I want a lamp. A perfect lamp that will fit with my furniture, my furniture I am yet to buy, furniture still on the sky high shelves of Ikea. I wander around shops that sell home wares, a collection of cushions with sequins and incense and entirely too much wicker on everything, I keep searching for this perfect lamp. I scour the Ikea website, maybe one of these will be it. A perfect, fitting lamp.
If I find this lamp, my life will be perfect.
But it won’t really. There will be the next “if I have X, my life will be perfect.”
A couple of months ago, if I got a leather jacket, my life would be perfect. Not long before the breakup. And then, I was suddenly, devastatingly single. I got the jacket. My life wasn’t perfect. I promised the universe I’d give the perfect jacket back to have the perfect of him in my life. I’m still waiting for things to sort out. He is an overarching, “if I have him, my life will be perfect”. But I know, deep down, that’s not true.
If I have him, my life won’t be perfect. If I have the lamp, my life won’t be perfect.
There is no perfect. The lamp is the outlet. Something achievable. I may not get him, but I can get the lamp. If I find this lamp, for a brief period of time, things will be okay.
It’s not about the lamp. It’s about having something, anything to hold on to, that will keep me going. The chase of what will make me happy.
The pursuit of lamp.