from conversations past. The books, the totems, the ephemera; it all came together like a Joe Wright film. I was instantly smitten. 

Our hostess, Kristen Abbott, broke from her ongoing chat to give me a quick tour of the studio before introducing me to a mom at the other end of the table. The connections were easy and instant. 

As we all cozied up to the table, I realized that personalities were already shining through. Some ladies brought knitting, sketchbooks, and journals, and everyone seemed perfectly at home with her choice. 

I had brought my computer to draft a bit, but since Adeline was nursing off and on, and very much not interested in napping in her car seat, I quickly reached for the watercolors instead. I’m normally more of an oil paints girl, but when in Rome. Without thinking much about it, I began to paint. 

My friend eventually arrived, and we caught up on the usual: milestones, books, meals we recently enjoyed. But mostly we talked about how understated the building looked from the outside, compared to how delightfully put together it was inside. I’ve driven by this building countless times, but since it’s tucked away past a church parking lot, I’ve never looked twice. 

Spending even ten minutes inside made it clear this place was special. A quiet reverence permeated the air. Nothing particularly extraordinary was happening, and yet I felt extraordinarily lucky to be there. 

As I looked down, I realized I’d mindlessly painted a lighthouse from memory. A safe harbor that conveyed the rest, healing, and quiet reflection I'd gained as the hour passed. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi calls this a flow state, but I’d call it proof that I was exactly where I was meant to be. My borrowed sacred space. 

I came to the gathering hoping for a little creative companionship, but what I found was something deeper. I found a place to let my guard down. A place where I felt safe enough to lose myself in an experience, happily and without self-consciousness. A place where I could find myself, again and again. 

And really, what could be more sacred than that? 

KRW

P.S. Super exciting update: I recently wrote an article for Motherly about gatekeeping my babysitter’s info. I was initially hesitant to share this sacred information because if shared too widely, it might create conflicts. However, the guilt over that initial gut reaction taught me what was important, and ultimately, I was able to support a friend. It also made me appreciate how generosity spreads in so many other ways.