Gold Medal State of Functioning

This morning I was thinking about Olympians and what it takes to win the gold.  The only olympics I watched this year was in preparation for an olympic themed school activity I put together this week. Using some concepts from Bruce Perry's Neurosequential Model of Therapeutics, I wanted to make each "olympic event" a somatosensory activity targeting sensory integration, self-regulation, relational, and cognitive domains. Knowing the students wouldn't remember anything but getting candy,  I held up my hand to represent  some very basic areas of the brain:  brainstem (wrist) diencephalon & midbrain (heel) limbic (palm) and neocortex (knuckles).  Then I opened my hand and challenged them to "HANDle it"; to handle each stessor that would come their way and use as much of their brain as possible.  Could they handle that challenge of exercising their senses?  Could they handle trying to direct their physical movements?  Could they handle being in a group of people and kind of get along?  Could they handle working to solve problems and create? 

The answer was "no".  In one fail swoop, I lost 3 of my would be campers to the relational, problem solving challenge presented in my olympic torch activity.  I  briefly shifted my focus to the ground to prepare one of the obstacles and looked up to find 3 boys at each other's throats, or in this case, eyes.  Great.  Just great.  Were they capable of getting along?  Did they have the necessary skills?  You betcha.  But because of the excitement and stimulation or fireworks or something else-it was just too much-They couldn't handle it.  I was reminded of the truth, "All functioning is state dependent." 

Olympic fails remind me of this as well.  How many times does the projected winner win?  Great skill combined with an optimal performance state of mind equals a gold medal.  I'm continually amazed at world class athletes who perform under pressure and are able to do their very best when the stakes are the highest.  Olympic fails are heartbreaking.  However, when athletes choke under pressure, I can sure relate.  

My most recent "choking" incident was during our ward's annual family tennis tournament. I play tennis.  I'm pretty good.  I practiced my basic skills in preparation for the tournament.  I'm not an athlete, but I'm athletic.  BUT you would absolutely never know it according to my piss, poor performance.  My mental game was off the charts in the wrong direction.  I freaked out, not only because I was in a game situation, but I couldn't block out a bleacher full of ward members glancing my way every once in awhile.  I realized, I had never played before spectators before.  I couldn't handle the stress and I played like a beginner.  My emotional state was a mess.  I cared too much about the judgments of others or even my own assessment of physical skills.  I wasn't anywhere close to "being in the zone" or giving a gold medal performance of skill. My functioning was state dependent

So where do I go from here?  How do I get that gold medal state of functioning?  I've taken to getting up early and riding over to the high school tennis courts to practice my serves and hitting tennis balls against a wall.  I'm making it a symbolic practice of putting on a little bit of stress, in a rhythmic, patterned, repetitive manner in order to improve my own brain functioning.  The stress of getting a fuzzy yellow ball over the net in a game situation is insignificant; optimal performance under stress is everything.  I want to be like Yusra Mardini, from the Olympic Refugee Team, who swam for 3 hours pulling a rubber boat to save 30 lives including her own.  I watched the little video clip and started bawling; how inspiring!  How much more important than winning a Olympic swimming race! That's optimal state dependent functioning deserving of a billion gold medals.  

Step In Time

This morning I was thinking about the production number, "Step In Time" from the broadway version of Mary Poppins.  This was the moment in the play when moved by artistic lyric and symbol, I brushed away my tears.  It was unexpected, since I've always hated this Disney classic, though I still refer to myself as "Mary Poppins" with treatment children.  However, I was open to seeing the broadway version of this musical while attending the Shakespeare Festival with my daughter this past weekend.  I was glad to hear from the festival's founder, Fred Adams, during the orientation how the musical version is different than the Disney movie and centers around Mr. Banks transformation.  It's also about the most important work we can do in this life. I know Mary Poppins gets top billing with her iconic magical umbrella, but I want to highlight Bert with his cleaning rod-that's what I'd put on my poster.  His work and the tools he uses are just as magical.

