Zen Movement?


Nothing in my aesthetic could be considered "Zen," but even so, I find myself clearing shit out of our house with slow-but-steady efficiency. One good reason for my commitment to this odious process is so that we can save a space for the big, grown-up lives that The Girl and The Boy will be cultivating over the next few years. I am also, however, more keenly aware of the need to cultivate space in our home for my own life, my own thoughts. That's such an odd thing to pronounce. I could just have my thoughts. But I do believe that in much the same way we all need to cultivate sleep hygiene; I am finding the need to cultivate thought hygiene. And this will influence my decision-making around which shit must go.


 I shall weed mercilessly (but carefully) the shit I've saved for the kids. Neither child wants all their elementary school art projects: I shall exercise thoughtful curation of each young'un's "collection" of representative pieces. Neither child will want all their baby/child clothes, but they will very likely appreciate a few items evocative of a time or event. No sweat. In fact, clearing out other people's shit is actually very easy. (Well, "easy" if I commit to doing it more than once every 10 years.) What is not so very easy is clearing out just the right backstock of shit to allow just the right breathing space for my own thoughts and creativity.

Harder than clearing shit out, however, is (not surprisingly) initiating whatever it is I want to do with all that headspace. Ah, there it is. We finally got to it. And once I identify and specifically articulate whatever it is I want to do, then what kind of living environment would be conducive to that outcome?! Do I want space for reading? Space for new books? How shall I display the old photos I’ve collected from grandparents and other long-lost family? How would the display or preservation of those images help contribute to my creativity? Do I want to re-think the art on the walls? I have a lot of visual stimulation in our house -- does that promote my creative process or distract me?

I’m working on getting shit out of the attic. I’m thinning some shit from the bookshelves, awarding new titles with front-and-center positions. I’m reviewing the art on the walls and the curiosities that populate tabletops. I’m taking a discerning look at task lighting to make sure that I won't go blind in the new reading spot I'll have identified. I might even revive the living room with a fresh coat of paint, suggesting an expanse of verdant moss or honeyed wheat, and retaining the glorious shade that helps each room on the first floor feel relatively cool even with modest air-conditioning. I can see it now: cool, green and beckoning.

 I feel like over the last 20 years I made so many unconscious decisions about how my (our) space looks and functions! I suppose now I have to do the work of unwrapping and examining each of those unconscious decisions. And yikes -- poor Dusty hasn't even figured into this. Perhaps it will be a good thing to involve him in this ongoing project. Or, at least involve him in conversation about this ongoing project. His first contribution to any conversation will probably sound something like -- "You do what you want, Baby. I don't really care." Perhaps he'll have a tentative "I wonder if I'll get in trouble for saying this?" look on his face. He might even have a shade of "why are you asking me these questions -- this is my idea of hell" cast to his face.
  
To what end am I culling and organizing and contemplating the function and aesthetic of our home? I'm not sure. Maybe with all this thought hygiene I'll also be able to fall in love with uncertainty. I'll learn to cherish ambiguity. I'll be intrigued by possibility and eschew the frustration of not knowing. Of not knowing anything, really -- except that I love a shaded room that wraps me in the cool colors of an old-growth forest. I love knowing that the opening of a desk drawer, an attic door or a bureau will not greet me with reminders of incomplete tasks, lost or forgotten bills or emotional work left undone. I love knowing that when a room is thoroughly scrubbed and reconsidered, it gives you an opportunity to renew as well your friendship with that room -- to notice charms and efficiencies you've stopped noticing. I will fall in love with whatever that newly visioned room inspires in me. That room -- those rooms -- and I will connect and begin a new, creative adventure together.



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