Epiphany

I didn't think I'd ever make a statement like the following, but epiphanies, as is their nature, do take one by surprise and cause strange things to fly from one's mouth (or fingertips). And so I say the following.

There are two kinds of people in this world: those who know where to sit, and those who don't.

I have been thinking of my childhood, and how my family seemed so different from my Aunt Paula's family. I thought of family holidays, how we always got to her house early, and my brothers and I drifted around, unable to settle in one place until finding that we were forced to make room between apologetic Cousin Olga (my Russian grandmother's cousin, resembled Uncle Fester) and critical Great-Aunt Lee (who had fingernails like tetanus needles). Even while hanging out with our cousins, who sprawled across their carpet or flung a leg over the lazyboy's arm, we shifted uncomfortably on couch cushions or leaned against a wall.

Well, sure, that's someone else's house. But in my own? Every family meal caused some anxiety when it came to seating. My brother Tom seemed immune, but then again no one wanted to cause trouble because he was scary. But Cripps, Smacks, my parents and I could not find a routine. We kids did not want to sit within my Dad's reach (which is an alarmingly large area due to his freakish ape arms), and we had to allow for Cripps being a lefty. And if we could avoid it, we would try to sit in a non-Death Seat. The Death Seat forced you to get up for the things that someone else forgot to bring to the table - butter, salt, milk - and somehow also forced you to pass everything across the table between my parents, situated at the poles.

And then there were the varying qualities of the chairs to think of. One was so damaged that it acted like one of those gliding front-porch rockers, which was a pleasant sensation until my mother screeched at us to stop breaking the chair.

Cor, blimey.

This isn't a nature v. nurture discussion, however, and my point remains. We do not know where to sit. Ever. If you've been in a class with me, or to a restaurant, or in my home, or in the T station, you know this to be true of me. I hover, float, perch, but never settle. It takes me months to wear in a chair and command it to be my favorite place to sit, and then it always feels like a thing forced.

Here's the thing I've noticed, though, that makes this a true epiphany. Those who know where to sit usually get their way. The rest of us compromise. I try to pat myself on the back and admire my own compassion and hospitality, but really, I want to sit anywhere I want and magically transform my seat into a throne with my very presence.

I'm not saying that know-where-to-sitters AREN'T brimming with compassion and hospitality, but they do know how to fulfill their own needs so that they can deal with the world with some outward show of confidence. But I can't speak from that side of the fence, so this is only conjecture.

This photo of Audrey Hepburn makes me wonder about her. Do you think she knew where to sit? She seems so squarely positioned, but there's some uncertainty in her eyes. Do you see it, too?