How is a dysfunctional need to put order to chaos born?
The five year old latchkey kid knows.
Meticulously arranging toys in a bed to create a secure place to rest.
Weaving physical patterns into the day’s tapestry so it looks how you design.
Navigating a domestic landscape that is simultaneously comforting and unnerving.
Fighting battles as an army of one while you are surrounded by companions.
Turning to the external to numb the incessant inner voice.
Nature intertwined with nurture, an analytical mind fueled by anxiety runs amok in the city.
So many layers to this cake.
How does it end? Pick your outcomes.
Create paths through the clutter.
Find systems for the minutia.
Achieve on paper and get the gold star.
But these strengths are always shadowboxing.
Order cannot ultimately escape the messiness of life.
Eventually, the tightened knuckles wear out.
Kiss them for their service. Thank them for all they have borne.
Then loosen the grip. Let go. Make chaos your companion. Accept the gloriously complicated present.