Wandering Along the Path: Right Speech

I write in a small studio that used to be a tool shed. For many years, my Zen teacher did her interviews in it, and I felt good knowing her good dharma and caring was happening in the same space in which I worked. I usually talked to her in my yard at some point as well as interviewing with her myself. Now she has not been here in a few years, and died recently, but I feel her aura. In the time since the covid my daughter-in-law has worked here, as their place is tiny and they have a toddler, whom I babysit a couple of days a week. Now she will be moving, and any work done in the space will be mine. I'm hoping I can get back to work on grandparent poems that I stopped writing when it was clear my older daughter's cancer had returned. And also, to write a reminiscence of her to honor her life. I do have a room of my own. Virginia Woolf would be encouraging, and yet that room is daunting. I have to not have an overview of what might happen, because expectations are my downfall. Then I measure myself against those expectations, disappoint myself, and give up. I have a habit of writing, and I'm hoping that history will keep me going without judgement. We'll see. But my space has been a place of productivity for others and for myself in the past, and I hope it will again.