I Owe My Stuffed Animals a Part of My Mental Sanity

It is hard to keep marriage exciting sometimes. Having been together with my wife for more than three years now, we need to find some way to spice up our ways of conversation. And I do not mean that in a sexual manner. Just the day-to-day conversations about "how are you doing" and "what do you want for dinner" become a boring routine if it is done the same way, about the same content, and happen in the same context. To make the everyday a bit more exciting sometimes requires a bit of outside support, a tool to make the normal slightly more abnormal.

We found the tool in the form of a "family" of stuffed animals. A couple of stuffed orcas we dragged to Malta all the way from Japan, and a teddy bear that has been my companion since before I met my wife. While they share our bed and sofa, they are more than mere stationary decorations watching over our day-to-day life in silence. Instead, they often become our spokespersons, channeling our conversations that may sometimes be a bit too blunt and rough if delivered human-to-human. Their cuddly, round appearance provides the perfect way to take the edge off some comments.

Those edgy comments do emerge even in the boring day-to-day. Remote work can sometimes be ghastly busy, with meeting after meeting for much of a day that frays the nerves and introduces an irascible undertone to even routine replies of "I am not hungry right now." Oblivious to the negative energy in those contexts, we are still in need to communicate displeasure, followed by apologies. Proud as we are that we each cannot be at wrong, sincerity in those later communications is only awkward. Our stuffed animal family provides the comical setting to soften the blow.

Their usefulness in communication is certainly not just for breaking up the tension. Escaping the boring everyday can be a little hard for a couple used to the routine. But if the cuddly "kids" suggest we try something new, whether a new show to watch on TV or a new recipe for dinner, having the resulting adventure can be much more motivating. With their close monitoring and inadvertent push, we find ourselves even taking on weekend travels, taking up new hobbies, and watching new movies, just so we can report back to them on our new adventures. 

Even in their silence, the stuffed animals remind us to stop being boring. As I stare at them in between my meetings and other work-related tasks, I reaffirm my determination to make my days more than just going through the motions needed to earn my paycheck and pay my bills. For them, just as for myself, I need to continue exploring new activities, thoughts, and input that make life new and worth expanding upon. It is because they serve as the medium for communication about the "new," whether it be ways to apologize or sharing new findings, that they become central to discovery, about my relations with people and places.

You might think that having to rely on stuffed animals to communicate with others and compel myself to keep undertaking a journey of self-discovery signals a red flag: that I have become otherwise incapable of "properly" talking to my wife and finding new joys in everyday life. Perhaps so. Yet, I can guarantee that even the most people-loving person predisposed to new adventures in life would sometimes find it difficult to keep that identity going, questioning what all that positivity is for. An external stimulus, such as a stuffed animal, can help reignite their original sense of purpose.

No, stuffed animals are not a panacea for the jaded by any means. They cannot accompany me to meetings or anywhere outside my apartment, to physically help me be comfortably comical with new people I meet and share in the joys of a new place I visit. But even the thought of them waiting for me on the bed or sofa is enough to let me be vulnerable for a moment. Thanks to them, I need not always be strong in my words or even know what is proper to say to express my feelings directly and be a source of excitement for others. In my failed communications, they will not judge me, but simply help me cope.

In their cuddliness, they imply that I need not be perfectly eloquent. I can be afraid to be blunt. And when I feel awkward or timid about what I say, I can rely on them, or other people, for help, understanding, and to relay the messages in more nuanced and soft ways. It is no wonder that I end up investing so emotionally in their presence, unwilling to part with them even as I move across the world. Their presence, to so subliminally support my emotional well-being, is worth every penny we paid to ship them in oceangoing containers.