I’m trying, but creativity and order are not always friends.
Often they’re enemies. The other day I watched a video by… Jordan Peterson where he said something like this: your space, how organized it is, is a reflection of your life or mind. It’s not a groundbreaking idea. I heard it before.
I’m not extremely messy, but I’m messy. I remember some of my school and college mates — they were messy indeed. You walk into their room and think: I thought I was messy, but this is really bad. On the messiness scale, I’d give myself 5 out of 10. My wife would disagree.
I also noticed, as a parent of four kids, that being messy, tidy, or in the middle is a genetic trait. Our oldest kid — he is turning eighteen in a couple of days — seems incapable of closing kitchen cabinet doors. His younger almost-sixteen-year-old brother has recently been using a vacuum cleaner — without any instructions — to clean the floor when he sees it being dirty. Born and raised in the same family. One leaves everything in the car; the other one always clears it, at least his belongings and trash.
I agree with Peterson on the one hand. Whenever I tidy up, I feel clensed. My mind becomes clearer. I am more productive. I’m not a fan of self-improvement advice and productivity hacks, but this is one of them: when you’re down, when you’re tired when you’re struggling, tidy up. You collect energy by tidying up. Every item you move back to where it belongs releases a bit of energy.
Tidying up occasionally doesn’t work though. It works momentarily and boosts energy, as I mentioned, but if you don’t stay tidy, just half a day later, there will be a mess again. In the kitchen, on your desk, in your car. The state of being organized, clean and tidy has to be permanent by its very nature. I’ve become a very good runner. It wasn’t because I ran on the weekends or when I felt I needed to clear my mind. I run every day. I’ve not missed a run in three years, except for some planned rest days and a few stretches when I had minor injuries.
I cleaned up yesterday. The apartment looked perfect. But now this:
So I’m thinking this mess has something to do with me being creative.
No, fuck it. Stupid excuses. I’m just a pig sometimes.
My creativity will improve too, if I organize myself. I think I can. I won’t be perfect, but I can improve.
