Not my mind
Not my mind

My cutlery drawer says a lot about my life.

Few people could live with a drawer like mine. But for me, it’s OK. Cutlery gets dumped in. Cutlery gets taken out, when needed. There is no system. No order. It doesn’t look terribly good. But it’s functional. And it saves time – microseconds of time – but all those microseconds add up. And if there is one thing I am thrifty about, it’s time.

I save up every microsecond and put it where it counts.

That’s how I get it all done. Two girls, living in chaos, writing 100 – 150 page books each month, blogging, socialising…all those scrupulously saved microseconds go where they ought to go.

I think, the secret to living with furniture piled up to the ceiling, dump-and-run cutlery drawers, and knee-high grass, is a quiet mind.

Occasionally it pangs. Like the day we returned home and the furniture, the grass and the still-to-be-written 150 page book began to seep into the crevices of my mind, munch at its happy, calm corners until happy and calm were out, and chaos and overwhelmed-ness were in.

The Mountain

The other night, a group of women sat beside the lake, with candles and thermoses of tea. The moon was nearly full, its reflection on the water’s silky surface. It was very Witches of Eastwick. One of the ladies read aloud a card about the Mountain Mother. Standing still, in the present moment, her head in the clouds, but grounded. Life and children happen, but she is still and resilient.

I used the mountain metaphor in my less happy, calm years. I visualised being a mountain, as seasons passed, clouds passed, the sky changed colour and the wind blew. Reflecting on it all. Being present. Grounded.

It helped me get out of my head.

My head was no longer like my cutlery drawer.

My cutlery drawer

While I am mountain, and my head is clear, I can have a drawer, like my cutlery drawer. I can have a million books to write, and a 3-year-old like a crazed tornado high on sugar (that’s no metaphor), and a baby, and a house where you negotiate stacked chairs and boxes to get to the kitchen.

If I let the chaos creep in though, I become a little like that crazed 3-year-old, and it all comes crashing down. Let’s not go there.

What part of your house most describes you?

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Linking with Essentially Jess for IBOT.

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