Yesterday I said goodbye to the family couch.

After 32 years of stalwart dedication, this unapologetic voyeur has been used as a child-launch trampoline/fort/ship, witnessed a multitude of 3 a.m. angsts and rambunctious soccer parties, and served as a bed for visitors as well as some in-the-doghouse nights.

The legs once became a flower press when I had this bright idea of starting a new hobby, and for the past two years, has secured my passport when a leg became a little wobbly. 

It has hosted tacos, tequila and love.

But there comes a time.

Every so often I read about getting older, and whoever’s writing it says it’s great to be old; to be prudent and sapient and seasoned. To be at the point where you know just what matters in life.

They drool, “Beauty comes from within.” What are they thinking? Don’t they have necks?

But I loved my old leather couch. Over the years it had developed a beautiful patina that can only be achieved with high quality material.

 

SO WHAT HAPPENED?

What happened was that the old sofa was given a new home. (I really think it was happy with the old one.) But the time had come to replace it with something new. 

However, a really good sofa is hard to find.

No, I don’t mean the quality of its frame, the durability of its fabric, or its classic, timeless design. Those can be found in abundance. No, the kind of sofa I wanted, and frankly needed, was not easily found.
 

MAYBE IT’S JUST ME 

Okay, maybe it’s just me. But when I think about a really good sofa, this is what I think about: 

1. Is it long enough to have a nap on? 
2. Is it deep enough so that I don’t fall off when I’m napping?
3. Can I use two pillows when I’m napping?
4. Can I spill red wine on it without staining?

THE NEW SOFA

The new sofa isn’t working out; frankly, we’re having some issues. I haven’t quite decided, but I’m close to calling off our relationship.

Here are my issues:

1. It’s new leather. It will need another 32 years to look like my old sofa. And I don’t have that much time.
2. The new leather looks and feels great, but everything slides off. Including me.
3. It’s curved. I can forget having a good nap. 
4. It’s new. I don’t know how the red wine will feel about that. 

THE SACRED

There are some things that are sacred to me. (For any checklist I create, my goal at minimum, is to be somewhat ambitious. Ambition can vary from “starting a business” to simply “getting off of couch”.)

1. My trips. I don’t know if you’re that familiar with me, but hiking isn’t my usual choice of vacation activities. I tend to prefer shopping.

2. My walks. No, I’m not a tightrope walker like the famous “The Great Blondin”, nor do I try to compete with David Sedaris’ 25-mile-a-day stroll, nor do I compose symphonies in my head like Beethoven. But I am renown for my intermittent “Gandhi walks”, especially when trolling through new places or ignoring street signs.

3. My writing. Although trying to write after not writing for awhile, is kind of like trying to finish the Badwater Ultramarathon after three years of sitting on the couch and eating Cheetos.

4. My sofa.

IN CLOSING

Humans are hard-wired to connect; to each other, their i-Phones, their couch. From an evolutionary perspective, it makes sense that we are particularly sensitive to separating from our couches, since our survival is pretty dependent on getting in our daily nap. So we cling and have appropriate responses to that need, which keeps us safe and protected.

Given that, I really liked my old sofa. 

It’s early evening, lengthened by the inky, sooty dark of winter. What has happened to this day? A day that goes like every other day, and the days after that. 

I’m tired. Not as in “I’m so sick and tired” (though, in a way, I guess that may be true, too). But tired. Like, I want to go to bed right now sort of tired. Is it the early dark? COVID-Somnia, bound in tormented seclusion? The waiting? 

The waiting. For what exactly? That one day the morning news will wake us with the announcement that we can go back to the time before our lives were upended? That the past two years was just a bad dream, a blimp in the earth’s timeline, a test?

Falling asleep is not the problem. It’s the middle of the night wake-ups. Why can’t I sleep through the night? And while we’re at it, what on earth is happening to my hair?! 

Should I read? Put socks into pairs? Make a grilled cheese sandwich? Or run through every boneheaded relationship I have made over the last seventy-two decades, which some might call “disturbing to others.”

Now here’s the real kick in the pajama bottoms: the circadian rhythm front. My extensive 3 AM research tells me that as we age, it is “normal” that as we get older, we don’t sleep as long or sleep through the night without waking. Not encouraging. 

Yea, the clock is ticking, literally, and sticking my head in the sheets is not an option. 

I am good friends with my bed. I do my best work in bed, and I mean that in the warmest way. But I prefer if not being between the hours of 2 AM and 5. But there it is, and yes, that is exactly the time it is right now. (I also can hear you mutter -“my best work?”) 

And yes, I know, my research also told me that you should only be using the bed for sleep and another fun activity that has a useful sedative effect. 

Believe me, I lay awake at night thinking about this. 

But this eternal waiting…

I walk, wandering around like a lost specter. It’s easy to feel discombobulated in the ubiquitous and now undramatic term “social distancing”. This now new routine social distancing and self-isolation has robbed us of our agency, and is starting to feel like little more than inconvenience giving others wide berth, but walking is as close to a magic pill that I have. It’s given me time to reflect on my life choices, and the rest, of my life. You know what they say about exercise and endorphins and not shooting your partner. 

We have discovered that we are on extended city breaks, very extended – in our own postal codes, trading plane tickets and travel pamphlets for I-Pages and pedestrianism as our primary means of seeing the world and thinking about what’s in it. 

Graham Greene once said that life was lived in the first 20 years and the remainder was just reflection. Again, not encouraging. 

Maybe it’s hope we need the most now, especially when we aren’t feeling especially hopeful. Desmond Tutu said that if we are devoid of hope, we should then just then roll over and disappear quietly, as hope says things can, and that things will, be better. 

Hope is vital for fulfillment and our well-being. To have something to look forward to when you wake up, to have a project you love doing, to have someone that really listens to you. 

And to find beauty. Not beauty in Hollywood glamorous, but as a calling. Beauty is about more rounded, substantial becoming, says the late Irish poet and philosopher, John O’Donohue, “in that sense, is about an emerging fullness, a greater sense of grace and elegance, a deeper sense of depth, and also a kind of homecoming for the enriched memory of your unfolding life.”

All in all, I guess we need to give ourselves some credit. Even a small step forward is a step in the right direction. Hey, even just standing still is still standing.

Although 3 AM in bed is perhaps not the optimal moment of which to derive a true picture of reality.