The chair analogy - 2003

I have this chair, and I hate it.  It's ugly, big, and takes up too much space.  Every time I sit back in it, it damages the wall.  I've wasted time, money, and energy looking for and buying the living room corner chairs.  I've bought ones that look good - but don't last; I've had sturdy ones that just don't look good with the style of my living room; I bought them straight off the showroom floor - but they become outdated pretty quick.

What I want is a comfortable chair, and that looks nice.  It doesn't look nice in an attractive sense, as if it belongs.  Something that adds to the decor of my living room.  You know, the kind of chair that when you're having a shitty day, in the back of your mind, you know that the chair will be there when you get home.  A chair that coddles you and intensifies the realization you experience.  You can throw your legs over the arm of it and read a good book or work for hours comfortably.  Yet, it must match so I don't have to dress it up with a throw pillow or anything when company comes over.  It's fine the way it is.  Also, it doesn't need constant maintenance, and there is no need for weekly polish or scotch guard treatments.  But like I said, right now, I have this terrible chair in my living room that I need to get rid of this chair.

But there's a problem: my son likes that old, sentimental chair.  So I can't just take it to the dump.  I will have to store it in the shed so my son can play with it when he wants.  But it's cumbersome and complicated to move, and I still need to move it out of my living room.

Then, the other day, I was at an antique store, not even looking for a chair, and I saw this one that I really liked.  I thought, damn, I'm not even looking for a chair right now; I don't even know where I'd put it.  But I really like this chair.  It has a unique look.  It had a classic frame and was well-made.  I even like the upholstery, and I would like to take it home and see how it looks in my living room.

Then these two guys walk in work suits walk up to me and say, "Sorry sir, I hope you're not lookin' to buy this chair, 'cuz it's not for sale." They go on and tell me, "See the shop owner here?  Well, he's a bit of a perfectionist, and we came here today to pick up this chair and take it to our warehouse so it can be polished and refinished." The guys go on, telling me how funny it is that the shop owner always does this and that usually what the customers like about the furniture are the flaws, you know, that used look, gives it character.  And how often the items get all scratched up on the way back to the store anyway. The guys tell me they're taking that chair today, but if I am interested, I may want to check back when it's all fixed up.

But the store owner has two other stores, so there's no telling where this chair will end up.  I laugh to myself, figures.  The guys then tell me that I look a little tired from shopping, and they have some forms to fill out, so why don't I just sit in that chair and try it out for a few minutes while they finish their paperwork.  That sounds like a good idea, so I will sit in it.  This chair is comfortable; I like it so far.

Then I remembered that it didn't matter because I still had that big, ugly chair in my living room.  Even after I get it out, I still have to repair the damage it's done to the wall behind it and paint where I've patched up the wall.  And well, this chair is here today.  Remember, it's not for sale anyway.

I tell my therapist this, and she says, "How about not having a chair in your living room for now?" I say, "Yeah, I agree; I think I'm just going to get myself some good artwork to hang on the wall for that corner of my living room for now." And art is good.  I really can sit on the floor and enjoy the art.  Life can go on without a chair.  However, there will be a chair that I will grow old in at some time and, with some luck, die smiling in.

If you have not figured it out, it is about relationships.  I was divorced and seeking a relationship.  I opted not to pursue a relationship.  Taking a break, which I did for 14 months, I avoided any situation that could have been a relationship possibility.  It helped, and this is why I now preach the one-year rule.  When you lose something dear to the heart (a spouse, a pet, a friend), take a year to repair the heart before seeking the "replacement."  You will never regret that decision; I guarantee that statement!   

Looking back, this was as insightful as possible about a relationship.   

Carry on, my friends, carry on!