Maybe it’s the short winter days. Or temperatures below 50 degrees, a Floridian’s version of frigid. Could be the feeling of an off-tilt universe that begs for a retreat to something less intense. Less raw in technicolor. Whatever it is, I have fully embraced the concept.
Each day after adulting — i.e. working, caring for family, functioning like a human — I often find myself in the same spot: my favorite upholstered armchair in the living room. Here’s the set-up: Well-lit candles, Chet Baker Radio on Spotify, cozy robe, furry slippers, soft blanket, newspapers I didn’t finish reading from the morning and Mike sitting in the armchair next to me to exchange opinions of the state of the world. Oh, and two Lhasapoos on the ottoman or one of our laps, if they deem us worthy.
The Danes call this Hygge — a “calm, comfortable time with people you love often enjoyed with good food and drinks, warm blankets and candlelight.” Check, check and check! I’m a walking ad for Hygge, light on the walking part. I prefer to not see this as lazy, but fully content. Some label it with a hard-to-pronounce word with three consonants, I call it bliss.
There’s another word for what ails me. I’ve known it since I was in high school, decorating and redecorating my bedroom while other teens were driving up and down Silver Springs Boulevard looking for fun (or trouble) on a Saturday night. I’m a bonafide homebody, defined as a “person who likes to stay at home, especially one who is perceived as unadventurous.”
Well, I’ve had plenty of adventures and hope to have a few more, so I beg to disagree on the latter.
Yet, it’s bigger than home and smaller, too. For me, it’s about creating a life that is big on what matters in quiet, small ways. Take the lit candles, for example. They are everywhere in my house. I enjoy them not only for myself, but also for friends and families who visit. A flickering scented candle invites a heady combo of calm and magic. As if to say this place has been made special for you, dear friend.
Another small Hygge-ish gesture that I appreciate is actually not about home. That’s not entirely true, because this is about a place that is my second home: the grocery store. I try to not be in a rush. This is hard because I can be laser-focused on getting in and out without being run over by a green-shirted Instacart shopper.
I find when I look up from the grocery list, I see my surroundings in a different way. Just this past Sunday, I ran into a friend in the vegetable aisle who had recently suffered an unexpected and tragic loss. Instead of grabbing the cauliflower and darting toward the fruit section, I stopped. We made eye contact and hugged. No words, really. Just an “I’m sorry. This sucks. I’m here for you.”
It’s a sad time for all of us. Kobe is the new noun for grief, a sobering reminder to live and love in the now. Times like this compel us to re-evaluate what is driving our life choices. I’d like to think we each have our Hygge moments — tiny intimacies that bring us happiness and, sometimes, to an overstuffed armchair with two puppies waiting.
I guess the homebody definition pegged me. I’m not trying to conquer the world, rather, just make the most of my Hygge corner of it. With candles.
