If Spencer had a quarter for every time I remarked that a bench “looks like a great place to read,” we’d be sailing the Mediterranean and sipping martinis on our private yacht right about now.
(Eh, I guess that would be all right.)
Benches have . . . some sort of magnetic pull on me. That’s a really odd statement, I realize, but here I am: the queen of odd statements. I think it’s the realization that, in my fast-paced and frenetic life, I gaze upon these inviting seats but never actually make time to sit in them.
Does that make sense?
I see a bench and think, That looks like a great place to rest.
And then I keep walking, because I’m on a schedule. On deadline. On a time crunch.
The last time I probably sat on a bench? December 16, 2012. When I sat on that bench at top — when Spencer proposed.
And I didn’t want to get up.
Instead of resting my laurels, I find myself photographing benches. I’ve taken shots of fancy seats from Washington to San Francisco and back again, even documenting furniture in Ireland and Scotland. Until recently, I wasn’t consciously taking shots of benches . . . they’re just structures that naturally catch my attention. But now that I’ve picked up on my recent bench lust, I can’t unsee it.
Though we’re far from a time when New Year’s resolutions are chosen and proclaimed, I try to realize when I need to change . . . and do something about it. As the pace of wedding planning increases, my workload jumps and my energy levels deplete even further, I’m vowing to take time in every new destination — as often as possible — to find a vacant seat and plant myself in it.
One of my happiest recent memories was of sitting on a bench in Battery Park. Spencer and I were just starting our day of walking around New York City and weren’t even tired, but the blue skies and people-watching opportunities from a bench within view of the Statue of Liberty were too much to resist.
We sat for a half hour, maybe longer, just holding hands and looking at the water. I took a few pictures, but nothing major. Mostly we were just . . . being.
Maybe that sounds hippy-dippy. But I’d like to simply be a lot more often.