Growing up, my mother always said she could read the state of my mind by the state of my bedroom. If it was organized, I was in a good place. If it was a mess, so was I. It’s true—I crave order in my surroundings. People who can live and work in chaos are a mystery to me. In fact, a couple months back, I visited a good friend of mine who has two small boys. Her youngest, Sammy, put his glass of milk on the coffee table without a coaster. Repeatedly. I was speechless.
With the occasional lapse, my office, my home, and my car are neat as pins. That’s just my style. And that usually means I’m level. But lately things have changed. This became evident to me recently when I awoke one early Saturday morning. I stumbled out of my bedroom and into an episode of Hoarders. Clothes, cups, movies, books, shoes, bottles, plates, and other debris littered the entire first floor of my home. You could barely see the carpeting.
I immediately took stock.
Am I depressed? No.
Was there a home invasion? No.
Did Motley Crüe swing by last night? I don’t think so.
Then I realized I haven’t been quite as level lately. I’ve strayed from my running in recent weeks—something that I loved doing. I haven’t been as visible to friends. By the looks of the travesty in my living room, I clearly haven’t been as willing to clean. I usually stay on top of things, but that’s slipping.
As I sat down and continued surveying my house, the disgust slowly gave way to acceptance. Then calm. I can’t—we can’t—be ahead of the curve all the time. Life moves too fast to be a step in front of it every day. We are hilariously imperfect creations—and God knows it. We fall, we stay down for a time, and we get back up and move forward. I will, too. Eventually.
Until then, look for me on Hoarders.