sitting in the space (that is me)

wisdom from the couch cushions

Nov 18, 2025

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-5:24

Dear cozy human,

We lived five years without a couch.

(We lived these five years in a box truck, but that’s a story all of its own).

We didn’t think about not having a couch too often. Occasionally we’d picture cozying up on something else other than our bed, or our respective his and hers chair and stool. But not that often.

We moved into our apartment this summer and it took us 5 whole months to decide on a couch. We finally landed on a twin to the last couch we owned.

Something shifted the moment we got it.

Like we could sit down, and take a breath.

Like this was a comfort we didn’t realize how much we’d been missing.

It’s not perfect.

It collects dog hair. (Which reminds me I need to get Amanda back her vacuum).

But it’s comfort we needed.

And it’s our space to sit in (our space).

I used to judge people that talked about their home furnishings and appliances.

It felt so first world to me. Like we’re all gonna die one day. Who gives (a sh*z)?

But maybe there’s something there I was missing.

Like the way something makes you feel, inside a space only you can inhabit.

A few days ago we came home with another couch. This time for our guest space. A replacement for the leather centerpiece that just didn’t quite vibe with the air we’re creating in our plant-based “nest.”

We drove nearly two hours. Thinking it would help us gain some clarity. Have a day away together.

We entered into someone else’s home. An energy. We each sat on this thing. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. It felt small, but maybe it’d feel bigger when we got it back home?

After all, can’t something just be “good enough” without having to be all the things?

I picked up a fortune off the ground from someone else’s Chinese takeout.

Something still didn’t quite sit right.

Tension between mother and son. The unsteadiness of dementia. The space between grief and loss.

We loaded it up.

And when we finally got back and unloaded it into our space, it looked teeny.

It felt off. Still, it didn’t sit right.

But something in me had said “yes,” just so I could have something. So we could fill this empty space in the room.

…

How often do we do that?

Say yes to something we don’t even like just to have an answer. Just to not sit in the empty space. Just to find resolve.

Ignoring our own discomfort when things don’t sit right, to just have the discomfort of this feeling be behind us.

We made room so we could bring something in. And I rushed to fill it, because I couldn’t stand the room. If that isn’t a life lesson for you, I don’t know what is.

So it’s back to the drawing board. Or should I call it, Facebook Marketplace.

What looks like us, brings warmth to a space, can be covered for dog friends, can be easy to clean, could accommodate an extra guest, and isn’t all the dollars?

I don’t have an answer, other than I’ll know it when I see it.

…

I feel like that a lot lately.

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

And also, I’ll know it when I get there.

I feel behind, and yet, I couldn't have gotten here any faster.

Like I had to work through those things to get to these things, and couldn’t have gotten to these things without working through those things. You feel me?

…

Sunday night we came home with another couch. This time it was a win. A day away in a town we hadn’t been to. A meeting of a couple living differently than we, but a shared uplift in energy.

A drive home listening to a song he picked out for me.

I teared up in the shadow of the passenger seat. The lyrics go:

“If your heart goes out to everyone, you know the pain comes with it too.”

That is me

Someone I care about who cares about me, offered up a different alternative to the second part of the serenity prayer:

The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know… THAT. IS. ME.

I tried to say this aloud at a community meeting the Sunday night before this last one, and my voice crumbled into crying.

I guess it hit me deeper down than I expected it to when it came out.

Like it was fighting through this tension, this courage.

How can I sit in the space (that is me)?

The one who can’t quite seem to let go of the way she’s always done things that aren’t serving her even if she knows it’s not serving her, because sitting in that unknown space between (couches) is tender.

But I’m trying to… sit in the space.

(And maybe you are too).

Maybe we can both sink into it a little more.

(Who knew a couch could be so metaphorical?)