Each of us has a desired level of clean. Or in the case of my daughters and I, a desired level of comfortable mess. The desire for “comfortable mess” on the part of the ladies and the desire for an orderly point within the chaos that is life on the part of my husband sometimes come to odds.
Some see my dedication to my mess as a symbol of the chaos that dwells in my soul. Others (my husband, for one) have pointed out how I’ve used my clutter to keep myself safe, protected, walled off in my own little world.
I no longer deny any of this as having at least some amount of truth to it. My mess does make me feel secure. My cluttered desk is proof of the fact that I have at least one space in our lovely house that is all mine.
Perhaps I could arrive at the same place with flowers and hospital-corner beds, but it’s not the way it works for me. It’s not the way it works for my daughters either.
My husband likes living space to resonate differently. In the duration of our cohabitation, I’ve come to love and cherish the orderly neatness of the shared spaces we create together.
Key to our familial comfort is two sets of rules: one for shared space, another for private. Private spaces are left more or less to personal tastes. Shared spaces are simply, quietly sacred and even temple-like.
In the evenings before bed we collectively find a few minutes to tidy the common spaces, so that we can join together in the still point that is the center of our lives; a wide-open kitchen table and a clean-ish slate of a living room.
Balance is key. A happy home is one where everyone’s needs are met.
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very useful design! David