Long ago, I fancied myself more mature than my years. I believed I was more advanced than the average girl my age. The older I get, the more I realize just how ridiculous that sort of presumption is. The case that is staring me in the face most recently is that of Virginia Wolfe.
The need for, “A Room of One’s Own”, was something I could always relate to. Why write an entire book about such a thing, I often thought. Who would argue that such a thing was a necessity? As I grow in life and understanding, I realize that this place of solitude and stillness is so much more than just being alone. It is about being you. Fully and completely who you are in this moment and not who you are to someone else or what you mean to the world.