The Only Chair

Photo by Jan Kopřiva on Unsplash

Imagine having only one chair in the world.

No replacements. No alternatives. Just that single chair — a little worn, perhaps imperfect, but the only one you have.

In my imagination, it became a woven garden chair — the kind that belongs on a quiet, covered terrace. A little worn from years of use and weather, the wicker softened, the color faded in places. It had dents and scratches that told its story. It might never belong in a five-star restaurant, nor would anyone choose it for an elegant outdoor lounge. But on that terrace, under the soft afternoon light, with the hum of life around it, it would be exactly the right chair.

When I finally realized that I have myself, and that my worth isn’t conditioned on solving everyone’s problems or on whether someone wants and loves me, I was left with a question: then, what is my worth? Theoretically, I understood it, but I needed a way to feel it, to explain it to myself. If I had only one chair in the world, that chair would be valuable to me no matter what condition it was in. Simply because I had no other.

I realized that my value lies in the fact that I am the only me I have.

Some chairs can fit almost anywhere. They look good in every room, adapt to every table. But maybe that also means they were never truly meant for any particular place. A worn garden chair, on the other hand, may not belong everywhere. But where it does belong, it belongs completely. Its value isn’t in being universal or flawless. Its value comes from existing, being exactly what it is, and having a place where it fits perfectly.

Perhaps our worth is like that chair. Not in perfection, not in universal appeal, and not in how well we conform to expectations. But in being ourselves, in carrying our history, our scars, and our uniqueness, and finding the spaces — however few — where we belong completely.

And the beauty of it is that our value exists even before we find a place where we belong. But when we stop trying to be everything for everyone, we open space for being exactly who we are and find our own “terraces,” the places and relationships that recognize us fully, worn edges, imperfections, and all.

And perhaps, in that belonging, we finally understand: we were always the only chair we ever needed.