Making Space for Peace
The morning begins with a ritual. I wake up and set my world in order. Trash gets tossed, blankets are shaken and folded neatly, and no piece of clothing is left without purpose. My sweaters find their home on hangers, and my backpack waits, ready — keys and wallet tucked inside, prepared for the day ahead.
My devices — two phones, headphones, earphones, MacBook, and a portable charger — all sit charged, aligned like soldiers awaiting their orders. It’s a quiet satisfaction, knowing that everything has a place, everything is taken care of.
The walls of my room make me smile. Though I live alone, they hold a presence, as if I have company here. Three calendars — one monthly, two weekly — map out my days, anchoring me in time. But what really makes my space feel like home are the photos — about twenty of them — of my family and me. Each one whispers a reminder: of who I am, where I’ve been, and the love that has shaped me.
Strangely enough, I’ve noticed that not every home I’ve visited has family photos on the walls. I once had a friend who lived in a small studio, and instead of pictures, he filled his space with paintings, sports memorabilia, and reminders of his hometown. “You have to make a home out of whatever space you live in,” he told me. I never forgot that. Now, when I look up and see a photo of myself holding a director’s slate with my name on it, a Pave Your Own Lane flyer, a screenshot from an interview on my podcast, or even my high school graduation photo — I feel grounded. I see evidence of my journey, proof of my evolution.
To the right of these photos, a different kind of storytelling unfolds — spiritual guidance graphics and knowledge maps. Diagrams of the Ego vs. Soul, the Human Energy Field, the 7 Chakras, and the Circadian Clock line my wall. Affirmations sit above my bed like a protective mantra, while across from it, aspirations wait for me, reminders of all I have yet to experience and become.
Nothing in my room lingers in the cracks or crevices. Everything has a place. My closet is orderly — clothes hung up, underwear folded, socks paired. Each day, I wipe down surfaces and sweep the floor, presenting myself with as much beauty and cleanliness as I can.
One of my happiest moments is making space for peace and harmony in my life. Cleaning isn’t just about tidiness — it’s an offering, a practice of gratitude. In doing so, I tell God, “I see what I have. I am grateful. I honor and respect what I’ve been blessed with.”
And in that simple act, I make room for even more.
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