I could get lost in an IKEA. That’s what my girlfriend always said, as if that were some kind of dig. Who among us hasn’t gotten lost in that sea of Scandinavian furnishings? Sure, there are literal arrows that direct you about the floor, but how am I supposed to follow the arrows when I’m busy deciding whether my apartment more thoroughly desires the Extorp or the Järvfjället. Because that is important to consider. Contrary to popular belief, places have desires.

Take IKEA for example. When you wander into that warehouse of cheaply made, cheaply purchased furniture, you typically have a set agenda. “I need one Kallax—white—and one Norberg—white.” But you never leave with only that which you came for. Why is that?

My take? Often, when entering that blue and yellow warehouse, you are also in a state of flux. I, personally, have never entered an IKEA without having first undertaken a move. In that state, I’m impressionable, malleable, and more sensitive to the whims of place. And so I load up on Voxnans and Mästerbys, Toftans and Hemsjös. Not because I wanted them, but because the place wanted me to want them.

Perhaps another, simpler, Occam’s razor-like explanation is the coalescence of capitalism and consumerism. Ok, you got me there. Maybe a business as an example is too easy of a mark—we all know, inherently upon entering, what that building desires.

A town, on the other hand, is a tougher subject entirely.

In all my life I’d never encountered a place with a greater sense of desire than when I stumbled upon—and subsequently got the fuck out of—Sublimity.

Sublimity shouldn’t have existed. And yet, some years ago I found myself—freshly divorced, listless in life—driving along a suddenly paved road in the backwoods of rural Washington. I came upon an idyllic welcome sign—rich brown wood, a mountain landscape expertly painted upon its face, stark-white, calligraphic script set atop the scene:

“Welcome to Sublimity. Where life is sublime.”

“A little on the nose,” I thought to myself. But, the moment my car rolled upon the street and my eyes took in the welcome sign, I was overwhelmed with a sense of dread. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and I broke into a cold sweat. Was it because I was lost in the woods in an unfamiliar place? Or was it because of something more insidious?

The town itself was—for lack of a better word—sublime. Townspeople sauntered along a bustling Main Street, the shops of all kinds lined the road evident of a booming economy. As far as the eye could see it was square jaws, coiffed hair, colorful dresses, and pearly white smiles. Indeed, everyone in Sublimity appeared beautiful and happy.

As I was drawn further into the center of town, my senses were assaulted by tight, straight lines of two story homes with white picket fences and manicured green lawns. I stopped my car in front of one such house—nondescript, the same as every other house on the street in every way, except for what was on the front lawn. My car lurched to a stop, I rubbed my eyes and stared at what appeared to be two and a half children playing in the front lawn.

You read that right. No, I don’t mean the half-child was a small child. No, I don’t mean “half-child” in the “half-man” sense of Tyrion Lannister. What I mean by “half-child” is that there was an actual human child—beautiful, smiling, playing with their brother and sister in the front yard, not a care in the world—bisected down the middle of their body. No, not a legless torso; the child was all right side. You’re saying to yourself right now, “what the fuck?” And I was—and admittedly still am—right there with you.

“Where the fuck am I?” I muttered to myself.

Part two coming soon. r/InMyLife42Archive