First a note about the previous post: We still don’t know where we’re headed. We’re only just at the phase of applying for orders that are open and look appealing to us. We’re still very much in the, “We could land anywhere in the world,” phase. It’s fun. But that’s not what I want to write about.
So I really have discovered a great deal about myself in the last few weeks and months. I’m discovering issues that I never thought I had are indeed my issues. I’m discovering my modes of self-protection… and a whole bunch of things that are kind of icky to discover.
But I’m also discovering bit by bit little pieces of myself that are just…. me. And when I see them as such, sometimes at least, I can actually like them.
Case in point: It has come to light that organization is not my thing.
All of my life I have tried to be organized. I’ve been labelled as ‘conscientious,’ many different times and in my mind I could not be conscientious without also being organized.
The thing is, I’m not. I’m just not.
Filing systems elude me. Cleaning overwhelms me. I can ‘visually organize’ so that things look ‘neat’ in a snap, but I can’t organize bills or clothes or really messy piles of anything worth a darn. Spreadsheets give me great anxiety. And I HATE matching socks–which has led to me frequently wearing mismatched ones in fits of wardrobe rebellion.
I remember in school we always had to write an outline before we could write a paper or a paragraph (Anyone else remember power-writing and the all-powerful four color pens?). I HATE outlines. Especially when I’m writing. I can remember literally squirming all the way through writing outlines and wishing that I could just be allowed to write.
I’ve begun to notice that at the words, “Divide your paper into columns” a part of me shrinks inside.
In college, learning to write lesson plans confounded me. Not because I couldn’t write them and write them well, but because some of my best teaching was done when I scrapped the lesson plan.
I know that everyone says that kids thrive with routines and schedules… but I can’t make them happen except in a general way. As such, I have judged myself an unfit, unscheduled, unable to help her kids ‘thrive,’ Mother.
The thing is, I always considered this lack of organization to be a flaw. It was another way that I just couldn’t hack it. Disorganized people are supposed to WANT to be organized, right?
Well I’m discovering that I don’t.
I reject outlines. I reject columns. I reject the practice of matching socks (though I will do it on occasion out of love for my husband).
And I’m unearthing pieces of me from underneath this rejection of organization. I am discovering my tendency to want to creatively tackle the world.
I am a creative person. Isn’t that cool?!!!
When I shift myself out of the ‘wannabebebutneverwillbe organized’ camp and into the ‘tackles the world around her creatively’ camp, I stand taller, and breathe freer, and should on myself so much less….
That one simple shift in thinking of who I am is enough to give me hope that this process of dredging up all the ways in which I am profoundly screwed up will give light to more ways in which I can embrace the beauty of who God created me to be.
That would be something of a miracle.
So I’m going to revel and bask in my glorious disorganization, and I’m going to realize the creativity that lies beneath that supposed ‘flaw.’ I’m going to grab at this suddenly transformed and redefined bit of inadequacy as my string of hope in the midst of the rubble of me. And maybe, in the end, finding all the king’s horses won’t be so important after all.