If I had to choose one luxury that I couldn’t live without, it wouldn’t be pricey or rare. It’s not about expensive bags or luxurious holidays. It isn’t even a spa day, though I would like one. No, the one luxury I cling to with both hands, the one that saves me over and again, is this: a peaceful moment with a book or time alone to create.
Books have been a luxury for me since I was a child. Long before I knew what luxury meant. I would save my pocket money to buy used storybooks from old bookstores, read beneath the blanket with a torchlight, or turn pages while eating Maggi at the dining table. Even decades later, the emotion remains unchanged. I still find solace in books, the way they consume me and transport me away. I still underline lines that cut through the chaos of life and say, “Yes. This.”
Even more rare is the luxury of time. Time dedicated completely to myself. As a mother and a woman with too many responsibilities, time feels like a borrowed commodity. But when I have a moment of silence, when the kids are away at school, the chores can wait, and the world stops knocking, that’s when I return to myself.
I write. I sketch. I look at the sky and let my mind wander. In such moments, I’m remembering and reclaiming. I’m not simply surviving.
So perhaps the true luxury is not just time or books, but a mix of the two: time to read, time to create, and time to rediscover oneself. Not anyone’s mother, wife, or daughter. It’s just me, Olivia, alone with her thoughts and her art.
And that, to me, is the most beautiful thing in the world.
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