Chapter 9 - The Centered Life
By the third spring following the annulment, my life had settled into a deep, rhythmic rhythm of creative expansion and quiet personal fulfillment.
I purchased a small, historic brick building in the arts district, converting the ground floor into a permanent gallery and production studio, while transforming the upper floor into a bright, airy living space filled with plants, books, and my own hand-crafted pottery.
I no longer spent energy checking forecasts or worrying about sudden storms.
On a warm Saturday afternoon in May, I sat at my wheel in the front window of the studio, working on a series of white porcelain tea vessels for an upcoming showcase in Tokyo.
The studio doors were propped open, letting in the soft scent of blooming lilacs and fresh rain from the courtyard.
Nora stepped through the doorway, holding two iced coffees and a freshly printed catalog from a international design fair.
"You made the cover of the European Craft Journal," Nora announced, setting an iced coffee on the workbench beside my wheel.
I stopped the wheel, smiling as I pulled my hands back from the wet clay. "Did I?"
"Page one," Nora grinned, dropping the glossy magazine onto the table. "They called your studio 'a powerhouse of modern American ceramic design.'"
I looked at the cover photograph—a stunning close-up of my hands shaping a smooth porcelain vessel on the spinning wheel head.
"Remember when we packed up your sunroom in the middle of a blizzard?" Nora asked quietly, leaning against the workbench and looking around the bustling, beautiful space.
"I do," I said softly.
"Did you ever think we'd end up here?"
May you like
I looked down at the spinning clay on the wheel, then looked out the open door at the sunny street, where patrons were walking by, admiring the finished vessels displayed in the window.
"Yes," I said, my voice steady and firm. "Because I knew what material I was made of."
