Look. Out. And get out of the way.
I’ve been on a rampage. The best possible kind — shedding, organizing, cleaning up the disaster zone we’ve been generously calling our home.
Although the place is technically pretty clean thanks to help twice a week, it’s been a total shambles at least since Aidan was born and maybe even before. (Was there “before?”) Stuff. Loads and loads of stuff. Piled EVERYWHERE. I haven’t seen my dining room table for OVER A YEAR. Well, a couple of weeks ago, I hit my limit and thus began the rampage.
My sister, Tania, will remember the whirlwind efforts to clean up my side of our shared room. Half a room, mind you, and not a very big room, but a mess the size of Texas. I’d basically dump everything into the center of the room, then start putting things properly away from there. I remember once her coming in during the early stages of one of these whirlwinds and yelling, “You’re supposed to be cleaning!” She of little faith. But I was certain (and dutifully explained) that, though things got worse before they got better, they would get better. And they did. Right tidy, I must say. Enough to earn a gold star in the grading system I devised as incentive to clean my side regularly. (Yes, you read it right. I invented a grading system, complete with different colored stars and a comments section, which my sister dutifully filled out, to inspire myself to do my chore.)
I’m happy to say I’m a bit more systematic in my organizing efforts now. I started in the living room, at one end, and I’ve been working my way around the apartment, clockwise. I’ve been finding/inventing homes for things, returning things to homes already established, going through stuff that’s been sitting around for years, and giving away or throwing away as much as possible. It’s not a small chore.
Having mostly finished the living room, I’ve moved on to the kitchen. Got rid of some cookbooks I never use, cleaned up and reorganized the baskets that keep fruit, onions, garlic, potatoes, etc. (so many little nubs of desicated “fresh” ginger, I couldn’t believe it), FINALLY went through my spice drawer and consolidated, labeled, cleaned and tossed, did the same for the pantry drawers, and reorganized where we store certain dishes so that the things I use frequently are more accessible. This is the level of tidying I’m doing. Not the surface, just-stick-it-anywhere tidying that led to the disaster in the first place. Gold star tidying, for sure.
Next is the bar between the kitchen and the dining room, then finally, the dining room table. I am determined to reclaim it for eating.
I’m actually really enjoying all this. It feels great to be living in neater quarters (even if only half the house qualifies), and I absolutely LOVE shedding. It’s a little odd actually. I’m not genetically programmed for shedding. Both my parents are pack-rats. Yet their children, all three of us, are easy and frequent shedders. Scared straight, I suppose.
And the effort this time is actually related to the coaching/transforming I’ve been inviting. I was listening to Elizabeth Purvis (whom I’ve mentioned before here) who said the foundation for properly valuing your work (i.e. charging appropriately) is valuing yourself. And toward that end, she advocates establishing what she calls a “Goddess state of mind” (she’s known as the Marketing Goddess). Simplistically put, is the life you’re living worthy of the Goddess you are? Well, one place my life certainly wasn’t reflecting the Goddess that I am was my shambles of a home. So, I’m upleveling (as they say in the coaching world). Yee Ha! More power to me.
But seriously, get out of the way. A fed-up woman with a trash bag and mop is a dangerous thing.