Own Space

 

I am staring at this space, wondering what to say, because there is so much going on now, much of which I don't feel at liberty to share with the net.  Well, I can say that I have been looking at property lately, some of which could be conducive to a boarding kennel operation, and some of it for a bed-and-breakfast.  There is quite a bit more to zoning and real estate and land management than I ever cared to know, but it's going ok.     I can certainly say that there are some hopes and dreams whose solidification looks pretty eminent.  It's looking like, for the first time since I got out of the Army, I might be in charge of my own life again, I might be a breadwinner again.  No offense meant to homemakers, whatever gender they be, but I feel powerless without my own financial resources.  Though the official line is that I have equal say in how "our" money is spent, it's still not something I am comfortable with.  I tried to keep a nest egg for a time, but it got spent on things for the family, like the rest of the money.  I'd like to be able to set some aside for the future and know it will stay there, and not feel pressured to pull it out during the months when coupons become a necessity rather than just a wise practice.  See, there are hard times, and worse times, and emergencies.  Sometimes slightly hard times get mistaken for emergencies and folks go into panic mode and anything that was set aside gets pressed into service before cuts in spending are made.  Robbing the future to comfortably pad the present.     Was that vague enough for ya?     Down at my core, I think maybe I am a bit of a control freak.  Not so much in the sense that I want to control what other people do or say, or anything like that.  It's just that if a space or a thing is supposed to be mine, if I am told repeatedly that they are mine, I don't want anyone else doinking around with it.  It's either mine or it's not.  I can share, if that's the premise; "our" is not a word that is alien to me.  I just think it's really rude for someone to go messing around with something that doesn't belong to them, however good the intentions.  Because someone who does that is asserting control over the other person.     There is some debate over whether such things should be done to/for children.  Some parents believe that cleaning, rearranging, or redecorating a child's room without the child's consent is perfectly ok and even required, part of the role as parent to reaffirm authority and all that.  Some believe that a child's space is his or her own domain, where parental involvement should be as minimal as health and safety permit.  I subscribe to the latter.  I feel that if you tell Sue that this is her room, then she has the right to say which wallpaper she likes, to decide which wall she'd like her bed along, to be in charge of its cleanliness herself.  It's her space, and if you take over you show her that it isn't really her space at all, but yours.  You lied.  And you want control.     I think that's pretty rude to do to kids, but it's even doubly rude to do to an adult, because, since many people do sanction it for kids, it's tantamount to treating the adult as a child.  It's saying, "You aren't capable of being responsible for your own space."  Or, "You aren't worthy of control of your own space."  Or, "This is your space, but it's really not, it's mine.  I control it; I control you."     Those who do this are quick to protest.  "Oh, no no no, I don't want to control anyone, I just want to help."  Helping is fine, helping is good, when offered and accepted, or when asked for, not when imposed.     <stepping off soapbox>     I didn't mean to get into preach mode, but this has been something on my mind lately.  The other day I looked at photos from my bachelorhood, of my barracks room.  Yeah, there was some of that going on, restrictions on what isn't permitted in a room (but that falls under the health and safety exception, I can dig that) and its level of cleanliness, some policies on how certain things are arranged, things that have to remain inspection-ready.  Army-type stuff.  But otherwise I was free to mold my environment to suit me.  And most of the contents of the room were mine.  My books on my shelf next to my map over a government bed with my bedding on it.  Like that.  The place was saturated with me-ness.  I really miss that, a lot.     I don't necessarily have to have a whole house full of me-ness, but one room might be nice.  One room where my tastes rule, and don't get overruled.  Wow, that would be great.