My Office is a Disaster
24 Jul

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From working at home for the past sixteen months, to getting a new electric piano for my birthday that HAD to be housed here, to tearing up the place to get reorganized, my home office suddenly looks like the inside of my mind - scattered, cluttered, and hopelessly chaotic. Now, I’m no disciple of Marie Kondo (The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up), but I like things neat: counters clear, less-is-more in the furniture department, and an aversion to knick knacks. So, this messy office is really bothering me. But getting myself to clean it? I’m absolutely paralyzed.. 

Why? I don’t know where to put the stuff I’m finding.

Okay, I got a file cabinet for my files. But it’s too small, and it tips over when I don’t have large rocks in the bottom. I don’t have the rocks in yet, so it’s tipping a lot. My husband wanted to get me a good, heavy-duty, four-drawer file cabinet, but no, I had to go with the two drawer, $49.00 one from Walmart. 

Why? I didn’t want my office to look like an office. I want it to look like a faux office, with a doily or a scarf across the top of the cabinet like it’s just a little side table next to my desk.

Also, I have a six-foot, fold-out, Ikea couch in there. 

Why? I thought that when overnight company came, my office could double as a guest room. Who am I kidding? They’d have to walk over boxes first, and now, with an electric piano in the room, they wouldn’t be able to unfold the couch into a bed.  

I’ve asked at least two different people to sit in my office with me while I clean it out. I don’t want help, just somebody present, but they’ve refused, or I rescinded the invitation - I can’t remember which. The only person I haven’t asked is my husband who has actually offered. This is because he cleans very differently from me. He favors emptying the room out so that it looks perfect, then dealing with the clutter in boxes at the kitchen table. That idea fills me with horror because, remember the clean counters? I can’t stand clutter in the kitchen.

Or maybe, I just don’t want help. Maybe I want this room to stay junky. 

That can’t be right. 

Yesterday, when I was talking to myself, I said, “Cathy, why don’t you just treat this office like a giant purse? You love cleaning out your purse. It’s one of your favorite things to do.”

My response was, “Cathy, I know how to handle loose change, used tissues and receipts. I don’t know how to handle notebooks full of writing, books I haven’t read yet, puzzles, games, card-making supplies, pictures, dozens of working pens and stubby pencils. Besides, when I die, someone’s going to come and throw all this stuff out, and that’s sad.”

That’s sad?

My office makes me sad. It’s not about the clutter. It’s about not knowing. I’m afraid to get rid of the stuff I’ve accumulated because it represents decades of work, fun, memories, dreams, and angst. After all, my stuff might be important.

Like, if I don’t read that book I bought at the Used Book Barn six years ago, I might miss something I needed to know. Or if I throw out those old floppy disks, I might be getting rid of the first draft of that awful novel that I’d need to rewrite anyway. If I throw out those pictures, they might hold clues to my children’s youth, clues that will help us untangle our adult relationships today. (Don’t worry, the pictures have already been digitized.)

Cleaning my office is about loss. Cleaning out my purse is about making room for a new, happy day. 

I need help from a friend, a daughter or a husband, and especially from You, Jesus. It’s okay to lose stuff. It’s okay to move on. It’s okay to begin life new each day. It’s okay to let go.

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