No elbows on the table, son — while my own elbows rest comfortably on the table because, frankly, it’s more comfortable.
Don’t leave your dirty dishes in the sink, kids. Rinse them off and put them in the dishwasher, please.
I, on the other hand, who am the organizer and “keeper“ of the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, can leave my own dishes out because I know that I’m coming back, and, hey, it’s my kitchen, my rules.
Don’t know how many times I’ve said, “Don’t eat with your mouth full,” while covering my own mouth filled with food! Pick up your room; make your bed; don’t leave clothes all over the place.
Sometimes, I don’t want to follow any of my house etiquette.
Messes happen along the way, rules are broken, old habits get put aside lending freedom for the new and spontaneous.
Growing up, my bed was always made. I rarely left clothes on the floor. I kept my bathroom tidy and my closet organized.
I’ve changed course and attitude over the years. Sometimes, I glory in the aftermath of my bathroom when it looks as if a hair and makeup bomb blew up.
Coming home from an event, a night out...I find the closet floor piled with shoes, socks, bras; my dryer is in the sink, jewelry spread all over the vanity along with make up, samples, creams and brushes—most of which I never use and some I don’t even know how to use.
My bathroom cabinets are wide open with lotions and sprays spilling out; the sink is cluttered with towels and tools and whatever else is left from my whirling dervish!
Typically, I loathe coming home to a mess, especially in the kitchen, but the bathroom/closet mess is a new phenomenon for me. I might be “falling in love” with the bathroom bombshell.
The aftermath bears proof of the fun that was had, an evening off the cozy couch and in The City. True effort was made to transform from my yoga pants, little makeup or none and my Namaste T.
That mess that’s left behind for several hours, reminds me of the tools I have to disrupt the norm, get out of my comfort zone for a while and do something fun or new or both.
I can pick the piles up off the floor and return each item to its predetermined spot.
Leaving a mess isn’t so bad. It’s the cleanup that’s important.
As long as I make it back to being organized, I can recenter myself.
What if I can’t pick up the clutter? What if it stays there for weeks on end?
Those questions are sometimes my reality — analogous to my life.
I lean toward “everything in its place,” but life doesn't lend itself to staying organize.
So, that’s what the tools are for, whether they’re makeup brushes or meditation.
At at some point, I have to bend over, pick up the mess and start again.
Life is beautiful that way. The beauty only becomes evident, though, when the mess is exposed.