Week Twenty-Six: On the Harmony of Music and Cleaning

My life is now and has always been very musical. From a very early age, music was as much part of my every day routine from waking to falling asleep to all the movement in between and it seems to permeate everything that I do. It's often been said, usually but not always in a loving way, that I get carried away with the music in my head and in my feet and in my mouth. Sometimes, I'll catch myself humming or whistling or tapping away without even realizing it, occasionally to the chagrin of the people around me. I'd apologize but I really can't help it. Music is so very much who I am. 

Much in the same way that music has a rhythm and a purpose, so does cleaning. I know this sounds like an odd premise but keep up with me here and we'll get to the end; I promise. 

Though I'm sure it's different for some people, having a clean home feels like home base for me. It feels like the stillness before an ensemble takes that first unison breath, fingers waiting and prepped for the opening chord; or it feels like the moment when a band is so in sync with one another it's as though they have a singular heartbeat, a hive-mind that's not just playing the music but internalizing it, feeling it.

So, perhaps it goes without saying that when my home is a mess, I am out of sync. I am waiting to breathe again and to finally be able to harmonize my self and with my life.

A few days ago, I was having a conversation with my roommate where in lieu of doing anything, I just kept profusely apologizing for the state of the apartment (which by normal person standards is still pretty clean). Everything was a mess. Counters hadn't been wiped down. Recycling hadn't been taken out. The floors were covered in a sizeable amount of people and dog hair. It fills me with an inordinate amount of shame to tell you that my home had reached a state of Lindsay-brand chaos. 

It's more often than not the case that my home is a reflection of my mental state. And I'm not saying that for the sake of creating a metaphor that ties this whole blog together; I'm saying this because it's the absolute truth. If I feel as though my life is in a state of chaos, so is my house. Whenever life gets too stressful or too worrisome or too much, the first thing to go is probably my house. I'll neglect the vacuuming and the dusting and the scrubbing that I so love to do. And no, that is not an exaggeration: I love to clean. (As a point of interest, whenever I'm meeting new folks, that's one of the things that I tell them! It's often something like "Oh, I'm the Monica of my friend group. I just love to clean.")

So, today, when I finally had given myself the time to de-chaos the house, it was very much like re-tuning myself to the rhythm of my routines. Sundays are for cleaning. I put on a Bee Gees radio and set to work, vacumming every carpeted surface, wiping down all the counter tops, scrubbing down the shower. Finally, I felt like myself again. The music of my home had settled onto home base, ready to play, waiting with bated breath for that first chord. 

Having a clean house isn't just merely my neuroses of needing things perfectly in order and perfectly arranged (though, let's be honest: it is a little bit of that) but for having the physical space in which to tackle whatever is due to come next. I've always been the kind of person who likes to have physical, mental, and emotional space to work on things - whether it's the emotional problem of the week or chipping away at the next project.

And after approximately four hours of work, this afternoon, after I was hauling out the desk that one of the old roommates had left behind, and which has been an eyesore in the living room for the past month, sweaty and gross in the balmy 98 degree weather, I felt as though I had finally done something. 

There's always stuff in life we can't control. I can't control the fact that I have to move again in the next two months and I can't control people who don't want to change. I can't tell someone the truth when they don't want to hear it and I especially can't rely on someone else to correct my own shortcomings. What I can do is make the kitchen sparkle and make the house smell fresh and de-clutter the pile of junk on my bedroom floor. I can make a house feel like a home and I can align the rhythm of my life with the routines I create for myself. 

I've often believed that success comes from diligence and persistence. If I want to do the thing, whatever that thing is, then I have to get up and make it happen and continue to tell myself that everyday. Sometimes, that looks like "Hey, I need to put on real pants right now and not look like a pile of garbage" and repeating that until it doesn't feel like a chore; or sometimes that looks like "Okay, we're going to write 1000 words today even if our fingers bleed". 

If I want to be successful with this project, then at the heart of it all, I just really have to sit myself down and say "Alright, it's time to practice". Practice being a better friend, practice financial responsibility, practice healthy habits.

Maybe it's just me riding the high of having an actually clean house but I'm ready to work, yo. Let's do it.