I Am Not a Sad Chair

I've been a bit blue lately, or rather, overwhelmed. Don't get me wrong; I'm thrilled with the pace of my life right now. Every once in awhile, though, all the changes and new opportunities become a little scary. Of course, it could also have something to do with the fact that I just balanced my checkbook only to stare (in horror) at the final figure and say, "Really?" Double check the math...Really.

So, like any good blogger, when faced with realization that I can't do it all, I escaped into the internet for distraction. I can't even remember how I stumbled across this guy but I'm so thankful I did. His name is Bill Keaggy and he's a photographer/author/all-around busy guy who lives in St.Louis and likes to drink Squirt. I discovered all those facts about him by reading his web site only after he pulled me in with this:

Blue #19

If you don't already know this about me, I completely identify with used furniture. So, the other day, when I was restlessly googling and the image above jumped onto my computer screen, I just stopped. "That's exactly how I feel," I thought. "I am that sideways-tipped, tattered & abandoned, yet still brilliantly vibrant chair."

One Folding #11

I got lost in Keaggy's 50 Sad Chairs photo essay. Each image, in its melancholy (and sometimes violent) splendor, seemed to be more poignant than the last. I thought I was simply wallowing but a curious thing happened to me by the time I reached the last frame: I felt better. I felt stronger. I realized that I'm not a sad chair after all.

Recliner #39

Thanks, Bill Keaggy, you somehow seem to be doing "it all" and well. You gave me my stuffing back.