My think tank has a showerhead.

My think tank has a showerhead!

Long before my mind became crowded with thoughts, ideas, and noise, I longed for a place where everything could go quiet—where I could slip into the wide-open space of my own imagination and linger there as long as I wished. You would think that living alone for decades would offer endless opportunities for that kind of solitude. But the world has a way of seeping in. Traffic humming outside. Neighbors moving through their days. The ping of a phone. The low murmur of a TV or radio. Each sound finds me, intrudes on me, and shapes the conscious and unconscious noise inside my head.

Yet in the shower, something shifts. I’m mesmerized by the dance of warm water as it slips from the showerhead—each drop cascading over my scalp, gliding down my body, and finally rolling off my feet before disappearing into the drain. Even the droplets that cling to the wall capture my imagination as they race—unknowingly—toward the bottom. Some take the straight route; others wander, drifting along their own unpredictable paths.

Maybe it’s the smallness of the space, the ritual of bathing, or the way warm water insists on being both powerful and soothing. Whatever it is, it calms my mind and lets all the blurry thoughts settle into a kind of focus I can’t seem to find anywhere else. In that quiet, ideas move through me with their own rhythm: a title for the next piece of writing, a poetic line waiting to be born, the missing sentence from an unfinished argument, the language of an apology taking shape, prayers that hold both the joys and the aches in my heart. I feel these moments bubbling up in my spirit, words forming and rearranging themselves, anticipating the moment they land on my lips to be whispered for the first time. I keep a notepad in every room now—including the bathroom—so I can catch these moments before they slip into the land of forgotten things.

The fact that my water bill is folded into my HOA fees is its own small blessing; it means the frequency and length of these showers are an afterthought. And considering the times we’re living in, some days require multiple showers of ungodly length. But the deeper blessing—the one that matters beyond measure—is knowing, without doubt or hesitation, that I have found a place of refuge.

Have you found your think tank? Where does it live, and what does it offer you?