Bert is the first person we see in the play-he narrates it.  It helped that this Cedar City production had a particularly eye catching Bert.  Even the chimney sweep that came up into the balcony to sing made me smile with his handsome charisma.  But in the play and maybe in the movie as well, (I'm not going to watch it), Bert is represented as a jack of all trades, not just a chimney sweep.  He can do it all, and he doesn't seem bothered by his titles, reputation or lack thereof.  He just goes about doing his work with a cheerful attitude.  However, his most show stopping work is the big production dance number, "Step in Time" where he is covered in soot along with his helpers.  It was at this moment where I recognized that the lyrics leading up to this familiar dance ditty were different than the movie.  The lyricist, Anthony Drewe explains his effort to make a "textually more meaningful show-stopping sequence."  He stated, "our notion is that chimney sweeps, under the leadership of Bert, are like sooty faced guardian angels...The sweeps take up the call in this song lyric:

Brush away the dirt and soot, brush away your tears.
Cobwebs that aren't swept away hang around for years.
In all weather, up all hours, we can see for miles
Our idea of heaven is night out on the tiles.

We may look like a motley crew, smudged with tar and grime
But when you need a helping hand
We try to step in, try to step in, try to step in-just in time.

(This is where the sweeps break into the familiar tune"Step In Time:)

Mary Poppins and Bert then do a duet:

Childhood is a step in time
Parenthood's the same
Never mind a chance to get it right

Don't is seem a perfect crime?
Don't it seem a shame?
When the steps aren't going right
or as smoothly as they might
That's when we step in, step in time

Just remember when you're low

Feeling in the wars

Someone's up your chimney

And it isn't Santa Claus 

if you need us, if you don't

Doesn't make much odds

We'll be watching over you

brushes, brooms, and rods

Though the musical number was great and I appreciated the new lyrics, it wasn't until the following scene where this guardian angel theme really played out.  I didn't remember this scene being in the movie.  Bert and his filthy crew are milling about the family room looking very busy.  It's a little out of place in prim and proper English household complete with maids in white pinafores. I'm not certain whether Mr. Banks could see them or not, thus the allusion to the angels.  It was Bert who gave the father the letter requesting his late night attendance with his superiors.  It was Bert comforting the father, assuring him  things would work out and encouraging him to go.  Mr. Banks is at his lowest-he fears he will lose his job and will be stripped of everything.  His wife assures him that his family is beside him, supporting him all the way; it's putting family first and being with the people we love.  

Observing Bank's despair about employment reminded me of my own friends who are currently unemployed and searching for their place.  Our work is so entwined with our sense of worth. Without ennobling work, we find our self drifting, aimless.  I too, search for identity through work and what my pre-retirement goals should be. Sometimes I'm career minded and feel I must get my masters degree right away.  Other times, I feel it would be fine to do menial labor-whatever it takes to make ends meet and clean up my own messes. I suppose in the end, there is really no such thing as menial labor, even if we have to get our fingernails dirty.    

Thinking back on the scene with the sweeps, I realize they are filthy because of US and our junk!  It is our dirt and grime.  Sweeps are  trying to make our homes all English prim and proper.  It is our mistakes, sins, weaknesses, infirmities, hardships they are trying to take on-bear if you will.  For me, Bert is symbol of our the Savior and Heavenly Father.  Who is a better jack of all trades?  All things are done under His direction.  He is certainly watching over us.  His ministering angels surround us. They are doing His work.  We minister to others in like manner-everyone pitching in to clean up the mess.  Everyone helping with each others personal transformation-helping people make necessary changes; letting Christ change us.

Instead of viewing chimney sweeps as degrading, menial labor, it is the most necessary of professions because it helps others become clean and be comfortable with the people they love. It exalts others to a different station.  Who wants to sit around in a filthy house, or travel in a filthy car? Or live forever with someone who is super messed up and unwilling to make any changes?  We want to be clean without spot.  Not only guiltless, but spotless-as if sins and impurities were  lifted out of us like a floating Mary Poppins umbrella.  Or better yet, with a Bert's cleaning rod stepping in just in the nick of time to make it possible.    

