How not to handle stress: Recliner edition
I'm not sure if it's pessimism or realism, but I'm assuming that this will not be the only time the stress of the move brings out my not-so-great side.
It started early Sunday, when my husband sought me out in my usual spot on mornings when it's too chilly or wet to sit on the deck--curled up in the blue recliner in the nook near Youngest's room. It has a nice view over the pond, and it puts me at the height of the flowering trees for good bird watching.
"I definitely want to move that chair," he said, unsuspectingly.
Now, I have a strong tendency to overemphasize what Gretchen Rubin calls the Strategy of the Fresh Start.
I go beyond acknowledging that a new beginning is a good opportunity to develop a better habit. I envision a world in which life will be perfect after the move, or the new year, or the start of a new work project.
It's stupid, I know. Unrealistic. Unhealthy.
I have made a lot of progress in my fight against this attitude, and yet it creeps in when I'm not looking.
And hello, perfection.
Didn't my husband know that our apartment in San Francisco is going to be that thing we have never once achieved in almost 25 years together, a well-decorated space? Something worthy of gracing the pages of Better Homes & Gardens? It will be tiny, sure, but so stylish.
The recliner is not stylish.
WriterMan asserts this is just my opinion, but I offer here the objective proof:
He calmly pointed out that it is the one piece of furniture we own that is actually sized for someone over six feet tall, so unless I want to trade my husband in for a smaller model, it's unrealistic to assume I can have only small furniture. (I know tone is hard to read, but he wasn't being snarky.)
He pointed out that I use the chair all the time.
But, but . . . ugly! I responded.
He left to shower, and I googled "decorating with a recliner."
I found more stylish recliners and wrote down their measurements, then took a tape measure to ours to compare. Hmm. Maybe we could find a compromise chair.
When I explained this to him, he gently suggested that perhaps this is something we can talk about again after we've been settled in SF for a month or two.
He has a weird set of priorities, I know, to think that this is not the thing I should focus on when we are trying to sell a house, find an apartment, launch two high school seniors, and help a child adjust to a huge move.
Some people.
Huge kudos to my husband for keeping his sense of humor during this exchange.
It started early Sunday, when my husband sought me out in my usual spot on mornings when it's too chilly or wet to sit on the deck--curled up in the blue recliner in the nook near Youngest's room. It has a nice view over the pond, and it puts me at the height of the flowering trees for good bird watching.
"I definitely want to move that chair," he said, unsuspectingly.
Now, I have a strong tendency to overemphasize what Gretchen Rubin calls the Strategy of the Fresh Start.
I go beyond acknowledging that a new beginning is a good opportunity to develop a better habit. I envision a world in which life will be perfect after the move, or the new year, or the start of a new work project.
It's stupid, I know. Unrealistic. Unhealthy.
I have made a lot of progress in my fight against this attitude, and yet it creeps in when I'm not looking.
And hello, perfection.
Didn't my husband know that our apartment in San Francisco is going to be that thing we have never once achieved in almost 25 years together, a well-decorated space? Something worthy of gracing the pages of Better Homes & Gardens? It will be tiny, sure, but so stylish.
The recliner is not stylish.
WriterMan asserts this is just my opinion, but I offer here the objective proof:
 |
| A large, poofy, navy blue recliner. |
He calmly pointed out that it is the one piece of furniture we own that is actually sized for someone over six feet tall, so unless I want to trade my husband in for a smaller model, it's unrealistic to assume I can have only small furniture. (I know tone is hard to read, but he wasn't being snarky.)
He pointed out that I use the chair all the time.
But, but . . . ugly! I responded.
He left to shower, and I googled "decorating with a recliner."
I found more stylish recliners and wrote down their measurements, then took a tape measure to ours to compare. Hmm. Maybe we could find a compromise chair.
When I explained this to him, he gently suggested that perhaps this is something we can talk about again after we've been settled in SF for a month or two.
He has a weird set of priorities, I know, to think that this is not the thing I should focus on when we are trying to sell a house, find an apartment, launch two high school seniors, and help a child adjust to a huge move.
Some people.
Huge kudos to my husband for keeping his sense of humor during this exchange.
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