Some people have a favorite chair - the one they opt to relax in after working a long shift, or maybe a long day at home with the kids after they’ve gone to sleep for the night. A nice, comfy, worn-in piece of furniture that offers quite a bit of satisfaction. Sitting in said chair is part of a routine - maybe it’s a spot to read a book, watch a movie, take a snooze, or enjoy a meal.
I have a favorite chair; it’s green and swivels, rocks, and reclines. Nice for naps, and a pretty nifty place to enjoy a good book. Will I catch a football game while sitting in that chair once the season starts? That’s possible. But what is it that I actually gain from that vantage point, in the grande scheme of things? Probably not a whole lot.
To get a little bit of perspective, sometimes it takes moving to another chair. It can help to gain a different outlook. And you know what … sometimes it takes heading out of state and checking out twenty three.
This weekend I ventured out to New Hampshire, which I suppose would be akin to moving out of my “comfy chair” in and of itself. I spent my first day with a few folks I know, in an absolutely beautiful home that has to have tons of history. Built in the late 1700s, it has so much character. The next day I had the opportunity to interact with some people I’ve met before, and met some new individuals, all of whom were fantastic.
Each has their own flair, their own unique spark. It's an amazing thing.
I'm not saying there aren't fantastic people in our area – there are some very fine, kind, beautiful souls here in Chenango County. But gaining a different perspective and hearing new insight is always a plus.
Now, I'm a little out there. On top of the great people I connected with, I sat in every single chair the place had to offer. Soft, cozy chairs, some with and without arms. Low-lying pieces of furniture and some that stood pretty tall, where my feet couldn't touch the floor. I'm pretty sure there were twenty three in total, but possibly more.
Friday night I found an old, wooden, red chair, with a little red paisley cushion on it, situated in a corner of a room with a fireplace and beautifully decorated mantel. From that vantage point I could see and hear just about everything my brain wanted to process after the long drive. It became my favorite spot inside. There was no one directly behind me, I could see the view out the front window, smell tasty pork cooking, and overhear (and interject if I felt inclined) some pretty solid conversation.
I spent Saturday morning in a fine, sturdy chair on a stone patio overlooking some sort of mountains – in Massachusetts, if my memory serves me correctly. I enjoyed a cup of coffee, and just thought. A different chair and a little bit of solitude. It was perfect.
That patio had nine or ten chairs, I'd say. I tried them all out – each offered a skewed view of not only the landscape, but of life. I don't mean that in a cheesy way, but naturally that's how it sounds. As folks began to arrive (for the housewarming party that ensued), the chairs filled up. It was wonderful to hear some people say aloud as to why they sat where they did – which I actually overheard.
“I'm gonna snag this seat, it's my favorite one out here.” I had sat there earlier, and knew exactly what she meant. Or, “I’m just going to lay in the grass, it’s much cozier.”
In New Hampshire, there's lots of granite. This abode has a stone patio. With an awesome little wall. Said wall offered lots of seating, and was a nice sturdy spot for a bit. Oddly enough, from hanging out on the stone, I looked up at the roof, and thought about what it'd be like to be a roofer for a while. … Realizing it's not a profession I'd be interested in at all – because I don't like heights – but from my chair at home I have certainly never contemplated a roofer's routine.
The kitchen had a wonderful blue chair, similar to the red one in the corner of the living room by the fireplace. While drinking coffee and peering out the window, I saw butterflies land on flowers and bees frolic around. I contemplated their importance, and even named a couple. That same chair is where I tried a tomato – for the first time since I was probably four. I was kindly offered a plate of tomatoes, some silverware, a salt shaker, and there I went. Honestly, not too bad. It's nothing I'd eat on a regular basis, but who knows, maybe I'll get them on a sub next time.
Yellow chair in the living room – the chair I fell in love with Friday night – is also where I tried raw milk for the first time. I enjoyed it again in the chair in the kitchen on Sunday. I have to say, it tasted like milk ... but better. Creamy, thick, kind of sweet, and very yummy. There was just something about it that made it extra tasty. I didn’t get sick, I’m still alive; raw milk gets a thumbs up in my book, but hash that one out amongst yourselves.
Sunday I ventured to a nearby town and visited the Keene Activist Center, a great place for people to get together to share ideas. Luckily I didn't have to drive myself, so I was able to avoid the dreaded traffic circles. Regardless, out front there are a whole bunch of chairs and a couch. I found myself a nice spot near the edge – if you couldn't tell already I don't really like to be in the thick of things - I prefer the outskirts listening in - but sitting there and listening to the conversations and various perspectives and motivations of these terrific individuals was fantastic.
I sat in a teeny tiny chair of metal, probably made for a four year old years and years ago, and it may or may not have been the highlight of my day. There are times when that inner little kid just has to come out.
I suppose the point of this seemingly random tirade is to express how great it is to get around and check things out. Even if you're just sitting still. Hop up out of your chair - or routine - and see things from a different point of view.
Sometimes, sitting still somewhere else makes all the difference.
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