Soon after my last move a friend gave me a bunch of furniture, including a wicker arm chair which she’d found on a Brooklyn street. It’s very comfortable, and my cat Annabelle has adopted it for her own. This is Annabelle’s chair:
Yesterday my building had a stoop sale. We were setting up and I saw my upstairs neighbor bring out a chair that looked identical to mine. I told him, and he said that he too had found his chair on the street – when he lived in Hong Kong. Two chairs found abandoned on the street, in cities on opposite sides of the planet, living in the same building.
Throughout the day I kept staring at his chair, imagining someone buying it and carrying it away; I couldn’t bear the thought. Mid-afternoon I asked him if his price was firm. “You know what – for you, free. They should be together.”
I’m beginning to suspect that while we may believe we’re masters of our own destiny, in fact our stuff is sucking us in the wake of it’s own purpose.