Changing Perspectives

My realtor walked through my house last week and had instructions for me like “move these
7000 pieces of furniture out of the house for pix and showing”. Oh and your couch doesn’t fit
your room – we need a stage couch to make the room show how big it actually is. This might
lead you to believe it’s some gargantuan monstrosity. It’s not. And I love the damned thing. But, I can admit that it’s oddly shaped. And I’ve never cared that I couldn’t square the longest, straightest part of it with any wall. So, I get it. And I want the house to show well. But while I’m dismantling my life and home here, I just couldn’t part with my “comfort couch” (I feel like that might be the first utterance of that odd phrase). In any case, I said, fine, I’ll separate the two parts and rearrange them. It’ll look and feel like a love seat and oversized chair.

So I did it (and moved other furniture forever) this past weekend. I sent the realtor pix and she approved–no stage couch necessary. So yay for that. And it’s not that I don’t like it. I really do. It feels like a grown up sitting, talking, TV watching, and generally living with others sort of space. The chair part (which is my favorite part) is now parallel to and facing the fireplace. The end table is now between the two pieces so you can use it regardless of which piece you sit on. The area rug is squared up with everything else. It feels, um, grown up. 

Image of living room with blue walls, beige couch and chair, blue rug, fireplace and TV that’s really way too big for the space

I don’t hate it. But it’s lending greatly to the feeling like I’m staying in someone else’s house. Last night I did a little restorative yoga like I’ve done a million times in front of the fireplace with candles (I’m extra that way). I made it work in the new configuration. It was like doing it at someone else’s house. And yet, I didn’t hate how much closer to the fire I could be. Earlier, today, I had to review some contracts with focus time and decided to unplug from the desk and do it on my lap snuggly on my big chair with the fireplace going. It’s been snowing off and on and cloudy all day, so it was frankly kind of cozy and awesome.

See, I don’t hate it. And if I’m super quiet and super honest with myself, I could see me prioritizing this sort of cozy seating in my next house. 

I walked through the house with a friend this past weekend with a “do I pay to move and store this piece of furniture or replace it with something second hand when I get to my destination and have a permanent residence?” I was so hesitant at first to say, yeah, my whole bedroom gotta go. That 12-13 year old mattress, gone-zo. All the ikea specials I’ve used for much longer than the average life of ikea furniture. Nope, not bringing it with me. Great. Liberating. I can make my new space different. But I did pause at one point and decided those old, heavy book cases I mentioned from my marriage that I painted right after the divorce a fire engine red with orange interior. Those come. My fav couch. My unique table. All come with. Because I want to feel like I brought some of my life with me. But not all of it, or even most of it. I want my new space to feel like “my” space – but new, and not like I’ve fully moved into someone else’s house.

And just moving the furniture around, changing my perspective in this room is changing my perspective of what I want, where I’m comfortable, how I want my environment to be. It’s a good thing. But that doesn’t not make it weird af. And things are only going to get more weird as I continue to pack up and give things away. I’ve found I’m the most at peace or excited about the move when I’m doing this kind of stuff. That’s a sign.

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