The Answer Is...

Furniture. The answer to Now What? is furniture. Or at least it was yesterday. See, I'm a Cancer. The astrological kind, not the medical kind. When we're not waving our claws in the air and sidestepping the issue, we need a sense of home. A comfortable sanctuary where we can hide out from the world.

We need a sense of home or we go crazy.

So that's what yesterday was about. Me not progressing down the road to Crazy any further. It had to be done. No matter what happens next in the story of Melanie the Artist Moves to the Suburbs, this house has to look and feel better. You think anyone would buy it when it looks like a bare-bones bachelor pad? You think 'There's no decorative pillows!' is a good enough reason to move out? Um, no.

The fact is, it's my responsibility to make this moment I'm living the most delicious moment of my life. And then, more delicious moments will follow, whether I'm in the suburbs of Calgary or the markets of Marrakesh.

Now. Boyfriend's plan when he built this shack was to get the big pieces first, like a king-sized bed, and then fill in the blanks later. There was also a room-by-room plan, which partially addresses the otherwise inexplicable choice to begin with a dining room table when the couch is so small we've been siting on each other's laps for two years.

The furniture-buying project got off to a rough start in a very slick store that I described as "pointlessly expensive." I think one of Boyfriend's life dreams includes being able to shop in a store like that, but it just pissed me off. Besides, I need to make this gargantuan house into a home for the low, low price of $1,000. I didn't have time to waste ogling $5,000 chairs and Calvin Klein bedding. (Although, the Vera Wang dishes were dreamy.)

Finally, finally, we went to IKEA. Say what you will about the Swedish Superstore, but right now, I don't need hand-carved mahogany from some half-naked tribesman deep in the rainforests of Brazil. I need to create a living space where I can breathe. I can't explain this any further, but suffice it to say, this furnishing expedition is about survival right now. I looked up the etymology of 'furniture' and in 1541 to be 'unfurnished' meant to be 'unprepared.' An interesting perspective on how I've been feeling.

Wandering through the gallery of space-saving solutions inspired lively discussions about living in a 327 sq. ft. apartment. I tried to imagine Boyfriend and I, two of the most independent people I know, living together in a walk-in closet. I guess his two server towers would have to get their own place.

And then I saw one of the most beautiful rooms I could imagine. It was glowing white, warm, peaceful and inviting. And the best part: it was full of books. It was a library, sitting room thing, but the way the fake window was positioned with the writing desk in front of it, was exactly the way I've been imagining my dream studio.

See, part of Goal Setting and Manifesting Your Dreams 101 is about knowing what you want. Seeing it and feeling it so that it lives and breathes in your mind and heart.

I've been imagining my perfect writing room for a long, long time. And this room, in I-freaking-KEA of all places, took the room that I pictured and made it a hundred times better. It was a weird feeling, but I didn't judge it. I just went with it.

The entire perimeter of the room was filled with beautiful white bookshelves and cabinets. A ladder leaned against one of the taller shelves, like an old-fashioned dark library only this one was bathed in light and warmth. Beyond the otherwordly feel of the white, the textures were earthy and grounded, wood and stone and leaves. It was like heaven and earth in the same room. Which is sort of how I think about the creative process. You invite God to come on down, asking him, please, to pass through your hands on the way.

Breaking it down into its pieces, it occurs to me that none of this furniture was very special. There's nothing magical about a big, puffy IKEA couch and some white lacquer bookshelves.

But, for me, it was like experiencing a tiny piece of my dream life, only my dreams were even better than I imagined.

You know that scene in the animated classic, Ratatouille, when the surly food critic takes his first bite of the food and is transported to a moment in his childhood? The dish was nothing special, a few vegetables that you can find anywhere, but the experience was powerfully about memory and love and innocence. It was visceral for him, and this was visceral for me.

For me, this room was filled with the bright, heart-lifting feeling of living my dreams. I understood that the things I've always imagined are there, waiting for me. They are more beautiful than I ever imagined. And here's the kicker: I deserve them. I am worthy and entirely capable of going out and getting that – that room, those dreams, whatever – right now.

Now that, friends, is what I call a successful shopping trip.