Rearranging Furniture

Every so often, Jen and I get stoned and wander around our house and yard imagining all the things we’d like to do to make our home and garden more functional, beautiful, and pleasant. Sometimes, if we’re feeling particularly ambitious, we’ll push the living room furniture around into a new configuration and sometimes it will turn out that—even next morning—our new arrangement represents an improvement over the old.

That’s just what happened last night, and today, as I look over the new position of couch and chairs, I’m not only pleased with it, but surprised we put up with the previous placements so long.

I’m sure there’s a metaphor in here somewhere: something about not noticing what’s right in front of you and an unreflective willingness to accept arrangements you’re unsatisfied with. How many times have I wished that the lighting by our couch was better and done nothing about it? What does this say about my acceptance of other annoyances that could be relatively easily taken care of?

It often comes down to a choice between effort and complacency. I’m willing—and generally think it’s good to be willing—to put up with some discomfort; I’m not obsessed with the perfect environment; on the other hand, to the degree that I am willing to swallow things that stick in my craw, I may be making myself more uncomfortable than I have to.

This isn’t to say a person should always pick scabs; I do think, though, that when you’ve got one that’s catching on your socks and pant legs, you may as well go for it. (How’s that for a metaphor being in there somewhere?)

What’s curious now is to notice how long it takes me to not notice the new way the living room looks. When will I come to accept the new arrangement uncritically and what sort of recreational stimulants will it take to make me see it in a new way?