This week I’m celebrating the mess. The mess that comes with living fully. The mess that happens in my busy classroom. The mess my still-home-for-winter break-college kids leave in the kitchen…and the family room…and their bedrooms and bathroom. The mess on my car from our recent snow.
I am perfectly capable of creating messes all by myself, but I do enjoy when my house, car and classroom are tidy- when things are in their place. The order gives me a sense of calm. But the thing is, if it were always that way- spotless spaces and clean countertops- I am certain my life would feel less complete.
My younger daughter Claire has two friends staying with us this weekend. Today they begin that oh so foreign to me sorority rush process. Last night we enjoyed dinner together, and after we’d cleaned the kitchen the girls settled on the sofa in front of a movie. I headed upstairs to find my book. Long after I was asleep they made brownies, and when I came downstairs this morning the sink was full of mess. There were crumbs on the counter. And there were three sleepy but happy girls choosing outfits and chatting about the day ahead. The mess waited while I made coffee and breakfast for the girls. And the mess will wait while I write.
Breathe is my one little word this year. I choose to breathe through the mess. The mess isn’t worth fretting about. It’s something to celebrate.