Clearing the Clutter
Current mood: determined
Category: Life

I can never find a damn pen that works in this house. No matter how many packages of pens I buy….no matter how many freebie pens get brought into this place…..I can never find a pen when I really need one.

And, if I do reach the holy grail and find a pen, chances are, it's out of ink. What the hell? Do all of the pens go to the mysterious land of single socks? Are they on some island somewhere, laughing at us as we fold clothes in frustration and keep the pizza boy waiting while we search in vain for a pen to write him a check for a large with extra pepperoni?

Today, as I was sifting through the junk drawer—yet again—for a pen, I yelled out to no one in particular, "There is too much damn clutter in this house!" I don't yell often, but when I do, it sure as hell feels good. I started opening drawers, closets, and the pantry. Everywhere I looked I found organized chaos. I felt like I was suffocating…choking. I needed to come up for air.

Spending thousands of dollars in therapy has taught me a few things. One is that people easily place their internal problems on something external. I realized that I wasn't really mad at the clutter in the house—I was mad at the clutter inside. As I go through a significant life-changing moment, all of the advice from friends and family, Internet articles, books, and instructions from attorneys and therapists has cluttered my heart and brain. Worrying about tomorrow causes unnecessary stress today. One wise piece of advice, "Think about what is best in 20 years….not 20 days or even 20 months," goes through my mind again and again. I try to stay focused on that, because the answer is always the same.

Money is clutter. It's a necessary evil. It pays our mortgages, puts food on the table and clothes on our back. That should be enough. But it's not. Once you get used to a certain lifestyle, it's damn near impossible to go back. My mother in law is a perfect example. Wealthy in her 20s and 30s, at 60 she tries to live the same lifestyle with no salary at all. It causes undue frustration, guilt, and pain. Then I look at my grandparents. They have always had enough because they made—and spent—enough. As a kid, I thought they were rich. I make more money now than they probably ever did combined, and I'm not nearly as happy as they were then and are today. They are in love. Content. Peaceful. I can only hope to be as fortunate as they are when I reach their age. I vow to do what it takes to get there. Making tons of money isn't the answer.

One of my favorite passages from the Bible is "Be still and know that I am here." I am rarely, if ever, still. My mind and body are in constant motion. I try to stay busy and active to keep my mind off of things that clutter my soul. I don't want to think for too long about an unhappy marriage, so I decide to remodel a room. I don't want to think about how I am doing my children a disservice by living a life of illusion, so I dive into work or schedule a fun trip for them. When I don't want to face what is right in front of my eyes, I'll go scrub the bathtub….over and over again. Either that, or I'll book a trip to Mexico or the Carribean on a whim. Who is this girl? It's not the girl I was growing up. It's the girl I thought I'd be, nor want to be. When Sunday after Sunday passes as we sleep in, I feel a pang in my heart for not having my girls in Sunday School….and me in church, feeding my heart and soul. When I hear about charity opportunities and long to join in, I don't, because I know it will be too much of a scheduling hassle. This isn't me. I let the clutter of day-to-day survival outweigh what my heart and soul are screaming out for.

Funny thing about running from your problems, they always catch up to you….usually when you least expect it. I have lost count of how many nights I have stared at the ceiling, just before falling asleep, wishing and wondering what it would be like to go to bed each and every night with someone you love so much, that truly…nothing else but health and true happiness matter. I wonder what it would feel like to be married to someone who loves me – not the word love….but the action love. I crave knowing what it's like for someone to come up behind me and give me a hug, just because…..with nothing expected in return. All the same, I crave wanting to walk across the room to give that person a hug. I want "I love you's" to be part of everyday conversation, just like it is with my daughters. I don't want to have to struggle to get the words out of mouth, just to keep the peace.

I want to know what it's like to love someone who jointly shares the spiritual part of my life. I am in awe that my parents can so easily drop everything and pray together. What I would give to be able to hold hands with my spouse and pray together, trusting in God to carry our burdens and problems. But, when only one part of a couple believes in God, that just can't happen. I wish to experience life with someone who truly believes that you get back in life what you give. I'm tired of sneaking money into the plate at church. I'm not in church to see what I can get out of it; I'm there to see how I can give back to Him and to the world in general. I don't know how to live an authentic life without someone who can share in this belief with me.

Authentic. Take inventory of you life. Just pause and reflect. Are you authentic? Who you really are? How much of what you do on a daily basis is for the benefit of others? How much of yourself do you give up in order to uphold whatever image you have created for yourself? Are you proud of what you get….or of what you give? Is it even close to equal?

I look at my daughters and I want them to know the real me—the person I set out to be a long time ago. They have it in them to do anything….everything…..but they too can become paralyzed by things and a slave to money and "keeping up." They know what they see, and if I am showing them the path, then I can only blame myself for blazing the trail for them. I never intended to raise them on my own, and for the most part, I won't. But someone has to step up and be their moral compass. That someone is me. I have a job to do, and I am failing in the way I live now.

My biggest prayer in life right now is that my girls will forgive me for the choices I've made that will affect them forever. Today, their concern is that they might have to move into a different house, or possibly switch schools. Because I've lived it, I know that one day, they will be frustrated beyond belief at how they have to arrange the seating chart at their wedding reception, trying to keep an acceptable amount of space between their mom's side and their dad's side. They will likely have step-siblings, and for sure, their holidays will be spent living out of suitcases. Their loyalty will shift through the years, depending on which parent is buying them what. They'll hate me. They'll love me. They'll miss their dad. They'll figure their dad out. In the end, I hope they understand and respect what I had to do….the things I taught them….the morals I instilled in them….the things I gave them that money could never buy. I want them to marry—the first time—for nothing but love, crazy love. How can they know what that is if they don't see it on a daily basis on their own home?

Funny, when you start to leak your plans to dissolve your marriage, people inevitably ask what you'll get. I've spent lonely nights taking inventory of how we'll divide our assets. I've been doing this for years. The more I think about it, the more I start to feel that constricting, choking feeling. There's too much stuff. While I believe that 90 percent of it should go to me—after all, I selected it and placed it according to my taste – I realize that he deserves more than a plate and hand towel. I try to envision these things in a new home. I try to envision my girls getting used to new rooms, new house sounds, and a new neighborhood. We'll all learn to be comfortable in our "new normal." My hope is that once we get there, we have less clutter—in our junk drawers, our home, but most of all—in our souls. Being still can be so rewarding, especially in this clutter-filled, fast-paced world. A friend recently told me, "Find your bliss." I took it lightly at first, but now I live by it. Maybe my bliss doesn't match his, others in my circle, or even society in general….but the key word is 'my.' I know the road to finding this bliss is going to be winding, rough, and even dangerous at times, but the rewards—I have to believe—will be so worth it.

As I sit right on the cusp of turning 35, my first thoughts are to be disappointed in myself. This is not where I imagine I would be. Breaking hearts is torture, and that's all that divorce brings—broken hearts. Disappointment is at every turn. Self-doubt, inevitable. What am I capable of? Can I get through this and manage to raise two well-adjusted human beings at the same time? Will I ever experience, in marriage, the soul-mate kind of love I have craved for as long as I can remember? I keep chasing it, but my net always comes up empty. Lesson learned---I can't save the world, I can't save a guy….but I can save myself. I can save myself from an unexamined life, a life not fully lived or experienced, and a life that lacks authenticity. In the end, I want to know I gave this gift of an awful, beautiful life everything I have. Thus far, I have been hiding….behind clutter.

Maybe I'll never find a working pen around here, but I am determined to find myself.