Cheerleader

This morning I was thinking about the role of a cheerleader in offering social support.  Being a cheerleader and wearing a uniform was instant personal attention but the megaphones, pom poms, microphones, exaggerated moves-were intended to grab attention and lead the crowd in cheers to unify support. The big crowd chants and cheers were the BEST.  Cheerleading power led to community service and doing something less frivolous than merely shaking my butt.  The athletes remarked how they played better when they felt the crowd behind them.  It was in these moments when I wore my red and white Lancer uniform with pride. 

I remember how exciting it was to wear my cheer uniform for the first time. It was much less exciting by senior year wearing our cheer get ups 4 out of 5 days a week to show "support" whenever any sport had a game.  Some of the cheerleaders complained about never getting to wear her own clothes. Oh the hardship!  I remember another incident sitting around with our squad in the bleachers arguing about uniforms and hurt feelings.  Can't quite remember the specifics now.  It was just selfish and ugly.  It was also ugly when some of the cheerleaders basically told the dance teacher  to f off while refusing to have any kind of organized class -mean girls unleashed.

Why is it that we have a tendency to pull each other down, instead of cheer each other on?  What is so threatening about others success that we feel like we have to make it all about us?  Can you truly be happy for another person and encourage them to be their best-even if they are better than you?  In those moments when people ascend to the throne, are we like the hag yelling, "Queen of Refuse" and throwing rotten tomatoes?  I saw that yesterday in my small microcosm of a little girls during an expression group.  It seemed like a good idea at the time-give them a microphone to sing and support one another.  It quickly became apparent whoever held the microphone, held the the scepter of power. It was the "all about me" show. Whoever held the microphone also became the target.  One little girl received quite the verbal lashing from her peers.  Group focus of expression and social support definitely not met. One particularly dysregulated girl, yelled "BOOOO" with so much venom, or in this case spittle drooling down her beet red face, it seemed like her head was spinning around and eyes were popping out.  Can you see it?  I sure could all last night, as visions of my own tribe of mean girls danced through my head.  It was no surprise that singer had difficulty ignoring the taunting, left the room crying, and stated how everyone hated her.

I contrast that to the feeling I had earlier in the week while participating in the temple to temple run/walk.  Throughout the 5k, there was such a spirit of community.  It was a family run-high school teens from x-country teams, kids on push scooters,  mothers strolling their babies, lots of people young and old walking, even a couple of people pushing a handcart in pioneer garb. There was more peer pressure to walk than to keep up with the fit crowd. Missionaries were sprinkled along the path giving us high fives; hair salon students were gathered on the corner banging gongs and chanting cheers; strangers were gathered near the finish line, all clapping and cheering everyone-one by one. The scene was so supportive of every individual effort-cheering us on to finish our race.  It made me cry as I thought of the truth of the moment.

I have people on the other side, and people living right now-people all around me who love me and are cheering me on with a great big smile. Together they chant and tell me to valiantly finish my race. My race might be not be of the same athletic caliber of my peers, but it is still my trek.  Some of these people are close to me, others are strangers I barely know me but they still add their voices. The sound of the crowd encourages me.  It gives me courage to keep fighting-keep pressing forward.  I need much less tomato throwing and much more pom poms shaking.  Oh how I need cheerleaders!

Mike Heritage?

This morning I was thinking about a Navajo woman I met last week with the last name of "Mike".  What the heck?  Wanting to learn more about the background of her very common name, I asked about her background.  Come to learn it was common practice for the U.S. Calvary to bequeath their first names such as Mike, Henry, George-whatever as surnames to individuals in her Navajo nation.  I was embarrassed and a bit outraged of yet another humiliation inflicted by the "white man" while attempting to strip these Native Americans of their national pride and heritage.  I suppose it could be seen as a way to pledge allegiance to a new nation and create a new identity, but Mike...come on- what kind of heritage is that? It just seems like your name should reflect where you came from and where you want to go, or more importantly, what you want to be.  We want to honor our names, respect our heritage and continue the legacy.

