Last winter was a doozy: global pandemic, lockdown, election weirdness, election weirdness fallout, sick family members–not COVID-19 related–how is that possible?

So, I don’t know what your depression looks like, but mine looks a little like this sometimes:

I would feel worse about showing this picture on the internet, if it weren’t such vital evidence of an untrained, abstract-random brain. Even in the midst of this chaos, there are strains of logic twining like vines around the evidence of my undisciplined mind and tidying habits. In fact, there are four distinct vines I note:

1. Hang ups about practical use items
2. Hang ups about things I view as “shoulds”
3. Crafty Crap
4. Subconscious attempts to honor former versions of myself

Let’s tackle them in order, shall we?

Hang Ups About Items of Practical Use: those lampshades needed to go into the storage in the “garage sale” section. However, the idea of giving away perfectly good lampshades for a pittance grated on me. The five picture frames and mirror from before I was born were all hanging around as a result of a belief that I would be able to put them to good use at some nebulous date in the future. The boxes for both the mini-vac and my new headphones were there because the “new” electronics might go kaput, and I’d have to return them–original packaging helps to get a refund!

Hang Ups About Things I View As “Shoulds”: I thought I should hang on to the German workbooks because I once thought I would be a translator or linguist. I thought I should hang on to the giant binder with notes from my teaching credential program–all of which is theory and only holds minor relevance in terms of practical application within a day-to-day classroom setting. The yoga mat, foam roller, yellow resistance bands, and balance balls/ergonomic torture devices are all a part of my fear of forgetting I have workout equipment–one should never forget such useful and important items. The yawning black cavern at the bottom of the desk was specifically reserved for the purpose of housing the workout equipment, but that seemed of little importance. And over time, all of the other detritus littered about that I should have been cleaning seemed an insurmountable obstacle to “picking up.”

Crafty Crap: I like CRAFTING. I love people, and I love doing things for people. I like the way I feel when I give. I like the smiles get, and even better, I love the good will I receive in response, which is why I love beginning new projects. However, my intentions often outstrip my available crafting time. In this picture alone, I see three projects meant for colleagues, family, and former students, along with materials for future projects, yet to be. The grocery sack with crocheted gingerbread men body parts will eventually become oven mits and place mats for my mother. The basket of jumbled teal yarn with instruction book is the makings of a blanket for a wonderful former student who will probably be married with 17 children by the time I get her “Kiwi” afghan to her. The nautical themed yarn bag with pink lining held myriad balls of “baby” yarn in various pastels, which I have now turned into baby booties, jackets, and headbands for a colleague. And the blue yarn on the ground? That I have yet to turn into anything, but I’m sure it will be a half finished project for someone at some point.

Is anyone else feeling like this is a ridiculous version of an “I Spy” game at this point?

I digress.

Finally, woven throughout and including some of the items mentioned above, I see a deep seated need to honor former versions of myself:

• two of the five frames were the first pieces of home decor I ever purchased. I remember they cost me a pretty penny, and I think I was unwilling to part with them, as it felt like I was disregarding the struggle of a twenty-something waitress and college student for whom $30 dollars meant the difference between paying the electric bill or putting gas in her car.
• The German workbooks were a symbol of a dream never realized, and that’s hard to let go of at any age. I’m still messing about with DuoLingo these days, but I have no delusions about my future career options–I’m a high school teacher and will likely retire a high school teacher.
• The other boxes and frames are directly related to this earlier, fiscally insecure self--one who could never quite be sure the next paycheck would materialize, even while working double-shifts, arranging for financial aid, and fighting with the execrable human being calling himself a legitimate employer for the $50 he owed me for the extra cleaning I performed under the table in preparation for the grand opening of his next restaurant venture. Why else would I keep 3 picture frames containing prints my sister hung in our shared home? They weren’t even mine. But what if I suddenly came across something worthy of being framed, and I had gotten rid of them? Would I have the money to buy new frames?

Those struggles and those dreams were real and that young woman was valuable, even though she didn’t feel like it. Nothing in life is ever perfect, and the picture above is clear proof of that fact. I may not struggle to pay my electric bill anymore, but I struggle on the daily with managing it all–my abstract-random brain, my childhood baggage, my adult baggage, and the unwillingness to let go of things that cannot or will not ever be. And facing those cannot and will not be’s was a daring moment for me emotionally. I’m proud of tackling it when I did.

But let’s be real, folks: On a more practical flip side, it amounted to cleaning up my bedroom. I would insert a chagrined emoji here if I had access to one. I should have learned to keep my bedroom neat and tidy by the time I was ten, if not earlier. All I can say is that I didn’t, and this particular clean up was a direct result of some depressive tendencies that snowballed.

So, did I manage it in the end? Damned right, I did! I mentioned it took two days, but I got it done.

So, my “final” pictures here still show that Dell box on the left and the basket on the right with clothes to donate to the Good Will, a couple of German workbooks (I told you it was hard to let go) and a “happiness” calligraphy piece a dear friend bought me. They have all found their proper places, and I am proud to say that eight months later, that space is still clean. The only things on my open armoire desk are my fan–it’s summer in California, don’t judge me–and a couple of sheets–one in strips, waiting to be turned into a crochet rag rug, and one waiting to be cut into strips. However, they’ve been there a while, so I need to get on it before I fall back into old patterns.

At this point, the only thing I have to say to any abstract-randoms out there who might be reading this blog is this: we can create our own systems without someone else dictating them, and while confronting our overwhelm may seem terrifying, we might just find some personal growth in the exercise of our mental and emotional courage. I wish you the best of luck in your own space wrangling efforts!