“Messy, yet Organized”

We cancelled our satellite TV service last year, but I still have two DIRECTV boxes stashed in a cabinet along with a DVD player, cable modem, digital camera, and 38 specifically unidentifiable power cords and adapters. I suppose I could cart this stuff to an e-waste recycling event, but I’m sure I’d be left with some of it as e-waste has become more selective. Quite frankly, it’s an odd form of rejection to be told “your trash isn’t good enough.” Even as I type on my laptop, I can see this cache of electronic junk, and it is a bit distracting. But rather than get rid of it, I choose the path of least resistance and close the cabinet door so it’s out sight. Problem solved…for now.

We moved in the beginning of last year and there was a tremendous de-cluttering process involved with transitioning from one house to another. However, with additional square footage and laziness, some clutter was granted asylum in the new house. Sure, every home buyer loves big closets and ample storage space, but after you store the linens and the Christmas decorations, is it possible to have too much storage space? I would say yes, and we’re housing boxes of baseball cards from the eighties and Jenni’s unused hope chest that sit and collect dust. Our oversized master closet is allowing shirts that should be donated to Goodwill to hide among more useful wardrobe items. I can’t always see the clutter, but I feel it.

Earlier in life, I don’t think clutter really bothered me; I proudly described myself as “messy, yet organized.” Back in college, I would say things to my roommate like, “What did you do with the phone bill I had under the couch?” Sure, it shouldn’t have been there, but I knew where it was. Remember those 8 CDs for penny mail order clubs? I’m sure I own one Richard Marx album because my roommate “cleaned up” the return label I was supposed to mail back. Is it my fault he didn’t understand my filing system of leaving mail on the ground near the trash? It was also in college that I successfully adopting the cleaning strategy of “never be the neatest one in the house.” By having the second highest tolerance for clutter in a house of four people, I ensured that two roommates would reach their cleaning “breaking point” before I would. Childish and immature? Of course, it was college.

Then there’s the tale of clutter and a compact disc that’s not so light-hearted. Shortly after my younger sister died, clutter caused me some major problems. Specifically, I broke down in tearing apart my one-bedroom apartment searching for Dave Matthews Band Under the Table and Dreaming. DMB would be the last band Nancy and I would bond over and listening to the song “The Best of What’s Around” on repeat was my life-support system for the better part of 1995. And now, late for work, I couldn’t find the damn CD. My place was probably only 600 square feet and I had combed it over at least three times, including checking the freezer. I was so mad at myself for misplacing something so vital. My heart began to pound. My breathing got heavy. Racing around the apartment, I could feel my temperature rising. Things were thrown. Obscenities uttered. Of course, it was never about the CD–my temper tantrum was a form of mourning on it’s ugliest day. Perhaps it was a critical part of grieving, but if everything was kept in its place perhaps it could have been avoided.

As they say “clutter is chaos”; you’d think I would have learned a valuable lesson from the Under the Table and Dreaming experience. But as Jenni will vouch for, she’s had to find a personal item or two for me after a case of wallet-panic or key-panic. The wallet and keys both have their designated places, but sometimes I lapse in returning them there. I’ve read Marie Kondo’s book and tried to tidy up in an effort to spark more joy. I’m guessing that the best way to keep a tidy house is to clean up a little bit each day. This is a theoretical framework for me as I have never been able to put it into practice. Nope, I allow my personal spaces to fall into a drastic state of entropy before trying to combat it with a furious, yet probably futile effort to impose order.

Living with boys and facing a roomful of toys will have a tendency to do that. After tacitly approving the mess for awhile, I’ll tap into a vast reservoir of organizational energy and my family has no choice but to go along for ride. I’ll try to purge our home of non-essential possessions until Jenni reminds me we’re not in an episode of Tiny House Living. I’ll micromanage the boys as I ask them to sort toys on ridiculous level– “What do you think, Chase–does this plastic Kung Fu Panda belong in the drawer for toys from movies or the animal section?”

Some people are just naturally neater than others. Take for example, my next door neighbor. He recently asked if he could borrow some Krazy Glue. Searching through our junk drawer (the name of which does not create very good expectation by the way), I found an old, gnarled up tube that close resembled “the Kragle” from The LEGO Movie. Before returning it, my neighbor took the time to smooth and iron out each wrinkle to the point where I thought he replaced it with a brand-new tube. I couldn’t believe it. He probably uses every molecule of toothpaste by neatly folding up the tube from the bottom. What is clear is that it’s in his DNA to naturally put things back in order.

I am not one those people. I have golf clubs in my trunk even though it’s been months since I swung them. Granted the golf clubs shouldn’t be in the trunk, but I haven’t decided yet where they belong in the garage so I think it’s a wash. My desk is never clean and my phone apps are chaotically distributed without rhyme or reason.

But, from time to time, I crave a semblance of order and this feels like one of those times. Historically, I’ve felt the need to de-cutter when transitioning from one phase of life to another. I know “phase” sounds awfully dramatic–like I’m transforming from a caterpillar to a butterfly–but what I mean is de-cluttering is my way of dealing with the uncertainties of change. And it doesn’t have to be selling your house or switching jobs, but subtle life shifts cause uncertainly as well. For a number of reasons, most of them related to the boys growing up, this feels like a year of change.

Ryan starts middle school this week. Next spring he’ll play his last season of Little League and Chase will bridge from Cub Scouts to Boy Scouts. Very soon we’ll dine at restaurants where menus aren’t always accompanied with crayons. Perhaps Jenni and I will take up hobby like playing bridge or or doubles tennis. I’m not sure where the future will take us, but I’m pretty sure we won’t need the DVD player.