I treasure my last name O'Malley.  I love my dad.  I'm grateful for my genetics-the good characteristics, even some of the bad traits tie me to him and help me remember him.  While doing family history I give preferential  treatment to my ancestors bearing that surname or at least I seem to have more fervor learning about my Irish roots.  I don't have to be Native American to identify with the concept of "my people."  Summertime is a great season for family reunions and I continue to feel the power of gathering together with my people and feeling the strength and support stemming from family identity.

Today we conclude our celebration of Pioneer Day here in Utah.  It's a big deal.  People in Utah have all sorts of reasons to break out the fireworks.  The celebration is prolonged when it falls on a Sunday, making it "necessary" to celebrate the day before and after the Sabbath.  As part of this celebration I'm participating in a 5K Temple to Temple Run/Walk.  It's only fitting that we do some time of trek to honor our pioneers.  The little running bib says, "Today is dedicated to the memory of ...."  I wrote the name of my aunt who recently passed away after having her leg amputated. A couple of years ago, she expressed a desire for the temple work to be completed for her father even though she was not a member of the church.  I honor her today.  She is a modern day pioneer and I'm sure she's trekking with 2 good legs now.

Yesterday I had our choir "trek" around the picnic tables in the pavilion as we practiced our little pioneer song we're singing next week.  The lyrics are worth memorizing and internalizing.

"We left our home, to come to earth, we're working to pass the test.  We're learning of our true worth, with faith we'll do our best.  When Satan's winds will rattle, we will overcome.  We're trekking through life's battles and we won't stop till we've won.  We will endure to the end.  Our Heavenly Father will protect and blessing he will send, until we conquer this trek."

As I learn of my true worth, I rely on my Heavenly heritage.  No one can strip me of my true identity-where I came from-who I am.  It may be hidden but the genetic material is still there-waiting to be uncovered.  Pres. Uchtdorf stated in April conference:

"The fundamental divinity of our nature remains.  And the moment we choose to incline our heart to our beloved Savior, and set foot upon the path of discipleship, something miraculous happens.  The love of God fills our heart, the light of truth fills our minds, and we start to lose the desire to sin, and we do not want to walk any longer in darkness.  We come to see obedience not as a punishment but as a liberating path of our divine destiny.  And gradually, the corruption, dust, and limitations of this earth begin to fall away.  Eventually, the priceless, eternal spirit of the heavenly being within us is revealed, and the radiance of goodness become our nature. "

I'm grateful for the opportunity to take upon the name of Christ every week.  I'm grateful for covenant names associated with temple worship. These names are fitting of our heritage-much more glorious than any kind of "Mike" surname. 

Spa Robe Coverage

This morning I was thinking about spa robes and being covered.  During my 2 days of being stranded at LAX last week,  my airline put us up for a night's stay in a pretty fancy hotel.  For me, a hotel is "fancy" when everything appears to be brand new, ultra modern and there is a white Egyptian Cotton spa rope hanging up in the closet.  Feeling a little beat up from the airport,  I was all over that action.  I took an insanely long hot shower with the massage shower head, used every drop of the free toiletries, tenderly put lotion all over my tired body, covered up in the white robe and slippers and plopped on the bed. Wrapping up in a clean, white, spa robe makes me feel special and that I deserve a great big hug. This is luxury.  It stood in stark contrast to flying on the cheapo airline that doesn't even serve water or peanuts, makes you pay to use the overhead bins,  and can't seem to replace or repair a plane to carry us back to Provo.  Happens the original plane had some type of malfunction due to a bird flying into the engine. Go figure.  Utah Lake IS one of the best places for bird watching in the state of Utah-perhaps not the best place for an airport.  Nevertheless when we finally landed at 3:30 a.m. Saturday morning, the flight attended reminded us that even though it had taken them longer than expected, (2 days versus 1 hour) the airline had flown us safely to our destination.   I admit, I felt relief when the plane's wheels finally touched down at our rinky dink airport. Besides our fancy hotel, the company fed us expensive airport food for 2 days and gave us 200$ worth of airline credit  All these perks including the spa robe reminded me even though we were at their mercy and had no control over the situation, they made an effort to take care of their passengers-or at least they tried to. They had us covered.

