Anyone creative knows the dream; a clean desk to inspire writing, an empty kitchen to bake, quiet blank canvases to discover the true you. And then you have kids. Which somewhat ruins the dream.
Not only do clean surfaces disappear like asbestos laced sand through your fingers, but your free time does to. You end up faced with bizarre non-comparable choices; do I shower or write, do I clean the kitchen or prepare a Miss Rachel level craft.
Before children there was a logic to events, you got yourself ready, did your chores, made an ideal aesthetic space, and then creativity blossomed (or not). But now, you ignore the desk and write a blog post. You choose to make the mess in the kitchen worse to enable lunch, knowing the pile of dishes you hid in the sink will haunt you at the end of the day.
It’s the old LinkedIn trope of normally a middle aged CEO talking about his success, which generally involves getting up early, either running or meditation and then working without distractions – and only later do we discover that they have a wife and/or a staff at home taking care of anything resembling domesticity. If only we all had a secret helper in the background taking care of all the mundanity of life. The endless washing, the food, the cleaning, the admin and the tiny humans who make and break our hearts on an hourly basis.
On a serious note, I don’t think there is a single time I have washed clothes without contemplating becoming a nudist. It must cut down on the chores significantly.
But I do have to wonder, what is more effective … focus or breath of human experience and space to inspire. There is no doubt that Steve Jobs and Michael Jordan, kings of focus, have achieved absolute perfection in their respective careers. But who knows, if they had space to grow, change and be challenged in other ways, less controlled ways, what they would have achieved. As we know from almost every dance movie from the early 2000’s, its when you add in different previously undiscovered styles that you win the competition/man.
So here I am, writing from a messy desk, taking inspiration from imperfection. I don’t think I am any more productive than I used to be when I was in a wolf pack of one. But I guess my waffle and procrastination has been replaced with toddler crafts, cleaning white chairs (not my choice of furniture with small children), cooking and once in a while remembering to shower.
Maybe I should pick up that book that I half wrote a million years ago, the messy desk might be the perfect accomplice to written nonsense.
Superficial & Deranged 