Just as we were almost done – only one last item to carry out – Mohammad noticed a one-euro coin on the foyer floor. He kindly picked it up and gave it to me, demonstrating both his incredible eye for detail and honesty. We proceeded to get the dresser from my room, carry it out to the side of the house where Kostas – the man with the yellow truck for hire – came rolling up to the other side of the fence, peeled back the wiring and proceeded to help us load all of the bedroom furniture over the sidewall of my property.
Besides the whirlwind of events and the expertise Mohammad and Kostas seem in the most expedient way to move everything, I was taken that Mohammad knew the wire side fence could be easily untied and peeled back. I hadn't noticed the wiring was held in place by a simple, small rope. I'd like to think Mohammad's awareness came from when he painted the house and walls two years ago – making him already familiar with the property. Or that Kostas has been professionally schlepping things around the island for 30+ years – thereby knowing every loading point and secret break in fences everywhere. But I suspect that's not the case.
We all have different perceptions and abilities. Things like coins on a multi-color, patterned tile floor and small ties to side fences are not the details I tend to notice. Mohammad took one look at the bedroom furniture and seemed to know how to dissemble it as clearly as if he had a manual. I would have taken a stab at something, possibly made some progress, possibly bungled and done it all in three times what it took him. The screws, the order – it all made perfect sense to him. Given, he is a carpenter and painter, but still….
I'm sure I have skills and abilities that don't come naturally to Mohammad. There is probably some part of life or our physical environment I pick up on in a way he doesn't. There has to be – it takes all kinds of perceptions and skills to make the world work. If we were all brain surgeons, no one would bake bread, fly planes or ensure we have clean water. We would just be able to fix brains for a few days before mass numbers of us died of hunger, thirst and disease.
I often wonder what we don't see. What are all the things I miss because my perception is focused elsewhere – or simply because I don't want to focus? The burden of vigilance is grinding and modern life has so many details to track, safeguard and act upon. Who doesn't want – nay, need to let go? Likewise, how many things are obvious to me – and I assume to others too – that they simply don't see or if they do, not in the same way. Just like Mohammad sees how the furniture comes apart at first glance, there may be other puzzles and lines of reasoning that I see at a glance and don't make room for someone else not perceiving the same thing.
Most importantly, what are the beauties, joys, solutions and upsides that just don't make my radar? They're not in the spectrum of my sight. Could the quality of my life be improved if only I knew to squint or cock my head in just the right way? Or wear the right glasses or goggles?
Right now I'm struggling with something I know exists but is hard for me to see – the way a room comes together. I have 3.5 weeks to figure out a strategy for my living room and kitchen. First, I recognize this is a highly first world problem and not something anyone, including myself should feel badly about. All the same, I have to figure this out and it doesn't come easy to me.
Sure, I could plough through this. I have enough taste and visual sense to buy some nice furniture. Each piece would be fine… safe, clean looking, comfortable. It would be nothing daring and perfectly functional. It would be unlikely to have much wall art – that's a visual commitment and perhaps it leans too much toward personal expression of which I'm perfectly comfortable in writing and wary of visually. In other words, I could have a living room that works – it would just be missing the stuff I see in some people's homes that just makes them feel right.
In other words, in this case, I know what I don't know. Or more accurately, I know there's a tree on the other side of the hill – I just can't see it from where I stand.
Knowing what I'm can't see or am not good at can be a blessing because then I can compensate for it. In such situations, I find the best strategy is to call a life line. Luckily, I have a few friends and family with visual talent, whose homes come together in interesting and tasteful ways.
Several of them have encouraged me to look around on sites like Houzz to "find inspiration." My general response is that I don't want to look at lots of things (that just confuses me) – I want someone to walk in and say, "Here's the decor for you" and make it appear. I understand their concept – I enjoy planning the journey when I travel. It's part of the joy of creating an experience. However, when it comes to living rooms, I just want to fast-forward to the destination. Will the real right sofa please stand up?