If I'm not covered, then I'm exposed, naked, vulnerable, unprotected, unsafe; it's flying by the seat of my pants. Stiff penalties are levied against those who drive without insurance coverage.  As a society-we demand it.  We know accidents happen-all the time.  Bad things happen- all the time.  The sky is falling-all the time.   We want to know when those bad things happen, someone's going to swoop in and fix it-make it all better, or at least for the other guy we accidentally hit and maimed. That's the law.  Coverage isn't luxury, it's necessity.  Who wants to drive a dented up piece a junk all through high school?  My then 15 yr old son wished my insurance covered his mishaps when taking my car in the dead of night while I slept.  With my income, I couldn't afford to make it all better one my own and my insurance surely wouldn't cover that situation.

With my beat up life, I can't afford to fix it on my own.  I metaphorically drive around with a huge dent in my door, the convertible top is busted and won't retract, the headlights are busted,  rearview mirror is swinging, the vinyl is ripped.  It doesn't even come close to having the new car smell it use to have. We kept driving that car and tried to make the best of it.   Recently someone noted how with my first marriage, I had been trying to make the best of a bad situation but how I could have made different choices to influence my children for the better.  Just because my "relationship car" still had workable, good features-it didn't make it a keeper. Focusing on the good part doesn't make the whole good. It's lost it's inherent value-the Kelley Blue Book buyback price.  No one could swoop in and fix it and restore it to factory condition.  Since the premium of covenant keeping wasn't paid, I didn't have coverage.

I want to be covered.  I want to be protected.  I want the embrace. More luxurious than any spa robe or superwow comprehensive car insurance is the coverage offered through the Savior's grace.

Russell M. Nelson states, "  In Hebrew, the basic word for atonement is kahar, a verb that means "to cover" or "to forgive."  Closely related is the Aramaic and Arabic word kafat, meaning "a close embrace"-no doubt related to the Egyptian ritual embrace.  References to that embrace are evident in the Book of Mormon.  One states that "the Lord hath redeemed my soul...; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love.Another proffers the glorious hope of our being “clasped in the arms of Jesus." I weep for joy when I contemplate the significance of it all. To be redeemed is to be atoned—received in the close embrace of God with an expression not only of His forgiveness, but of our oneness of heart and mind. What a privilege! "

Jesus Christ swoops in and makes it all better-my very own hold harmless clause.  Through his grace I am justified.  Jesus Christ also enables me to be a changed person as I continue to repent.  Through his grace I am sanctified. Through his continuous atonement and my continual conversion,  He is able to separate out my evil and my desire for evil and lift it out of me- remove it, burn and purify, make holy, so the whole is good. Though I beat myself up for past choices, I had faith in the atonement then, and I still do.  His incomparable grace wraps me up helping me to feel I am being cared for-even pampered at times.  "...These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb."  (Revelation 7:14)   I join my voice to Nephi as he pleads, "O Lord, wilt thou encircle me around in the robe of thy righteousness." Now that's coverage!

