Switching places

I’ll take a guess that it’s more common than not for humans to have a designated place to sit in their living room. You probably have a spot of your own that’s conformed to your buttocks - the armrests to your elbows.

Like. A. Glove.

We’re staying in a temporary rental now, so mine isn’t so shaped, but I do have a usual place that I sit on the sofa. It’s a nice comfy sofa and I quite like it. But the other day, I sat on the recliner which I hardly use (mostly because it sits almost under the television and faces away from it).

Right away, I realized how much I love a good recliner. Nothing like it.

I made that old-man noise when I sat down, that grunty “Aaahhhhhhh.” (But the kind of aaahhhhhh that one within earshot can wonder, “Does that hurt or feel good?” (It felt good.))

I kicked my feet up, leaned back a bit, looked across at Rory (who was, as usual, on the sofa), and instantly, I was transported to my childhood living room.

Not only that - I felt like I was…
My dad.

Now, usually when people say, “I feel so much like my mom/dad,” it’s said negatively. But this was transcendent.

I was my dad and Rory was my 10-year-old self. And we were hanging out.

This was our living room orientation when I was a kid - my dad ALWAYS sat in his recliner and I sat across from him on the sofa. This is how we spent our evenings. For years. It was part of the liturgy of my childhood.

But back to the other night…

It was as if my dad borrowed my body in that recliner to hang out with me and Rory for a bit.

There was a definite wrinkle in the space/time continuum.
Talk about epiphanies.

The love I felt for her in that moment was palpable. My dad, who has been dead for 10 years, said in unspoken words something like, “There’s a lot of love here, son. And she’s beautiful.”

In Joy,
Jonas+