I had a hard time choosing specific objects to “tell the story” of my life. I don’t feel like my life is exceptional or even particularly interesting. But I did find an object that I thought did sort of represent me. My lamp. It’s a dusty, old lamp that sits next to my bed and can never stand straight on its own. The light from this lamp barely reached the edge of the room, and made my bedroom feel like I was in the 19th century. I never thought that the object I would choose to represent me would be this lamp, but it was the first thing that popped into my mind, and the more I thought about it, the more it fit.
My lamp showed how loyal and stubborn I was to things that I was used to and comfortable with. I mean, I never even got my driver’s license, because I didn’t want to have to change my morning routine to driving to school so I could get the practice. This probably wasn’t the best characteristic to have, because it’s been one that holds me back a lot.
Although this lamp would periodically fall on my face while I was asleep, I still loved it. It was the perfect distance from my bed for me to stretch (I mean really stretch) across my nightstand, and just barely reach the twisty switch. This ensured that I never had to walk to my bed in the dark (and possibly step on the many things that lay on my bedroom floor) nor did I have to get out of bed to actually turn it off. I hated walking in the dark. One, because I had a habit to never clean my room and there would be dangerous items lying on the path to my bed. I could only get lucky one so many times on my way to my bed in the dark. Two, I hated making myself uncomfortable. I’m sure everyone would agree with this, but I had such an intense hate for things that are just a tiny bit inconvenient, that I would do anything to keep from having to stand up to turn out the light. I didn’t want to get cold, and with the draft on our second floor, I was constantly cold.
For years, I didn’t let my mom switch this lamp. This was the perfect balance I had between my laziness and still being comfortable. I wouldn’t have ever changed this system. But my mom wanted to switch it with a brighter, prettier, newer lamp. A different lamp. The switch was completely different on this new lamp. It was the kind that stayed on the floor that you would turn on and off with your feet. Eventually, my mom got fed up with the precarious position that my lamp was in, at first balanced to stay upright with a huge Lord of the Rings book as a counterweight, and later leaning against my headboard, that she switched lamps while I was at school one day. I wasn’t very grateful to say the least. Even though it was definitely way better and made my room feel a lot more comfortable, I adamantly wanted my old lamp. But over time, I realized how much better this new lamp actually was, and appreciated how brightly it lit my room up. In the same way that I'm so stubborn about the old things, once I get used to the new an improved, I genuinely enjoy it, and soon enough couldn't see anything wrong with it.
*I'm not sure how to conclude this