Getting Naked

This morning I was thinking about getting naked-stripping off layers-standing there totally exposed-vulnerable-and unprotected.  I don't consider myself a physically loose person.  In terms of experience and exposure-I've had little. I don’t know what it would be like to get drunk, wake up in some random’s bed, gather my clothes and sheepishly make my way out the back door.  Yet emotionally, I think I did that recently.  At least I know what it felt like to have impaired judgement, let loose, freely express myself, lose control, share intimate details about my life, stand there emotionally naked, be judged according to my various flaws and performance, and then proceed to get dressed-put the layers back on, retrace my steps and leave, not as friends, but as mere acquaintances.  It’s got me scratching me head asking, “What the hell was that?”  That was me being loose topped off with a pinch of stupid.  What was I thinking?

Recently I bumped into what my daughter refers to as a "cuddle whore".  I found myself cuddling with a stranger then following it up with some emotional intimacy.  Cuddling is it’s own drug.  Complete with the release of oxytocin, it’s pretty easy to feel bonded to someone after cuddling.  It’s super dangerous, even if it’s labeled as harmless, meaningless cuddling or pretend bonding. I think it’s actually more potent than kissing.  Cuddling makes me feel like I’m with someone I can trust; Cuddling creates an environment where I feel safe and protected-like no matter what has happened in the past, or whatever storm is currently brewing- it will all be okay…Trust me.

I don’t have a lot of experience with cuddling either.  Primarily, I cuddled with my first husband.  It was the cement holding our marriage together-making me feel safe in an unsafe relationship for 23 years..  So when I had the opportunity to cuddle after all these years, I must admit it was warm and wonderful.  Even though it stressed me out enough to get the mother lode of all cold sores the next day- it was worth it…I think.

Perhaps if I would have just called it quits after joining this guy’s cuddle harem and being another notch in his belt,  I wouldn’t have felt that "morning after" sensation-like I just had sex with a stranger.  If I would have kept it casual- friendly-but on the surface.  I should have followed suit when he gave me a fake name and profession.  Why share any truth and risk exposing myself? Instead of being irritated, I should have admired his flippant response to my honest inquiry. Who wants people to just throw up all over them?  Keep your insides to yourself-thank you very much!  Why do you have to dig so deep Erin?  No, it was the cuddling in conjunction with the next couple days of personal disclosure;  after all-this guy could only ever be a friend-he was not interested in a relationship with me.  He was only a consultant.  A teacher.  A potential safe friend.  The all-wise Yoda Cuddle Master.

  Because I didn’t feel like I had to impress this guy at all, I could totally relax and say whatever.  I stripped away all pretense. I felt I was genuinely sharing what was going on in my fractured mind. I sought greater clarity.  I was ready and willing to learn.    I didn’t mind being called out on all my crap.  I could take responsibility for my actions and own my past decisions.  I could try to examine my past dysfunctional patterns I tend to perpetuate.   I could be confronted and accept objective feedback from a person who did not know me, love me, or admire me.  I could just stand there naked and not be afraid.  Or at least I thought I could.

Maybe I like a little flattery every once in a while.  Or how about a sincere compliment.  Or heck, maybe even a little positive focus-what’s good about me or even praiseworthy.  Sometimes even a little lie can help build confidence when it comes to my naked appearance in the bedroom.  I loved that about both of my husbands. I knew the truth about my bodily imperfections, but they made me feel like I didn’t have any.  There was less judgement and more acceptance-even unconditional love. Whatever.  That’s okay.  I’m not a victim or a saint.  I could have made different decisions in regards to my family relationships.   I can still make different decisions.  I shouldn’t mind honest feedback of being messed up.

