A Mind of One's Own

There is no gate, no lock, no bolt that you can set upon the freedom of my mind ~ Virginia Woolf, A Room of One's Own.

Dearest, incredibly accomplished, Virginia,

I write to you from my own room. The year is 2025, and I am delighted to report that the United Kingdom now affords women the same privileges as men. I have a well-paid job from which I earn enough money to pay not just for a room of my own but for an entire house of my own. Alongside the privileges of my own money and space, I can also confirm that today, I have dined well, which I know is something you believe to be a necessity if one is to have any chance of going on to think clearly. Virginia, in many ways, I feel I am winning, and I am eternally grateful to you and those like you for the part you played in influencing the world to give women like me the opportunities I have.

It is with regret, therefore, that I write from such auspicious times as these with a mind that is not as you once vicariously described your own in your epitomic essay, A Room of One's Own. Sadly, despite the material freedoms of owning my home and earning money, there remain gates, locks, and bolts, perhaps not so much on my intellectual freedom, but certainly on my creative freedom.

In many ways, I feel great shame writing this letter, for unlike many people of your time, my freedoms are far more significant than you ever enjoyed. Alongside the aforementioned comfortable, material functionalities, today I am broadly free to be whomever I choose to be, love however I want to love, dress however my mood suits, and travel, wherever my heart desires. Virginia, arguably, I have no right to complain at all. We have a phrase that we use in my era to describe the sort of problems I have. We call them first-world problems, which means that in real terms, compared to the poverty that still exists, my problems are not problems at all.

And yet, I maintain they imprison me.

Yesterday, as I drove to work through the ice-clad Yorkshire moors where I live, I reflected on the metaphor you once used to describe the limitations of our gender in the literary world. I paraphrase, but you described how, in your era, a woman might have an idea and be perfectly able to let its line down into a stream, but at some point, it was likely that a guard would come along and tell her to get off the grass where she sat fishing. Virginia, yesterday, I could not help but conclude that the guard, or gaoler as they appear to me, still exists in the mists that hang about the banks of all our creative rivers, stopping many who cast their line into the waters from reeling in fully fledged creative works.

Now, I am not sure my problem is engendered like it was in your time. For some who experience similar, I can see that the clutches of patriarchy still have a hold, but I have discussed my personal gates, locks, and bolts with men, and I can share that many suffer similar, confining problems as I do. Therefore, I can only conclude that the problem has gestated and is becoming increasingly universal. Of course, there will always be variances in how your metaphorical guard manifests; we first-world humans are a diverse species, but the root cause of the guard/gaoler appearing does not seem to be exclusively about gender. If I were pressed to say where most of the restrictive gaoler mists swirl from, I would have to point my finger at power and its operating system of capitalism.

To illustrate, please allow me to describe how my own guards/gaolers manifest.

Perhaps the most pervasive incarnation is lack of time. Having opted to work part-time a few years ago to create physical space for my creative work in my diary, I think I am at an advantage. However, by its nature, life has a way of filling all unstructured voids, and my list of non-recompensed obligations has somehow evolved, growing numerous arms and legs. Carving out time to sit on the grassy bank of my creative stream with all those limbs kicking and flailing about can often feel like a virtual boxing match.

I have become so tired, Virginia. On occasion, it is unfathomable to me how I managed to work full-time at all.

Aside from time, perhaps the most limiting, bolt-closing gaoler that visits me is lack of skill. I have no formal literary education and only started writing with the intent to improve in 2021, and although I can see how I have improved over the last few years, I am by no means accomplished. Virginia, I compare my turn of phrase, sentence structure, and character construction to yours, and I feel wholly inadequate as a writer. I wish you could share with me how it feels to write so well. I can only imagine what a wonderfully liberating experience it must be.

I guess it would help if my mind were not constantly waterboarded by my third gaoler, responsibility. I look after a family, three hundred and fifty employees, and around fifty thousand customers per week. How do I switch all that off to free up my mind to focus on honing my craft? I am not sure it is possible. One cannot switch care off even if one wants to! I am a decent delegator, am organised, communicate well, and lead performance in others. Still, I can't help but think about my team, the business we create together, and how best to support them when I am not officially at work. To note, I would never relinquish myself from family obligations, and trust me, my husband already does far more than his fair share. How unfortunate it is to have a room of one's own but a mind that is forever occupied by the needs and wants of so many other people that one can rarely concentrate when alone in one's own room.

Virginia, your metaphorical guard/gaoler is quite the jobsworth!

All I want to do is sit on the banks of the creative waters long enough, with sufficient peace and clarity of mind, to reel in a decent creative haul. I have tried various methods hoping to bypass the reach of my gaoling mists, but to date, none have delivered satisfactorily. I have attempted to write faster, producing stories in a few hours, but the quality never satisfied my ambition for the idea. I have woven online courses around my brimful diary of obligations but have not had time to digest and exercise the teachings thoroughly. I have read a lot of books, thanks to Audible, because I can read when I am travelling between obligations. Still, even then, I cannot properly bask in the words because my responsibilities tend to bite at the ankles of my concentration. I have also joined and set up various social media groups to support and network, but I often feel like I am letting people down because I don't interact enough.

Oh, Virginia, I so desperately want to become an excellent writer. I want to experience the freedom that comes with expressing myself in ways that not only resonate but ring off the page in panoramic surround sound. I want to write colourful descriptions that burrow into people's minds and create inside them new lenses through which they can view the world. I want to consider the most minor details in the humblest of lives and show how they could be the key to the universe. I want to build characters that people love and love to hate and create worlds that people can escape to on adventures that eddy with awe. I want to feel my head and heart align in symbiosis through the words I share. I want all I have seen and heard to flow from me in an intimately emotional dialogue with humanity.

Yes, Virginia, I know that is a lot to ask, but Virginia, how wonderfully freeing it must feel to be able to do what you love well.

I shall never give up.

This year, I am resolved to unlock, unbolt, and open my mind to creative improvement as much as possible. Yes, I have bills to pay and still have to work, but I have put my house on the market to buy a smaller house, reducing the need to work at the level I do. By summer, I hope to be settled in a new home and job that will give me less financial obligation and responsibility.

In addition, I will continue networking with the wonderful people I have met in my social media groups, especially Vocal Social Society. These people are like me. I see in their hearts that they want the creative freedom I describe. I genuinely believe that together, we can help unlock each other's potential. I know collaboration is critical to next-level creative freedom, Virginia. I only have to look to your Bloomsbury buddies and your family background for proof. If I can urge all the talented people I have met on Vocal and Facebook to provide more critical and rigorous feedback to each other, I know we will all benefit.

More than this, Virginia, I will push my craft forward by actively participating in other writing groups and forums like those offered by Globe Soup. Vocal is my natural home, my OG sandbox, where I will always post content and, hopefully, content that will exponentially improve over the next few years. But to deliver at the level I aspire, I need to push my borders, traverse wider digital waters, try and dance on different platforms, and jiggle my booty in the direction of journals and publications.

Perhaps Virginia, I am using language that does not translate in your era. In simple terms, Virginia, I am planning a creative adventure. No doubt, my gaolers will follow me, perhaps shaping themselves into forms that I cannot foresee yet, but I am prepared for the battles; I have the nerve for it and a hide that can weather a bumpy ride.

Wish me well, Virginia. I have creative freedom in my sights, and if I am nothing else, I am determined.

I shall, of course, report back.

Yours, with unimpeachable admiration,

Caroline Jane.