Six years ago, upon the arrival of my 31st birthday, my dad gifted me with his idea of the perfect present. An executive-style office chair. High back, high arms, tilty thing, height adjustable, and, while not leather, certainly "leather-look." At the time, I was more annoyed than appreciative - my office is less than six feet wide, the desk is almost two feet deep, and the chair measures slightly more than a foot from the front of the seat to the back. In other words, the chair occupies a lot of real estate in an already crowded acreage.
However, he meant well - perhaps it was his way of acknowledging that while I might not be a high-powered CEO out there in the world, I was certainly beginning to succeed at being my own boss. And bosses need a boss's chair, right?
As time went on, I got used to the chair. It's big enough that I can tuck my feet up underneath me, or lean against one arm while draping my legs over the other, and get comfy here at the keyboard. And while it doesn't wheel around much (where would I go?) it's got a nice rock to it.
I noticed a while ago that the "leather-look" is starting to wear away - you can clearly see the chair padding where the backs of my knees rest. And it occurred to me, holy dog, I've actually spent enough time in this chair to wear it out. All by myself! That's a lot of sitting.
But, as my writer friends often remind me, butt in chair is the only way to get the job done. So instead of being mortified at the amount of time I must have spent on my butt these last six years, I think I'll be proud of being where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to be doing - or at least trying to.
And then I'll ask for a new chair for my birthday. And if it takes up a lot of real estate, so be it. After all, this one turned out to work pretty well.
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