Being: Conscious, mortal existence; life.
Every month we welcome two families, two people, two voices to share their stories in whatever way they chose. We hope that you find joy in their daily lives, and their simple habit of just being.
It’s three in the morning. I’m walking the floor with a little one, who—at just over 25 pounds—is, from the perspective of my back anyway, no longer all that little. As soon as he drifts off enough that I think he’ll tolerate it, I gratefully slip into my rocking chair, nestle back with the baby on my chest, and rest my body and my eyes.
The chair was a hand-me-down from a friend. Her mother found it at a garage sale, and she passed it on to me. It’s not something I ever would have sought out or found in a store, but it’s perfect.
The seat is wide and comfortable. It has generous arm rests that support my elbows as I cradle my son’s little blonde head. It doesn’t creak or make noises that would wake up a boy drifting off to sleep. And it does all this while still being classic enough that I’d happily keep it in any room of my house.
One of my favorite bloggers (well, ok, one of everyone’s favorite bloggers, really) Amanda Soule claims that thrifting works better when you make a list or say out loud what it is that you need–think of it as letting the universe know what you’re looking for so that it can deliver.
I believe that’s exactly what happened in the instance of the rocking chair, because it was quite shortly after I wrote it on my list of “things we need for baby” that my friend offered it up. You can be cynical and call it coincidence if you want, I prefer to think of it as magic. Because I believe it is a bit magical how well stating what you need—putting your intentions on paper or saying them out loud—often works for me, particularly in the area of recycled household furnishings.
When we started talking about finding a child-safe china cabinet—lo and behold—one appeared at a local flea market within the month. With a little paint and sanding, it’s now my favorite piece of furniture in our house.
The key to this theory, however, is patience. I struggle with that one. As much as I adore an afternoon spent poking around a thrift store or flea market, I tend to want my solutions boxed up and delivered to my doorstep right now. As in, “I can’t stand these toys being all over the place for even one more second—we have to organize them today!”
But this process isn’t as simple as ordering something up from a big-box store. In the end, the universe tends to throw me exactly what I need—if not something better—but it’s not generally compatible with instant gratification. This magic happens in its own time, and not before.
It’s not for everyone, perhaps, but I’m learning that I’m happier if I resign myself to asking and then waiting with hope and patience. Because I couldn’t have imagined a rocking chair that perfect if I’d tried, and—at three in the morning—there’s not a single thing about it that I’d give up.