Beautiful, comforting disorder

Beautiful, comforting disorder

 

“We are bathing in mystery and confusion on many subjects, and I think that will always be our destiny. The universe will always be much richer than our ability to understand it.” Carl Sagan

 

Trying to put things in order creates the anxiety to smooth the edges of our routines. We want “a sort of tidy something”. And we hope the block of things we do and the people we relate to, is supple enough for us to manage and mold. If it feels like it will fall apart, we wish for the edit function of our Instagrams. 

There’s a kind of inherent sense of fear to uneven lines. We’d rather use Google Maps and get where we need to go as fast as possible, than finding the way slowly. We don’t want to take too many turns or detours. We ask for neatness in the atoms that hold together the balance of our worlds. 

Mystery and confusion scare us and we look for ways to accommodate pieces: is this why we enjoy browsing social media? Is it the reason for creating a self-image that looks back at us with casual wonderment? Groomed, smiling, overlooking a landscape of bright colored filters or an arrangement of delicious foods. Are we logging-in to find out who we are? Do we want to make sure that the images hold on to us beyond the screens? So we appear tidy and happy as we could possibly be.

Oh, but there’s so many discoveries to be made beyond screens or above the rapidness of our face-to-face encounters. So much more, constantly swirling dynamics that should not be constricted into a pattern of beauty. Why? What could explain the desire to choose slowness and non-sensical arrangements of our everyday? Nothing, of course, can explain a desire, because the desire to find each other’s connecting and interconnecting abilities is part of our human nature. And human relationships are messy and chaotic. But such a sweet, ever-evolving, chaos. As a result, exposing our mutual frailties and feralities is a path to a beautiful and invigorating disorder.

“If I pretend I am drowning, you pretend you are saving me”

I like you, by Sandol Stoddard, illustrated by Jacqueline Chwast 

 

We are constantly fearing the day that has no schedule. A blank space on the calendar: a free day? Weekend? What are we going to do? How will we show our anxious selves that there is no need to anticipate what’s coming?  

 

“Everybody should be quiet near a little stream and listen”

Open House for Butterflies, by Ruth Krauss, illustrated by Maurice Sendak.

 

So we will try to restore a sense of well being, avoiding the thirst for a certain order, preventing ourselves from trying to fit every relationship into a schedule, an evite or an image on social media. Let us try to practice believing in what we prefer. Decide to not fear an “impossible construction” when we build with magnetic shapes or wooden blocks on an uneven surface and lacking a specific criteria. The risk is so worthwhile. Inhabit the present, fully, making room for inadequacies and unbalances, for unknown quantities and measurements. And definitely feel contented and fulfilled about it. 

 

“It’s the task that’s never started that’s more tiresome,” “The days are long, but the years are short,” “Always leave plenty of room in the suitcase.” “What I do every day matters more than what I do once in a while.” 

Happier at Home: Kiss More, Jump More, Abandon a Project, Read Samuel Johnson, and My Other Experiments in the Practice of Everyday Life, by Gretchen Rubin.

Just a few of her “Secrets of Adulthood”. 

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