I have this theory. It’s not rocket science (which, by the way, rocket scientists tell me ain’t exactly brain surgery) and it’s not brain surgery (which brain surgeons tell me ain’t exactly rocket science).
It goes like this: décor in your office is a reflection of your inner science nerd. You see, far more than the living room or the dining room, the office is the window to your soul. In those other rooms you put stuff to impress people – original art, antiques, the carcasses of your fallen foes, whatever. But in your office you put the stuff that you want to look at every day.
Thus, geologists decorate with rocks and minerals, anthropologists with exotic masks, and mathematicians with bizarre pictures of theoretical topology shapes or fractals (please, all of you out there, enough with the fractals already). I even know biologists who have little stuffed viruses and chemists with equation necklaces. It doesn’t matter if you were never a professional scientist, your decorations are dictated by that inner science geek struggling to be free. And if you claim to be a biologist who likes fractals, then guess what? Deep inside, there is a frustrated mathematician trying to get out. Me, I was a behavioral scientist. On my wall is a painting done by a dolphin, my kayak paddle, and Kevin. Kevin is a $10 canary who has become something of a tiny little feathered enigma for me.
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My husband and I have been in the same apartment for more than four years. It’s a truly lovely place — spacious (for New York) with high ceilings, stained glass, and parquet wood floors. Each room has the appropriate furniture and many of the walls have been painted a color of my own choosing. We have plants and table linens and martini glasses. We’ve settled in.
