the strange planet inside my head
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cleaning out the closet
it's been a long, strange trip, far from over.
you get to a certain age, and you think you have it figured out. the defenses of a lifetime have held fast; things are status quo; you expect no more curves.
out of the blue, the bedrock shakes. your feet are no longer planted firmly, and to your horror, you realize what you've been standing on all this time is not, and most likely never has been, a solid foundation.
it's not even a matter of good thing vs. bad thing. it's a matter of what is.
let me put it another way.
you're going about your business, say, cleaning your house. it's all very familiar, you know where the knick-knacks go, you know how you like the books arranged, you know the specific nooks and crannies where dust gathers and needs an extra lick and polish. occasionally you move furniture and vaccuum; the floor is mopped and sometimes you wipe down the walls and clean out cupboards.
you ignore the closets, knowing there's hell to pay inside, and you don't have the time or the energy to deal with what's lurking in there. as a matter of fact, it's been so long since you've peeked, you're not really sure what's in there at all. and that's okay; you stopped playing tennis a long time ago, so you have no need to take out the raquet. you've outgrown the winter coat; the spandex exercise outfit and matching headband; the box of old coleco games and the console you're not sure even works anymore. anything else in that closet you don't see and you don't miss, because you don't see it. so, the door stays shut and you don't have to deal with the tangle of coat hangers and odd shoes.
holding fast; status quo; no curves.
until one day, the bedrock shakes. the bedrock shakes and the door flies open, and a tumble of discarded memories, a snarl of emotions, a knot of messy, ragged, filthy, outdated and useless beliefs explode out. it's such an assault on the senses you can't make heads or tails of what you see -- can't comprehend what you see or how to put it in context. this is where the terror starts to grow, and grow at an immediate rate.
how are you going to clean this up? where do you even start? what if somebody sees all this mess? you just *know* all that crap is NEVER going to fit back in the closet. it's embarassing, overwhelming, impossible to deal with. you're just too damned tired to begin. it's too big.
a few friends come over, and you desperately try to shove as much as you can back in the closet, under the couch, behind the chair. but that doesn't work, because you can't get the door to close, the stuff is too big for under the couch, and the chair is too small to cover anything.
your friends are a solace -- they want to help, and they do. but they don't know what to do with this crap either, they have their own closets and ultimately, it's YOU that has to sort and decide and dispose and sort and organize and clean.
there is no holding fast. holding fast is not forward progress, you're stuck and the whole world passes by, leaving you behind and lonely.
there is no status quo. the status quo is nothing more than more of the same, stagnant and putrid standing water.
and there's always curves. always.
how to navigate? how to sort and dispose without draining yourself past the point of exhaustion?
first of all, realize you can't go back. once the closet door opens, you CAN'T close it until you restore some semblance of order. second, you won't get it done in one day. third, it's not going to be easy. there are hard decisions ahead, a lot of work.
fourth, no matter how bad it looks, it's not impossible. other people have done it. the fact of the matter is, it has to be done. the fact of the matter is, no one can do it but you. the fact of the matter is, it will be worth it in the long run. yes, it will.
and if you're very fortunate, and very blessed, you will find help when you need it most. friendly faces, open hearts, and warm arms await when you are so weary you can't lift your head.
thank you.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
you get to a certain age, and you think you have it figured out. the defenses of a lifetime have held fast; things are status quo; you expect no more curves.
out of the blue, the bedrock shakes. your feet are no longer planted firmly, and to your horror, you realize what you've been standing on all this time is not, and most likely never has been, a solid foundation.
it's not even a matter of good thing vs. bad thing. it's a matter of what is.
let me put it another way.
you're going about your business, say, cleaning your house. it's all very familiar, you know where the knick-knacks go, you know how you like the books arranged, you know the specific nooks and crannies where dust gathers and needs an extra lick and polish. occasionally you move furniture and vaccuum; the floor is mopped and sometimes you wipe down the walls and clean out cupboards.
you ignore the closets, knowing there's hell to pay inside, and you don't have the time or the energy to deal with what's lurking in there. as a matter of fact, it's been so long since you've peeked, you're not really sure what's in there at all. and that's okay; you stopped playing tennis a long time ago, so you have no need to take out the raquet. you've outgrown the winter coat; the spandex exercise outfit and matching headband; the box of old coleco games and the console you're not sure even works anymore. anything else in that closet you don't see and you don't miss, because you don't see it. so, the door stays shut and you don't have to deal with the tangle of coat hangers and odd shoes.
holding fast; status quo; no curves.
until one day, the bedrock shakes. the bedrock shakes and the door flies open, and a tumble of discarded memories, a snarl of emotions, a knot of messy, ragged, filthy, outdated and useless beliefs explode out. it's such an assault on the senses you can't make heads or tails of what you see -- can't comprehend what you see or how to put it in context. this is where the terror starts to grow, and grow at an immediate rate.
how are you going to clean this up? where do you even start? what if somebody sees all this mess? you just *know* all that crap is NEVER going to fit back in the closet. it's embarassing, overwhelming, impossible to deal with. you're just too damned tired to begin. it's too big.
a few friends come over, and you desperately try to shove as much as you can back in the closet, under the couch, behind the chair. but that doesn't work, because you can't get the door to close, the stuff is too big for under the couch, and the chair is too small to cover anything.
your friends are a solace -- they want to help, and they do. but they don't know what to do with this crap either, they have their own closets and ultimately, it's YOU that has to sort and decide and dispose and sort and organize and clean.
there is no holding fast. holding fast is not forward progress, you're stuck and the whole world passes by, leaving you behind and lonely.
there is no status quo. the status quo is nothing more than more of the same, stagnant and putrid standing water.
and there's always curves. always.
how to navigate? how to sort and dispose without draining yourself past the point of exhaustion?
first of all, realize you can't go back. once the closet door opens, you CAN'T close it until you restore some semblance of order. second, you won't get it done in one day. third, it's not going to be easy. there are hard decisions ahead, a lot of work.
fourth, no matter how bad it looks, it's not impossible. other people have done it. the fact of the matter is, it has to be done. the fact of the matter is, no one can do it but you. the fact of the matter is, it will be worth it in the long run. yes, it will.
and if you're very fortunate, and very blessed, you will find help when you need it most. friendly faces, open hearts, and warm arms await when you are so weary you can't lift your head.
thank you.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
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