For two weeks now, the expanse of my life has shrunken to the blue couch in our front room thanks to my nasty ankle sprain. Weekend plans have been scrapped, coffees cancelled, regular meals out turned into takeaways at home courtesy of my partner-cum-delivery-man.
But surprisingly, I feel fine. Not frustrated from the lack of mobility, not lonely from the absence of friends, not suffering from cabin fever. A little anxious for my ankle to heal in time for my much-anticipated summer trip to London, but on the whole I’ve rather enjoyed my couch life.
My life has been stripped to the bare minimum, and I’m still happy.
Life pared down
Full disclosure: The first few days were difficult. My ankle was too painful to walk on and I wasn’t able to do any chores around the house. I could only watch as my partner buzzed from one task to the next: washing up, laundry, hanging the clothes up, cooking, serving me food, more washing up, more laundry, more clothes hanging, ad infinitum. His weekend turned into a series of chores, and as he finally settled down on the couch at the end of it, completely spent, I couldn’t help but feel a tinge of guilt.
Not being able to help out around the house frustrated me. I felt helpless, a burden to my partner.
The day my ankle healed to the point where I could walk without pain with the aid of a crutch, I washed the dishes, did three loads of laundry, and hung them all up. I was jubilant. Being able to do chores again felt like a major victory, and it’s been uphill from there.
Despite being confined to the couch for much of the past two weeks, I’ve been happy. Apparently, what’s left of my life after this paring down is enough to bring me joy:
Drinking my morning coffee (French press) and having my breakfast (Greek yoghurt, granola, nuts, blueberries) on the couch
Doing my work on the couch (I’ve been more productive than ever)
Teaching my writing student on the couch
Writing Val Thinks on the couch
Reading on the couch (The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Out of Africa, Wolf Hall)
Watching Netflix (started The Sinner) with my partner on the couch
Messaging my friends on the couch (cancelling plans, sprain updates)
Calling my parents on the couch (one hour every Thursday)
Having homecooked meals on the couch, takeaways at the kitchen table
Icing my ankle on the couch (started putting heat and it swelled up again, oops)
Doing chores (washing up, laundry, hanging clothes up to dry, putting them away, a bit of cooking)
One cinema visit to see Spiderman (much swelling and pain ensued, too soon)
One stage play (more swelling, but we’d bought the tickets before my accident and I ended up getting my first piggy back ride from my partner,1 so I’d say it was worth it)
This list is what constitutes my life now. And I feel like the luckiest person on earth.
So, what do I need to be happy?
This happiness with the bare minimum has prompted me to ask: What do I need to be happy?
I used to think my happiness has to include trying out new restaurants and cafés, deep conversations with friends over delicious food, gelatos with my partner, exercising at my gym, going on long walks. But it turns out I can be happy without any of it.
So, what do I need?
I’ve given this matter thought, and here’s my answer:
Feeling productive in a purposeful job: I always feel happy after a productive work day, where I’ve completed value-adding tasks efficiently.
Being able to write: Writing fully engages my brain, puts me in a state of flow that gives me fulfillment.
Having people I care about who care for me: My partner running errands for me at the supermarket, my parents making time for our one-hour call every week, a friend messaging to ask how my ankle’s healing
Deep, honest conversations: Long, meandering talks with my partner over our morning French press
Healthful food and water: Lots of water. My rate of water consumption never ceases to amaze my partner, who’s now solely in charge of lugging the 19L water bottles up to our apartment for me to finish in two days.
Movement: For now this consists of semi-hobbling around our 90m2 apartment, but it’s what’s required, which brings me to…
Purpose: There’s a purpose to my couch confinement—I want to get better in time to enjoy the London summer. This couch life isn’t pointless, which is why I’m not feeling the cabin fever I experienced during the Covid lockdown two years ago.
The restaurants, the cafés, meeting up with friends, gelato pilgrimages, the gym, the long walks—they’re valued additions that give me a fuller life. But they’re not essential.
As it turns out, I need far less than I thought to be happy.
What do you think?
It’s taken a sudden and dramatic shift in my daily activities to realise what I really need to be happy. How about you?
What do you need to be happy?
Have you ever asked yourself this question? Has something ever happened that caused you to question your answer? Does your list look similar to mine? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone who makes you happy.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by Antonino Visalli on Unsplash
It’s not as romantic as it seems in the movies. You’ve really got to hang on for dear life. A good substitute for the pull-up bar I say.