I’ve been writing blogs for around six years now and that’s given me the opportunity to engage with people from all walks and climes of life.  For the past couple of years, I’ve written from the privacy of my home office – after all, I ran a business from a subterranean basement for seventeen years and always seemed to thrive in silence and isolation. But when I started writing books in the late nineties, I got out of the dungeon and placed myself out among the hordes of humanity. For me, that meant working on my laptop opposite the cash register at the Caribou Café at The Forum in Norcross, Georgia. 

There weren’t many people pecking out books at the Caribou in those days and I was approached by women, men and even children to inquire about what I was writing.  I was very happy to speak with them. They all had something to say about what I was writing and when their insights resonated with mine, as they often did, their words found a way to mingle with my own. (Do kids have something to say about perimenopause?  Sure, they do. They ask what it is. You tell them.  They run off, screaming.  Enough said.)

Fast-forward a few years.  The Caribou is long gone, replaced by a chocolate shop.  And I am long gone from Atlanta, having moved to Santa Fe thirteen years ago.    

When I first moved to Santa Fe, being in a new town was, in itself, an exercise in isolation. I had no Internet service at my house. My husband was mostly out of town and all I had was a houseful of geckos for company. So, by necessity, I headed out to the closest coffee shop with a parking lot that nobody would shoo me away from.  Business owners are very possessive of their parking spots around here and sometimes they confuse paying customers for people who are living in their cars.  At least, that’s how some behave.

At any rate, there was never a parking issue at the Starbucks at DeVargas Center (which used to be DeVargas Mall – don’t ask me when one became the other). There is no shortage of people working on computers at the DeVargas Starbucks.  Everybody’s typing away and nobody’s asking any questions. A few people meet to talk here. Some come to sit and meditate before heading to the mall’s community room for an AA meeting.  Some are here for job interviews or business meetings.  It’s a great place to observe people between paragraphs.

I came here once with writer’s block and a case of irritability.  I sat at a table, staring at my screen with my forehead etched with an expression of perpetual exasperation that Botox would never touch.  Suddenly, a slender, young guy came up with a ragged backpack and asked if he could share my table.  At least he didn’t just hop up on the table and take a nap like I’ve experienced people doing at the public library. 

We started to talk.  This very brilliant and educated man was between jobs and living off the grid with his dog.  He spoke of his desire to design energy-efficient homes.  I spoke, narcissistically, of my writer’s block.  He told me his mother was an old hippie.  I told him my mother tried pot once. And a story was born!  My forehead smoothed with relief.  And I bought him a little oatmeal.  I don’t see him at Starbucks anymore but he has since designed energy-efficient homes and has built one of his own. We’re still in touch and we have one great thing in common: We both like to dance ecstatically.  I do it in Zumba class.  He does it under the stars.

I spend a lot of time at this mall, whether I’m writing at Starbucks, or not. I used to come here in the afternoon to have tea and listen to the stories of old men, all deceased now.  There’s a nice bookstore here, called op.cit. books, where I have all three of my books and have done two readings. I go to the post office here to mail letters and go to the Ross here to buy my goofy leggings (the ones I’m wearing today have pussycats on them in honor of my cat Leo’s third birthday).  I go to the Office Depot here and a restaurant called the Santa Fe Bar & Grill.  That’s where I went after both of my readings and where I sometimes go with a friend after a yoga class.  I almost always order the rotisserie chicken. There’s a Subway here, too. When I’m rushing around, I stop in for tuna on nine-grain wheat.

There used to be a great little movie theater at DeVargas and I wish it were still here because it was the closest to home and had fairly convenient parking (when you were fortunate enough to find a spot).  And then, it went out of business and the space it occupied stayed vacant for years. Who knows what will go in there. There’s talk it may become a bowling alley and arcade.  Hey, there’s a bug museum at this mall, mixed in with all the fancy boutiques and hair salons.

Getting back to movie theaters, for a small town there are lots of theaters here that show indie films.  One, called the Jean Cocteau, is owned by George R.R. Martin of “Game of Thrones” fame and the theater specializes in exotic popcorn and interviews with famous authors.  I met Pat Conroy at the Jean Cocteau when his last book came out.  What a wonderful man.  We had Callanwolde in common.  He encouraged me to “go deeper” in my writing and I think I have.  

That brings up the subject of celebrities.  I have seen lots of celebrities at the DeVargas Starbucks.  They just live or work in Santa Fe and hang out like regular folks.  Ali McGraw. Shirley MacLaine.  Lou Diamond Phillips.  Just hanging out in sweatpants.  And nobody has anything to say about it.

And that’s one of the things I love about this town.  You can be visible or invisible, no matter who you are.