The living room tile has five colors of stone forming patterns. The beautiful Greek arches occupy two sides of the room – abbreviating the remaining wall space on those sides. The adjacent foyer is proportional quite large to the house and is within the visual range of the living room, but not really an extension of it. The two walls not interrupted by the arches have windows. If I did an L-shaped sofa – which I love because I'm both a stretch-out-on-the-sofa and also an entertaining guests kind of guy – it would have to back up on both sides to walls with windows. Which isn't necessarily a problem. Or is it? And one side would have the kitchen which Ailyn strongly feels is a no-no. In fact, she drew her own "vision for the house" which leans toward using green (matches one of the floor colors) and has a swing in the foyer (which isn't an altogether bad idea). Do I buck Ailyn's advice and decide no one will die if they face the kitchen, or does my artistic eight-year-old see the situation better than I do?
Then there's the vibe issue. When people come to a Greek island – particularly one with white and stone homes and buildings like Patmos – they want to feel like they're on a Greek island. Contemporary modern isn't that vibe. Some places on Patmos go with "old Greek" – more traditional wood furniture, stone work and old-style light fixtures that run to the dim side. This not only speaks to a certain nostalgia and authenticity, but it's a lot cheaper to do. It's also really uncomfortable with a lot of hard wooden furniture and no ergonomics of any kind. The other major trend is what I'll call "nouveau Greek" – making everything light and breezy with lots of white accented by blue and light gray. Linens, light tiles, cushions, sculpted counters and sinks – a Greek island dream. I tend to like this better myself, only my house leans to the more traditional – or at least the floors do. I think.
Maybe with the right rugs I can make the floor a non-issue and have a blank slate to do whatever I want? Or maybe it wouldn't quit work? Or maybe that's just a dumb idea and I have the whole thing wrong? I don't know! Calgon, take me away!
We won't even get into the finer details down the line like consoles, buffets, curios and other pieces of furniture that serve only visual purposes – that's a world into which I have never ventured. Nor are knick-knacks. I know if I want a successful Airbnb I need a clever assortment of knick-knacks. I have never bought a knick-knack in my life. I'll provision my kitchen with every tool, appliance and serving item you can imagine. I want to cook and to be able to serve 24 on an hour's notice. But what is the purpose of those wicker balls people put on little shelves in their living rooms? Nonetheless, I probably have to embrace the wicker balls, jars of seashells, scented candles and interesting non-functional vases.
In the end, I don't have to figure it out alone – although I may have to go through the catalogs of what the local furniture shop carries all by myself. I'll trust the eyes and input of talented people I know and something will surface.
I also have the comfort of knowing the stakes are only as high as the colors and comfort of a living room. Life is full of more important choices and junctures. For those of us who live in a world of freedom and plenty – with enough economic success to have a good and comfortable life – we also face innumerable choices everyday. Some of them as big as healthcare decisions for ourselves, children and loved ones – and others as small as which of ten brands of peanut butter to choose.
Every choice shapes our lives in some small way and in many cases, we don't get a second chance to get something right. It's hard not to feel a certain pressure and anxiety from continual choice – and at least for me, the nagging question in the back of my mind about whether I'm seeing enough of the picture to make good decisions. Is this the negotiation point where if I yield, I'll create some goodwill and reciprocation, or will it be perceived as weakness and be the first of too many concessions? Why does it turn out that cage-free doesn't mean the chickens aren't really free and living well, only then to find out free-range can still mean they're confined and that only pasture-raised chickens are really living the good life? How much research do I have to do to buy healthy, ethical eggs?
I suppose we can never fully know what we don't see – where our perceptions fall short or where we've reached an edge to our universe. We can only try to be open – to ask the question. We can try to balance playing with new ideas and viewpoints without losing ourselves and our values. We have to carefully trust that someone else might offer us legitimate and valuable perceptions beyond our range without being taken advantage of or led blindly down a false path. And we have to expect that in the course of growth and expansion, we will sometimes fail at this tall order and make mistakes or need to rethink positions we've adopted. In other words, no one gets to see life's beauty, richness and depth unscathed. If we're lucky, we do no harm to others along the way.
What does one do with this confounding reality? Be grateful for the lifelines you have to call and the good people who come along.
