100. Bad Feng Shui

100. Bad Feng Shui

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Home Sweet Home

Bad Feng Shui

My view on feng shui: don’t put your bed in front of the door because you won’t get in.

~Jonas Eriksson

I have bad feng shui. I know. I shouldn’t be telling everyone this — but I feel I must. I’m probably not alone. There must be others out there suffering from the same embarrassing condition.

It started with my sister. One day, I told her I was feeling a bit off. Truthfully, I meant I had a cold and she should let me get off the darn phone, but Tiffany took it to be something else. She told me the truth. She told me I had bad feng shui.

I was shocked. Who wouldn’t be? One minute your life is perfectly fine and the next you have bad feng shui. I was horrified. How long had I been walking around like this? Were the neighbors gossiping about it? Did people see me in the grocery store and shield their loved ones from the sight of a woman with bad feng shui?

It turns out, I wasn’t walking around with bad feng shui — I was living in it. And according to my sister, I’d been living in it for a while. How awful is that? There I was, stuck in a bad feng shui situation and I didn’t even know it.

So Tiffany happily let me know exactly what it was. And I have to tell you, I didn’t understand half of what she said. But what I did get was that my bad feng shui had something to do with the flow of chi — which is something you can’t see, smell or vacuum up if someone tracks it in from outside.

And apparently, my chi wasn’t flowing. Or maybe it was, but it was flowing right back outside. Truthfully, I’m still not clear. But I figured what the heck — if I’m going to get some chi flowing, it might as well be good chi and I probably should encourage it to flow nicely through the house.

The first thing I did was rearrange the furniture. Unfortunately that meant putting the living room couch in front of the bathroom. After all, I didn’t want my good chi to go down the drain.

As you can imagine, blocking the toilet wasn’t really a good thing. And I can’t tell you how difficult it was to ask friends to sit on the couch sitting in the hallway directly in front of the bathroom door. So I figured that maybe I could block the drains by closing the door to the bathroom.

After I came to my senses on the drain issue, I moved to the bedrooms, only to find that every bed in every bedroom was in the something called the “death position.” As bad as this sounds, it turns out that the death position means the bed is visible from the doorway.

I don’t know about you, but I find it difficult to hide the view of my bed from the doorway. Beds are big. Doorways are small. No matter how much I huffed and puffed and moved the beds around, they were always in a death position. Well, I actually maneuvered Junior’s bed into something I’d call a “near death” position — but that was a close as I got.

Just when I was about to give up, I found feng shui candles. So I spent a small fortune on candles that represented earth, air, water, wood and a bunch of other stuff, and scattered them throughout the house.

It turned out I was allergic to the candles. I spent a week with my nose running faster than my chi. It wasn’t pleasant. I finally had to decide between good chi or watery eyes.

So I went back to the way things were, with my bad feng shui and my unblocked bathroom drains and my death position beds. And I’ve moved on to the garden — where my feng shui is apparently really, really bad. I learned our in-ground pool is on the wrong side of the yard. All I have to do is move it about ten feet to the right.…

~Laurie Sontag

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