Couch Shopping

It ends where it began. Sort of...

Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash

When I pulled up to Bob’s Furniture over the weekend, dodging the big GMC truck with a plow on the front as it cleared the parking lot, I thought of my friend Joelle. Joelle is part of my beloved Gaylord Posse. I was talking to her on the phone as I packed up my Subaru Forester last April, leaving Mary B’s Magical House in MI in search of my new home, and completely unsure how things would play out for me. Joelle helped, as she tends to do, by saying, “You don’t have to know where you want to be yet, Kristine. Start with what you don’t want. It’s like buying a new couch. I told my husband when we were looking for a new couch last year that I didn’t know what I wanted, but I would find it after I eliminated all the Stupid Couches. Start there. With the Stupid Couches.”

Of course, I thought of Joelle as I found myself no longer metaphorically eliminating Stupid Couches and faced with the literal ones. That was the task at hand. I trudged through the slushy parking lot of Bob’s Furniture, walked through the double doors, and as I was stomping the snow off my boots, a woman approached me with a single-minded stride. She seemed no-nonsense, and I wanted this errand to be no-nonsense.

“Hi,” I said. “I’m here to buy a couch.”

“Great,” she said. “Anything you are looking for in particular?”

“I want a sleeper sofa.” I didn’t know much beyond that.

We got to business finding my new couch.

The entire process took about 20 minutes, and I ended up with something I am really happy with. It is what was left after I eliminated all the ones that were stupid and had things that I didn’t want like cup holders or were too soft or too deep. Joelle’s wise counsel comes through again. When I texted her that my shopping trip was successful, she congratulated me and described a good couch as a “good friend, comfy, cozy, a soft place to land.” Indeed.

When I left Gaylord, MI last April, I decided to write my way forward, documenting the crazy-yet-I-couldn’t-come-up-with-anything-better adventure I was embarking on in real-ish time. I had no idea when or where the story arc would take me, or when it would feel complete. It feels complete now, starting and ending, sort of, with couches.

Joseph Campbell said, “If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.” I don’t know if this is universally true, yet for me---yes. That has been true at times in my life. I tucked into my partner’s vision and ideal life when I lived with him in Gaylord. The path was clear, extended well into the future, and I was all in. Committed. Excited. In love. I adapted to my new surroundings. Built a life for myself. A life for myself that was in the confines of someone else’s path. So, was it really mine? Ours? I don’t know. Maybe not. Certainly not now. Maybe that is why I was pushed off that well-groomed, extend-to-the-horizon path that I thought was mine because I agreed to it and into the dark where no path existed. There wasn’t room for me on that path.

I heard on a podcast or Instagram or a meme, so it is gospel, and I am running with it like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible—that the reverse of Joseph Campbell’s quote is also true. If the path in front of you falls away, if the way forward is obscured or nonexistent, then you are on your path. When phrased that way, it’s not super soothing. It’s counterintuitive. And it’s an indication that I am currently machete-ing my way through the jungle on my path.

I will continue to write my way forward and through as this new story arc begins. My next quest, now that I have found my new home—make it my new home and all that task entails. I will document it here, in real-ish time, making it up as I go along and trusting I will get there and know when this arc is complete. I will also start writing in retrospect, trying to make meaning of my essays, scribblings, journals, memories, experiences, emotions, and impressions of my gap year and put it all together in a cohesive form. It seems like the way forward.

When I announced to my kids last spring what my intent was, my son exclaimed, “Mom! You’re going to have an Eat, Pray, Love year,” which cracked me up because the story of a woman in search of everything has become so ensconced in our culture and lexicon that a 27-year-old guy knew the shorthand. He was excited, thinking I would have adventures similar to Elizabeth Gilbert's, which set the bar ridiculously high. He was kind of prescient, though, since I did a hefty amount of eating, praying, and loving, just not at all in the way Elizabeth Gilbert chronicled in her Super Duper Mega Blockbuster Bestseller. Neither one of us could have predicted where our story arc would end. My story came full circle on a snowy Sunday morning as I sloshed in and out of Bob’s Furniture to buy a couch from Janie, the to-the-point and helpful salesperson. Elizabeth Gilbert ended up in a boat with her Brazilian lover in Bali jetting over to an isolated island where they would spend a week in paradise and then cross over together into their new life. Same, same. It’s all good.

I am turning the page on the unfolding story that is my life. I feel like I am moving toward something rather than away, which brings a welcome sense of possibility and curiosity. One step at a time, as the path reveals itself incrementally. And who knows what is next? Perhaps this installment ends with me in love with a man in a boat or on a beautiful island or walking through a foreign country or sitting on my awesome new, comfy, feels-like-home, not-stupid couch.