Well, let’s just get down to it. Last week, while Bee was napping a bit longer than usual, I headed to the bathroom for lotion and promptly decided to reorganize. Reorganizing, purging, editing, culling – these are all of my love languages, and had I been able to register for my wedding at The Container Store, I would have been a beaming bride indeed.
There is no end to my love for a streamlined linen closet, and I do not wish to share how many times I have purchased white towels to replace white towels, but really, why stop the divulging of secrets now? I obsessively crave order. It is the 80’s ballad I will always sing.
And yet, life is so very disorderly, and on my best days, I write this, and on my worst days, I am convinced my life is disorderly because the contents of my shower are not up to par. I survey the upside-down shampoo, the oversized conditioner (of which I never use in equal amount, leaving a surplus of conditioner that I spend an astronomical amount of time in resentment toward), the lavender colored body soap, the ill-shaped face wash, the hot pink razor. There is no order in my shower, there is no order in my life.
This is precisely why I shall not be permitted free time. This is precisely why, I believe, God blessed me with Bee’s energy level, so as not to offer me more time to manufacture problems about the state of my shower.
Still, I pounce on the problem. To the Amazon app I go, then, to order amber bottles with pumps, all of which will match, all of which I will purchase perfectly numeric labels for, all of which will be nicely lined up just so, all of which will greet me happily in the morning.
Problem solved, for what, $20? I pride myself on my smarts. Calm, for $20! Peace, for $20! I am a genius.
Two days later, there is a cardboard box on my doorstep, filled with amber waves of transformation.
Oh, I am cringing now.
I line up the bottles on my vanity, waiting to be filled when my perfect numeric labels arrive. And from Ken, before bed, I hear this:
You sure do have a lot of things for someone who despises clutter.
And I scoff, and I roll my eyes, and my errant thinking is surfaced but of course he is correct. He is maddeningly correct always in that first, he is just maddening but then second, after a few weeks and some distance and perhaps a glass of wine, you learn he is also correct. He is always correct. He is annoying in his correctness.
And I see it now. Of course it makes no sense to purchase more bottles to decant my current bottles into, and what will I do with the old bottles? Where will I store the ones that have not yet been completely used? And what will I do with the hot pink razor now that it clashes with my streamlined amber bottle system? What then? Purchase a more subtle, coordinating shade? What, then, with the electric toothbrush? Bee’s favorite bath toy? My shower cap?
When will the madness cease? Is this how I will spend my time?
I am an addict; order, the drug.
Order is a myth, of course, because this beautiful universe is made up of messy little atoms, particles, energy masses that bump into each other to create static, disarray, chaos.
It was made that way, and no amber bottle system will keep me from feeling the friction.
And so, new goal, for me: let it be. Step away from the Amazon app. Allow the clash, allow the disorder. It is not a problem to be fixed. It is a byproduct of having enough, a gift, a blessing. It is not a curse.
There can never be a rainbow if we see amber alone.