“Clutter and mess show us that life is being lived…Tidiness makes me think of held breath, of suspended animation… Perfectionism is a mean, frozen form of idealism, while messes are the artist’s true friend. What people somehow forgot to mention when we were children was that we need to make messes in order to find out who we are and why we are here.” – Anne Lamott

I spend about 17% of my waking day looking for things. Misplaced keys, wallet, phone… In one year,  I had to replace my driver’s license three times. People who I will not name advise me I just need a place for everything. But, what if the place a thing lands is just the place it needs to be. [Ear muffs, Marie Kondo] The other side of this frantic searching is the delight in finding “it” and more. It kind of goes like this:

Me: “Where is that book I left in the bathroom?”
Organized Person (OP) I live with: “I don’t know I didn’t touch it.
Me: “Well, that’s where last read it.”
OP: Did you check the bedroom?
Me: (defensively) “Why would it be there?

[30 minutes later]

Me: Oh…this Jacqueline Woodson book is so amazing. She’s a genius.
OP: You found the book!
Me: No, but I found this one under the bed. I thought I lost it.

[Repeat some version of this scenario 3x per week]

As with most habits, there is a detailed history.  As a child, I left cabinets and doors wide open, clothes on the floor exactly as I’d removed them*, a sort of physical daily diary. My mom tried everything to cure my messiness. These included highly inventive aphorisms – “Karen, not putting things away is like not pulling up your pants after going to the bathroom.” She bribed, scolded, and ignored. What she may not have realized is my body literally ached at the thought of having to put puzzle pieces back in its box, reattach Barbie’s head, or scour the carpet for all of the Lego pieces. I really get my kids’ resistance to cleaning up. I really do.

And perhaps my outward disarray is not evidence of laziness or incompetence. Instead, I embrace the slight possibility that my messiness, losingthingsness, and findingthingsness is really me working extraordinarily hard in this process to “figure out who I [am] and why [I] am here. Then there is also the bonus book under the bed.

Thank you Anne Lamott for this enlightening reframe.

*My husband just read this post and remarked, “Oh… so leaving your underwear on the floor is you trying to find yourself?” Touche, honey.