My favorite room in my house is my bedroom; my private space

Hear the words of Shirley Ballas, spoken with quiet reverence: “My favorite room in my house is my bedroom; my private space where I can go to do my reading or listen to music.” Do not mistake these words for simple preference, for they carry the eternal wisdom of sanctuary. For in every age, the soul has needed a chamber apart, a place hidden from the storms of the world, where spirit may breathe, reflect, and heal. To claim such a space is not luxury, but necessity, as vital as bread and water.

What is the bedroom, if not the temple of rest? It is here the body lays down its burdens, and the mind loosens the knots of the day. Yet for Ballas it is more: it is a private space, a sacred ground where the world cannot intrude, where her spirit may turn inward to seek wisdom in reading and beauty in music. These two—word and song—are the oldest companions of humanity, the fountains from which we draw both knowledge and comfort. Within the chamber of stillness, she unites herself with them, and in doing so, renews her strength.

The ancients too honored the power of such solitude. Consider Marcus Aurelius, emperor of Rome, who in the midst of wars and duties would retreat into the chambers of his own thought, writing his Meditations. Though surrounded by armies and courtiers, he carved out an inner private space where he could reflect on virtue, mortality, and truth. Like Ballas in her bedroom, he knew that greatness in the outer world cannot endure unless it is nourished in the inner one.

So also did the poet Emily Dickinson dwell in her room, writing verses that would one day move the hearts of millions. To others, her room was small, unremarkable; yet to her it was a universe, a workshop of the soul. In that quiet enclosure, she gave voice to the infinite. This shows us that it is not grandeur of place but depth of spirit that makes a room sacred. The humblest corner may become a sanctuary, if it is filled with words, with song, and with silence that heals.

The lesson for us is clear: each soul must claim a refuge. The world is noisy, relentless, demanding. Without a place to retreat, a man or woman becomes scattered, broken, consumed. To create a private space is to declare to the world: “Here I remember who I am. Here I lay down the mask. Here I nourish my soul.” This need is not weakness but wisdom, for even the mightiest warrior must rest his sword, and even the busiest mind must pause to dream.

Therefore, take action: create for yourself such a sanctuary. It may be a bedroom, a corner with books, a chair by the window, or a quiet walk in the forest. Fill it with what restores you—reading, which feeds the mind, and music, which heals the heart. Let no one shame you for withdrawing, for in solitude you gather the strength to return to the world whole. In this sacred retreat, you will find clarity, creativity, and peace.

So let Ballas’s words guide you as a teaching for life: cherish your room, your private space, your chamber of renewal. In it, do not merely rest, but rise again. For the soul that neglects solitude becomes withered, but the soul that embraces it grows strong as an oak. Remember, O listener: the world takes, but your sanctuary restores. Guard it well, and let it be your fountain of life.