For two weeks, I was the severely regrettable owner of a horrifically disorganized closet.
It was a brutal and traumatic time for me, and today I’m breaking my silence to tell you about the experience.
Allow me to explain:
We bought a house, see, one which came with absolutely nothing installed in the master closet. Not even a pitiful builder grade wire situation, which would have been speedily removed anyhow, so.
I called in my closet guy immediately upon closing to get a beautiful system in the works. But of course, nothing happens overnight, and so it was that for two weeks, the clothes were in an absolute state; in open suitcases, in piles on the floor, in piles on sheets on the floor.
In the midst of the madness, I left for Detroit. (Thankfully. I’m not sure I would have pulled through if not for a bit of space between myself and the insanity.)
In my absence, my closet guy came through and bumped up the installation date. I returned to the very real promise of a beautifully organized closet, but one that was as of yet still in complete chaos. The brunt of the hangers seemed to have gone missing, for one thing. And for two, in the time it took for the closet to be installed the original stacks of clothes had co-mingled beyond any shadow of recognition. A proper excavation and sort out would be required.
Thing was, between my returning to Seattle and last weekend, I had not a spare moment to attend to the situation. I was like the energizer bunny after being away for longer than I had originally planned. It was a wake up start being productive, keep going until dinner, sit down for fifteen minutes, continue being productive until bed kind of week. and so I just had to live with the closet.
The light at the end of the tunnel was the weekend at the end of the week, my opportunity to reclaim closet order.
In the meantime, though, I couldn’t find a single thing.
Crunched for time while getting dressed, a pair of clean socks evaded me. Underwear was no where to be found, but useless bikinis made themselves visible in spades. The more frustrated I got, the more hurriedly and recklessly I routed through the clothes. I dug through, shoved around, and threw on the floor.
By the end of the week, I had assembled a small mountain in the middle of the closet floor; clothing items that had gone so far astray, unfolded, and so on, that it would be better to just start from the ground up with them. Literally.
The experience was like seeing behind my own curtain. Or being an audience member of my own show. Or whatever the appropriate metaphor is here.
I was seeing what life is like on the other side and it was terrible!
“This is NOT it,” I would state aloud to no one but myself.
Not that the vantage point is any revelation; I’m long-standing acquaintance of chaos and disorder. But when it comes to my things, well, I truly can’t remember a time when they were in such a state.
The mystery of my missing socks was a dark cloud that hung over my head. Living with such disorder made me feel perpetually and slightly dirty, irritated and unsettled. And, it confirmed for me my mission and my stance in a way I haven’t had happen before.
There are so many unknowns in life. So many challenges. At any given second, we’re each faced with major decisions that shape the course of our lives. We’re weighing things in our mind as we try to navigate our way. We’re constantly guessing and hoping we’re not unknowingly screwing up royally.
You know what we don’t need on top of that? You know what completely undermines our ability to execute those major decisions? You know what takes us over the edge, what’s actually responsible for our stress levels?
Not being able to find a clean pair of matching socks without the slightest hint of struggle.
That is why we Live Simply, because it’s our duty to keep the equilibrium; to keep the things that can be Simple just that so that our minds our free to concentrate on what really matters most.
Image credit: closet of Louise Roe for The Coveteur