With my husband deployed for the next several months in Iraq, I am having trouble restraining my compulsive re-decorating habit. I would re-arrange things daily or weekly if it didn’t irritate my family so much to come home to strange surroundings. Understanding their point of view, I am trying to curb my “hobby” by limiting it to accessories and a thorough editing of our clutter. I used feel rather self-critical about this habit until recently when, courtesy of the internet, I discovered scads of folk who share my pension for compulsive re-arranging. Alas, people who understand me!
After reading countless blogs and self-help articles, I have determined this tendency appears to be more about emotional clutter than it does physical clutter. As odd as that sounds, it makes total sense to me given that I often “clean” or “rearrange” stuff when I’m upset about something. A physical cleansing of my environment helps me work through whatever is bothering me. When I’m finished, both my mind and my house are clear.
From my point of view, cleaning and rearranging is a healthy way to deal with excess energy or anxiety compared to habits like smoking or drugs. The fact that there isn’t an organization called Re-arranger’s Anonymous seems proof enough to me that this activity doesn’t warrant a trip to therapy. No one thinks you need help if you run five miles a day to relieve stress (unless you’re anorexic, of course). Still, I suppose moderation is the key to gauging when something is getting out of control.
But if you have to moderate yourself all the time life becomes exhausting, doesn’t it? When did we become so concerned with fixing every little thing that we stopped living life? Norman Rockwell elevated the joy of everyday life in his artwork with an emotional and timeless quality that always makes me smile when I come across his work. At the end of a busy week, I find myself longing for more Norman Rockwell moments in my own life even though they’re right in front of me if I take the time to look.
So with the sounds of the washing machine and the dishwasher humming a chorus in the background, I stop and listen to the world around me. The crickets are chirping as they often do on cool fall evenings here in the country with an occasional loud croak of a frog here and there. My computer’s low whir and clicking keys make for an unusual, but none the less interesting orchestral accompaniment. My desk is littered with Starburst candy wrappers and an empty Diet Coke bottle, which I will undoubtedly pick up before retiring to bed for the evening. Not the Norman Rockwell image I was hoping for, but it is my own wonderfully flawed life at this very moment. Now if I can just resist the urge to put away those dirty dishes in the sink, I might be onto something.
