A day in the gallery brings a sense of reconnection ... with oneself.
Of course, I picked up a map, but instead of meticulously planning a route as usual, I decided to leave it in my tote. My friends and I began walking toward the Rapheal Cartoons, what was touted as one of the must-see items, but spent time in every collection we walked through on the way. Ella couldn’t resist stopping for quite a while in front of the medieval manuscripts, Sammie wanted pictures of all the stained-glass windows, and I was drawn to item after item until my friends were no longer in sight.
I’ve never liked to be alone; I always want someone close at hand to share my thoughts with, to show every little thing I find interesting. But in the museum, it felt different. I was surrounded by the stories of thousands of lives. Once I let go of the pressure to keep up, to consider whether anyone else was interested in what I wanted to look at, the experience was brand-new.
I paid no attention to the ticking of the hour-hand on my watch. Eventually my friends texted and told me they were hungry, they wanted to go to lunch. I told them to go without me. I spent hours more wandering. I looked at letter-writing tables, family bibles, vanities, ceramic place-settings, reliquaries. The collection was astounding; there were personal items used in the home every morning alongside items meant to hold the world’s most important religious artifacts. Upon finding a particularly beautiful portrait, I sat down for the first time. I allowed my mind to wander, to create whatever stories it stumbled upon.
It wasn’t until I looked at my watch again, four in the afternoon, that I realized I was starving. I walked, not particularly quickly, out of the museum and to the café down the street. With a hot chai latte and croissant in front of me, alone with my thoughts, I began to write.
