The summer is over in New York City. Our three-year-old son starts at a new school on Thursday and we’re excited and scared to see how it goes. Yesterday I bumped into a friend of mine at the playground, a teacher. “I’m the furthest away I’m ever going to be from my summer vacation,” he said, looking hollow-eyed. Ha-ha-ha.
We’ve spent the summer traveling around and seeing our families. It sounds like a pleasure but actually it’s been quite sad and difficult, I’m afraid. My wife’s mother, a wonderful woman, passed away in July. We spent two tough months in Norfolk, Virginia, helping to take care of her. It was very quick and very painful. It was devastating.
Something like that gives you a sense of perspective in life. That’s for sure. I’m finding it pretty hard, actually, to care about things that aren’t life-or-death, as I return to work. We also saw my mum whose Alzheimer’s is progressing, and my dad, who is now her full-time carer in Southeast London. That was a delight, but also, as you can imagine, not always easy. Still, such moments are very precious, as well as very painful. We got back into town on Saturday afternoon and I’m still jet-lagged and feeling a bit overwhelmed.
There’s only one thing for it at moments like this. On Labor Day, we did what I would describe as an “epic chuck-out.” Our 400-square foot apartment has never been exactly roomy. But I’m of the Marie Kondo school when it comes to the things you should keep around you. Once 40 percent of our possessions were in garbage bags, I found myself staring at our couch. I was asking myself the Kondo question: “Does this spark joy?”
I heard the “ih-uh” buzzer from the T.V. show, Family Feud. The couch, which has born the hardest years of a toddler’s life, seemed to be telling me that it has had enough. We got it cleaned last year, which gave it a last lease on life. But at some point, the couch, which has always been too big for the space, decided it preferred to be out on our sidewalk. I consulted with my wife who felt similar. Then I dragged the thing, single-handed, downstairs to the street. It was gone by morning. God bless the New York City sanitation department. They’re remarkable people.
A friend tells me Feng-Shui is the art of unblocking pent-up energy in your home. “You need to clear the space so that a dragon could walk through,” she said. I love that idea—that a dragon could ring the buzzer downstairs. I’d buzz him up like Jerry Seinfeld, then he’d blast in like Seinfeld’s neighbor, Cosmo Kramer. The dragon would say, “ah, congratulations, I see you got rid of that horrible old couch”, and stride on in. He’d see clear paths to the bedroom, my office, the kitchen, and the bathroom. Then he’d take a seat in our remaining armchair by the television, ask me to bring him a beer, and pop the U.S. open on. My wife, son, and I would take a seat on the rug on the floor and delight in the fact that we were hosting a contented dragon. And…scene.
Our child, meanwhile, has discovered the delights of the playground sandpit. In the past it’s proven an excellent source of foot-and-mouth disease. But also it happens to be a meditative and sensory reset button. He can jump in there with a shovel and roll around and calm his own dragons down for hours at a time. The older he gets, the more I learn from him. As a parent one’s impulse is often to prevent repetitive or soothing behaviors but we all need them. Life is hard, there is grieving to do, and I am not sure how we will all look and feel in a few months time. I do know, though, that we have made some room for the dragon to breathe. And of course, we do have renter’s insurance, in case he gets ornery.
I hope you’re coping well with your own dragons. And thanks for reading, as always.
—Matt Davis is a communications consultant and writer for a wide variety of clients. He also teaches yoga and lives with his wife and son in New York.
