Frayed.
Could be my nerves. Could be my mind. Could be the bottom of my jeans.
Could be any number of things in my busy life. There’s a lot of negative connotation assigned to the idea of having something frayed. There’s a love seat I have, a leftover from the old living room set that sits in our home office now, used primarily by our dog, Otis.
I’d be embarrassed to have friends come over and sit there. It’s frayed…mostly abused by 15 years of use by a growing family, and recently repurposed by the dog.
He seems to like it, and if I don’t mind getting dog hair all over me, it’s still a pretty comfortable place to sit. There’s something about feeling comfortable and settled that draws me there to talk with my husband when he’s working at his desk. It’s no surprise the dog likes it. But why?
I think there’s a lot of comfort in old things — not just old things you can pick up in a thrift store, but the old things around the house that weren’t old when you got them — they’ve just aged right alongside you.
Maybe I’m a little frayed, too. My edges are a little rounder, my dark hair has faded into gray, my eyes aren’t as bright as they once were, and now they’re frayed with crow’s feet around the edges.
I’m ok with that. The softer more comfortable me has survived quite a bit, and at least a few people still like to have me around 🙂
