Elizabeth Kostojohn
As a young adult, I decided to become an architect. Since then, I have spent countless hours designing, drawing, constructing, and dreaming. There are numerous buildings that I have played a part in, from conception to realization. Each one feels like my progeny, now independent and out of my hands. I have loved, and still do love, architecture.

In 2010, however, I left architecture. It was a hard, but necessary, decision. This change has provided me with the time and space to think about my child, my stepchildren, and my husband. While my life used to be engulfed by the frenetic demands of architecture, I have now slowed almost to a standstill. My world has shrunk to the bounds of the domestic. The day unfolds gradually, with mental and physical space to notice the drip of the kitchen faucet, the raking sound of my son digging through Lego, and the slow change of light as the sun meanders through the hours.

My new pace feels glacial, in comparison to the world that I left in architecture. In spite of this, the slowness has opened up a space not only for my family, but also for me. It is within this space that I reflect on myself and my world, both current and past.
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