Old, New, Borrowed, Blue

My husband uses plastic sock clips to keep his pairs matched in the wash.

From my years of studying him, I have learned that using the sock clips is more important than owning them. The organized are not dependent upon a new container or magnet board system, it’s their own rule-based behavior that keeps them orderly.

Their rules include things like ‘always put away clothes when you remove them,’ or ‘always put dishes in the dishwasher after eating.’ They double up habits. They take their vitamins at breakfast time! They even brush their teeth well before they have to leave the house! They employ the one-touch rule: Pick up the scissors to wrap a package, use them, and then put them back, one fluid tracking shot. Put away the tape too while you’re at it.

But I am rule impaired, both in implementation and rule creation. I once developed a rule that if I noticed the gas tank was on E, then I had to fill up on the way home, instead of the next day, when stopping might make me late. I enthusiastically shared my tip with others. (I hate the word “hack” unless baking chocolate or mucus is involved.) They looked puzzled as the organized seem to have a ‘do it now’ orientation built in. Turns out, my genius plan was to do something, anything not at the last minute, not to let time be the only thing which brings me to closure.

I rebel from rules, no matter how healthy. Perhaps it’s that happy, organized people are all alike, but the disorganized like to stand in their own unique way.

Which rules work for organization rebels?

If time brings me to closure, what if it could bring me to the starting block? Sure, I can manage to be on time for other people. But what does it take to be on time for tasks? Especially tasks I’d rather not do? I can think of tasks as people, as they always are, in a deferred way, for me or someone else, but that often doesn’t cut it.

Happy is even the disorganized the woman who rules her life by her schedule. It’s blocked with enough time to complete necessary tasks. In fact, she’s stopped thinking of tasks and instead thinks of blocks of time. The tasks happen if the time is available and honored. She shows up to the planned task time. She has learned to say no to tasks that will not fit in her allowable time, which primarily means saying no to herself. None of this is my idea. But I have had some success with these principles. I’ve realized over time though, that if I don’t show up, it’s because I’ve made hidden rules for that time. They are what I’m rebelling against.

It is logical, for example, to clean as though the order of operations were as immutable as the laws the physics—surface tension supports clutter that needs to be cleared first. Dusting next causes gravity to send said dust to the floor where it can then (and only then!) be vacuumed.

It’s just I don’t want to pick up clutter now. I’d rather take a butter knife and scrape out the grime under the stove top edge. Why is it orange? Tomato sauce? Scraping sauce shards is the only possible thing I can make myself do now. It’s cleaning time, so begin, and perhaps the rest will follow. This too is not my idea. Make a habit of showing up to the yoga mat to do some movement, any movement for any length of time. But how to decide what to do when you’re there? That is, when an achy hip doesn’t prompt you.

To make decisions, I’ve applied the adage of something old, new, borrowed, and blue. It’s lucky, like rain on your wedding day. I first applied it to writing task time. For longer projects, who says you have to start where you left off? I can work on something old (hone some sentences) or free write something new. I can borrow something, which means to research.

Or I can do the sad thing, the blue thing.

In longer projects there’s always a sad, vulnerable part. How would anyone return to the page if they’d stopped during the sad writing and thought they needed to show up exactly there the next day?

That stove top grime? It’s something old. With cleaning there’s always something to refine, or something new to speed through (the cleaning equivalent of a free write is setting a 15-minute timer to pick up the living room). Or there’s some source to consult. (The best way to remove blood stains is hydrogen peroxide. You’re welcome.) Even with cleaning there are vulnerable tasks to explore. Is now the time to give away baby clothes or sort old photos? Time to admit you will never wear that too small skirt again?

Speaking of food, I can figure out how to jazz up these leftovers—put the aging stew over pasta and spinach. Surprise! Or make a new dish from freezer and pantry foraging. Or research new recipe options. Or learn a new technique. (Yes, popovers will work in mini loaf pans.) Or I can do the vulnerable thing, the sad thing: order takeout (again). Alright, more of a guilty-yet-happy choice.

The mental trick is these choices bypass paralyzing prioritization in favor of action, which is good if any action will eventually lead to completion of necessary tasks. Once begun is half done, often in conjunction with real deadlines. The house needs to be cleaned for a visit. The meal needs to come to table before 8 pm.

Yet this rule requires a corollary for deadline-less tasks: Some days you need to do the Worst First. Yes, time to do the nagging things I haven’t fit in my task time because I didn’t wanna do them. Wake up, pour some coffee, and head to the thing I absolutely don’t want to do. Usually I schedule Worst First time on Friday or Saturday mornings (or for 3:00 pm on any day—do the nagging task and afterwards I get a break). Be aware of good deadline-less tasks that you’re putting off too. Sometimes what is worst about a good—especially creative—task is only your own self-sabotage.

Disorganized rebels, schedule your time, but within it experience variety in constraint by choosing among old, new, borrowed, and blue. But when some necessary tasks linger, do the worst first.