Messy

                                                            Messy

I like messy. It’s warm and comfortable and sometimes beautiful like Gatsby tossing those perfect pastel shirts all over his lost, found love.             .

Fie on “a place for everything and everything in its place”!  How rigid, how boring, how frightened of life those thoughts betray. I wouldn’t live three days in that cramped and tiny space. 

Messy is divergent family members happy to see one another, throwing coats and hats and gloves all over my living room and shoving the furniture willy nilly with no regard for design or ordered placement. Wine glasses are left half filled and plates still hugging sandwich crusts. But oh the talk, the joy of happy disregard, stumbling over each other to hug or “give me five!”

Messy is open, its wide, it breaks rules and “Oh, what will people say?” shrivels into the mound of dog toys scattered in the corner. Its confident and sure and laughs a lot. Putting things back in order delights for the anticipation of throwing caution and order to the winds again tomorrow or next day…whenever.

Life is messy, love is messy, being fully alive is messy but I would not have it otherwise nor waste my days in ‘putting things to right. 

I’m not an ordered house, I’m not even an ordered life…I’m what comes?  What a simple, easy, welcoming wise way to be. I’ve learned at last so move over order and give me room to be whoever, whatever I may be.