My best friend in 8^th grade, had a grandmother who strung a velvet rope (like the ones in movie theatres) across the entrance to her living room in order to protect her stark white carpet and sofa-- from people.  I thought she was nuts.  I bring this up, because there was a time when the tracks the sweeper made in the living room carpet had to be straight and free of footprints or I couldn’t relax.  If little feet dared to trample over it, out came the sweeper and a lecture.  I wonder why it never occurred to me that I was nuts.

In addition, my cereal boxes were aligned by height and my spices were arranged in alphabetical order.  Laundry was done on Mondays, toys were picked up before bed and when I canned jelly in sweet little jars with handmade flowered labels—it bothered me when someone removed one from the shelf to actually use. 

I inherited these things from my father, who often smelled more of Comet and Pine Sol than Old Spice.  Knick-knacks on our dressers were kept to a minimum and you didn’t do anything in the kitchen without first putting a paper down on the counter (it really did provide much easier clean-up).  Although, I always cringed when I heard dad coming up the steps to check on our cleaning progress, I always felt a greater sense of calm when everything was in its place.

I thought about these things the other day when I finally rounded up all of our DVDs, which number well over a hundred and put them in a single cabinet where I arranged them alphabetically-- by category.  I had to say—it felt good. 

Organizing my environment and having it clean and neatly arranged, was how I garnered control in my life.  This, combined with my first-born perfectionism, allowed me to look at Martha Stewart and believe that gold-leafing the ‘powder-room’ trash can was both normal and highly desirable.

Then one day, all of the control I thought I had, flew out the window.  I was put in my place and I quickly realized that alphabetizing your spice drawer was no protection against chaos; it was just a way to find Cream of Tartar in a hurry.  In those days, I was lucky to have had the forethought to purchase cereal—let alone make sure the boxes were in descending order.  For two years in a row, my Christmas trees were up until nearly February—and the scary thing is they were live trees (well, until mid-January anyway).

Four moves in three years did not help either.  Each time I unpack there are fewer and fewer things.  I managed to keep track of ten boxes of books, however, I still have no idea where Grandma’s waffle iron went, but I sure would like to have it back. 

I have absolutely no money to my name and I still sleep at night.  Where once that would have sent me into apoplexy, I find that I have become quite at home living on the edge.  For a while, I thought that the edge was a better place to be—after all, lower expectations saves you from bigger disappointment and sheets wrapped in bundles and tied with ribbon will never be your saving grace. 

But, now, after coming to the conclusion that I have developed deep-seeded commitment issues, I realize that desiring too little control in your life is just as counterproductive as an overabundance of it.  It’s like daring life to catch you, so you continue to run away from what feels good because you know how quickly it can all turn bad. Numbing yourself is not an answer, it’s just a less obvious way to try and grasp some control.

It is a long process, trying to ease yourself off of the edge and tiptoe past the guilt that comes from carrying on.  No one gives you a formula because it is different for everyone.  I am still working things out, but I will confess to you the following:

I have been looking at antique engagement rings and picking out paint colors.  I once again feel much better about life when the house smells of Murphy’s Oil Soap and cranberry candles.  I like the blankets neatly folded and I refuse to believe that it is a character flaw to find contentment in a well thought out DVD cabinet or by the smell a pie baking in the oven.  Unfortunately, this has not yet filtered down to an alphabetized spice drawer or a gold-leafed trash can, but who knows what the future holds.

We are all irrational in some way—it is how we cope with a scary world.  Some of us put ropes around our living room and some of us put ropes around our hearts.