Earlier in March, as we prepared to leave the desert rhythms of Casa Saguaro for a stretch back in Indiana, it hit me again how much space matters—not just physical space, but mental space too.
Before we left, I started building something. Quietly. Almost accidentally.
The Vestibule.
It’s not a program. Not a course. It’s a space. A place to step inside and write.
But here’s the catch: it’s a space that honors the first draft—not the polished product, not the curated version you post on LinkedIn, but the real, rough, uncertain first attempt.
Why a Vestibule?
A vestibule isn’t the main room. It’s the small, transitional space between the outside world and whatever happens next.
That’s how I see writing. Good writing—real writing—doesn’t happen in grand, final flourishes. It happens when we step inside, close the door behind us, and give ourselves permission to stay in the messy middle.
But The Vestibule is more than just a small room.
It’s a reference point—a nod to Dante’s Inferno, where souls trapped in the Vestibule linger in eternal hesitation, unwilling to commit to either good or evil.
They wander, circling forever, stuck between intention and action.
Writers know that space too.
It’s the blank page. The stalled draft. The endless distractions that keep us moving but never advancing.
The Vestibule isn’t meant to trap you there.
It’s meant to move you through it—beyond hesitation, beyond limbo.
First Drafts Matter
Here’s what I believe:
- First drafts aren’t failures. They’re the beginning of momentum.
- First drafts aren’t meant to impress. They’re meant to reveal.
- First drafts aren’t ugly. They’re alive.
When we rush past the first draft stage, we lose the only part of the process that’s truly ours—the unfiltered thinking, the wild idea, the mistake that turns into a breakthrough.
The Vestibule gives permission to slow down and stay there.
To not judge.
To not compare.
To write without constantly asking, Is this good enough yet?
Because it’s not about being good enough.
It’s about moving forward.
Building the Practice
In practice, The Vestibule looks like:
- A predictable rhythm of showing up (even when it’s messy)
- A small space to land, think, draft, and breathe
- No immediate audience, no external pressure
- Just the act of returning, again and again, to the work
And just like Dante needed Vergil to guide him through the Inferno, sometimes we need a system, a steady hand, to guide us forward—especially when the temptation to stall is strong.
It’s not about creating masterpieces.
It’s about becoming someone who writes instead of someone who talks about writing.
A Final Thought: The Door Is Open
In some ways, Casa Saguaro was a vestibule—a space between one part of life and the next. So is The Estate in Indiana. So are the early mornings at Starbucks when I open the laptop and just start typing without knowing where it’s going.
We need more vestibules.
More spaces that honor the start of things, not just the finish.
So this is your invitation:
Come inside. Bring your first draft. Keep moving. The only way out is through.