Finally, I realized it wasn't me. It was the chairs.
Chairs don't fit me. They’re too big or too small, but they’re not just right. Really.
Chairs don’t fit me. My legs are too long. Sitting in chairs with my feet on the floor puts my knees higher than . . . than they should be. That’s not right. Crossing my legs turns me into triangle balanced on a point. Tall people everywhere must have this problem too. Why don’t I seem to notice them being bothered by it?
Chairs don’t fit me. My derrière is too bony. I get “bleacher butt,” if I sit too long in a chair with no cushion. My bottom falls asleep. It gets numb, which is an interesting, uncomfortable feeling. I even got bruises from sitting too long. I don’t blame the chairs. They just weren’t made for me.
Chairs don’t fit me. My mind wasn’t meant to sit for hours while people talk about things that aren’t important. I think better when I’m walking and moving and talking. I push information through my brain faster when my whole body is involved in the process. I’m wreck at the end of a long sitting meeting.
Chairs I meet weren’t made to fit me.
One day I will find a just right chair. It will be the perfect height from the floor and have a perfect cushion. I'll feel as if I’m on top of the world when I sit on it.
My just right chair will have a feedback loop that pushes me out to walk when the time is just right.
It will be beautiful too.
When things are just right, they always are beautiful.
−me strauss Letting me be