My December to Remember 3: Day Nine
News: Arizona Gov. Katie Hobbs demands federal reimbursement for border crisis.
NYC’s Adams says his latest excuse to party trip to DC to get more federal aid for migrant crisis “fruitless.”
Trump beats Biden 47% 43% in new WSJ matchup poll.
UPenn president resigns.
Tornadoes hit Tennessee.
My home growing up was clean, but cluttered. I’ve written about it before, as well as the state of my current home. There always seemed to be a place for everything, even if that place was visibly stowed away. I’d never describe it as “pristine,” and my mother always seemed to apologize to guests about the mess they were walking into.
Only there was no mess. Just a perceived one. It’s a habit I also have picked up, as I apologize to everyone who comes into my home if I’ve got a little clutter around.
I’m currently in my father’s living room that’s surrounded by Bankers boxes and papers, and the old dining room has turned into the photograph room, as he’s organizing the thousands and thousands of family snapshots we’ve gathered over the years. There’s an order to this home that needs no justification to anyone from the outside. If we even let them in, that is.
My dad came to see my apartment over Thanksgiving. It was the first time he had seen my place in over two years. He said he was impressed by how I designed it, as I’m going for a calming, sea cottage aesthetic in the middle of the city. He always tells me how this is my sanctuary and to make it the best I possibly can. And the more I look around at what I’ve built, the more I believe it reflects the home I grew up in.
I like looking around at it, and I don’t mind admitting that it could be better. Not just the visuals, but my process in keeping it clean as well. Sometimes I keep my vacuum out days at a time, having only cleaned one of the four rugs I own. A steady pile of clothes that simply need moving into the hamper stay out until I can’t stand looking at them. My couch cushions sag where I sit for hours on end. My home is never going to be perfect, but it’s the one I chose. And I can take comfort in knowing my quiet chaos is salvageable, even when other people’s view of their homes show they’re running out of time to clean correct.
I think about the leaders of cities or states or even municipalities and wonder if they’re content in the chaos they seem to be surrounded by. Like I just don’t understand how you can see our border disorder, or the quality of city life deteriorating and think everything is just great. But people do. Who knows if they’re just sitting around in a hoarded home unaware of the smell because they’re so used to it. And even though the mess comes in over circumstances we can’t control sometimes, how can you not judge the problems we seem to bring on ourselves? Do we think things can just be scrubbed away if we pretend we don’t see them?
Long before this current president was put into office, I told my dad we’d be able to survive someone like him being at the helm. I just didn’t realize how much of a mess he’d bring along with him. How can you not be embarrassed by someone stepping into our home right now? I just hope we’re in the reflection period, where we can see the forest for the trees and know there’s a lot of big problems needing fixing. It’s one big mess after another and no one is coming to save us. But one day, it won’t be like this. I can’t explain how, I just think the biggest spot-clean of them all is ready to be unleashed. We’ll see that one great wave to wipe the slate clean so we can start over with some competency at this time. I can help by making sure my space is just how I like it, with tweaks here and there to make sure I have no reason to apologize for clutter anymore. No use waiting for the dust to settle before sweeping it up.
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