My Christmas present to myself was one month overdue, but it finally arrived this week—a lime green, high-backed, cushy armchair I had ordered from an online store and for which I waited five weeks to be delivered.
I had wanted such a piece of furniture long before I had the opportunity or the means to get it. In my mind, those who sat on such chairs were learned and wise. I want to be learned and wise, too.
On other days, I simply want to be comfortable. It’s a chair I can imagine sinking into while being oblivious to the passing of the hours.
I have already planned what the chair would be best for. First, It will be for reading. At the start of this year, I resolved to catch up with my reading, setting aside 45 minutes of quiet time. I have plenty of books waiting—no, begging—to be read. In fact, a tall shelf stands on the chair’s left side, reminding me of the many pages waiting to be turned. On the shelf, too, is a tablet containing electronic versions of yet more books. Enough excuses about being busy. I used to feel inadequate for not reading as much as I wanted or needed to. Now there is the only anticipation.
It will be for watching and listening. So many movies, shows, and podcasts, so little time. Perhaps the chair would be an incentive to sit still and cast out all one’s present cares. Watching/listening is a lot like reading or sleeping—you get out of your world and into another. When you re-emerge, you have a freshness that allows you to think and feel differently.
It will be for writing. Sure, I make a living out of writing. But I also live for it, and because of it. Some of the pieces I am most proud of are not work requirements. They are those I do because I feel such a compulsion to write them. That need from within that trumps any deadline.
It will be for gazing out. My chair stands by my bedroom window, facing southeast. I can look six floors down to the busy street below. It’s great for people watching—an exercise that reminds me that my own troubles are not as urgent or earth-shaking as I tend to feel. Each person who passes, whether on foot or inside a vehicle, has stories and dilemmas as colorful and compelling as (or even more so than) mine. This knowledge puts me back in my place and prevents me from taking myself too seriously.
It will be for retrospection and planning. It’s always good to look back to what you’ve said and done at the end of the day—or week or month or year, for that matter. You extract lessons even from the saddest or silliest episodes. You get the sense that you’re growing. At the same time, imagining what the next few months or years might be like can keep a person on track. One might tremble to do this, because who really knows what the future will bring? Still, when you can anticipate opportunities or situations, you can plan better and keep the variables to a minimum.
Finally, and this is probably the best part, the chair will be for nothing. It will be for those times I would not want to think or move or speak. Simply by being there, the chair will welcome me into its fold, the armrests acting like, well, arms, around me after a particularly harrowing day. This chair could almost say “I’ve got your back” and it won’t be an exaggeration – my back would really be fully covered, in fact beyond the top of my head.
The first three days have proven promising. I have already spent many hours seated on the chair. I have seen a handful of movies and shows, written essays, read book chapters, and as a bonus, I have clocked in minutes of sleep, as well. I have discovered how easy it is to let the side of the chair cradle my head at just the perfect angle. And what dreams I have, too.
The chair is 30 inches long, 28 inches wide, and 42 inches high. It is the smallest vast space I have carved out for myself. I am—as we all are—still a work in progress when it comes to being learned and wise.
As to being comfortable, I think I am already there.