What I did know, was it was time to put my clothes back on.  It was time to detach and pull away.  I had enough info.  I wasn’t thirsting for more analysis or knowledge.  Whatever it was-it was coming to an end.  My takeaway is learning from my experience.  I have some great information (Of course I just lost my red notebook containing that information while being stranded in the airport for the last  6 hours, but hey, I remember some things).   I have some additional insights.  I want to change for the better. I have increased awareness, including a little more empathy of being intimate with strangers…or lets just say, what NOT to do.  It’s embarrassing. Perhaps I can be more modest with the sharing of personal details.  I can proceed with caution instead of being so gullible and  trusting.  According to my “Yoda” on the hill, when you’re not healthy enough for a intimate relationship, you shouldn’t remain sequestered in your room watching Netflix all the time-you need to get out and interact, but  you need to have consistent and firm boundaries. That’s why he sticks to cuddling.  I think it applies to emotional boundaries as well when deciding how much to reveal to another person and vice versa.  The “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” can be a recipe for disaster.  Maybe he had it right all along when the only thing I knew about him was that he was Fernando the Drug Dealer.  So who I am?  Hmmmm- Let’s see…Well, I’m Shaniqua the street walker getting naked with strangers.

Clutter Chaos Creation

This morning I was thinking about clutter, chaos, and creation and their relationship with each other. Last month I dealt with other people's clutter.  Motivated by a desire to help these individuals feel less overwhelmed by their messy, cluttered living spaces and having some organization skills, I found myself navigating in a sea of chaos.  Most people wouldn't dare to let you in rooms of their disaster areas of their homes.  It's just too personal and embarrassing.  These individuals took a chance and trusted I'd help without judging, taking advantage or being disrespectful while sorting through their personal possessions.  Typically, when a  visitor comes, we'd rather show them our nicely decorated, clean living spaces.  It's better to keep the mess hidden-it's too much to organize.  However, no one wants to drown in their own stuff.

When dealing with clutter, perhaps I'm just willing to take it on-go inside the proverbial "belly of the beast"  Yuck!  When I'm sizing up chaos, I try to follow some basic principles. Have many containers big and small to put items that are alike. Take it slow and careful.  I am not a de-junker who simply throws all the stuff quickly and randomly into boxes and gets rid of it to clear the apartment for the next tenant.  No matter how tempting it is to start fresh and clean without any stuff, sometimes I must deal with it piece by piece and decide first what it is, how the person might value it and where it could possibly go.  Sometimes I have to do micro-organizing with lots of little items.  I scatter the pieces in a large space so I can see what I'm looking at- then gather things and synthesize.  As I clear areas of shelves, drawers etc, I start to view these areas as potential spaces to put the like things I have gathered.  Deciding how each area will be used requires imagination and insight into the person's values.  The goal is to have easy access to the things that matter most.  What's the good of organizing if you can't find anything? Once everything has a place, it becomes a maintenance task-basic household cleaning.  It's the good ole' have a place for everything and put everything in it's place.

Objects represent values.  Usually after a while, a pattern starts to develop of the different categories of stuff.  It's not as broad as we would like to think.  These areas I'm trying to repurpose must represent these values, even showcase them or protect them.  By organizing a person's stuff, I can support them in what they value and hopefully give them access to do what they want to do.  If you love fixing things-here's all your tools organized.  If you love crafts-here's all your supplies organized-go at it.  If you love flying kites-here they are-go and use them and don't just let them sit around as cool Christmas presents you gave 5 years ago.   Here are your resources!  Do something with your life man!

I can't multitask when organizing.  I need all my wits about me.  It's the gathering and synthesis that requires creative energy.  It's starting with chaos and then putting things together.  That's how I create. It's my big bang theory.   About 20 years ago I tried to explain my creative process in a book I wrote for primary choristers.  I stated, "If you were to step inside my head, you might not like what you see.  For one thing, it would be a mess-much like my house.  Utter chaos is what my creativity thrives on...Chaos requires tremendous flexibility of thought as I take one starting point and essentially blow it apart into many different ideas.  I make the giant mess on the floor.  Then I focus my attention on the task at hand and clean the mess up.  These are the same steps I use in my creative process:  The initial idea or starting point, the chaos of thoughts and finally the focused synthesis of ideas."

This week I should have been embarrassed as I showed someone my cluttered, chaotic mind.  It was a mess, or as he called it"nutzo" and "scatterbrain."  Talk about a mess of wires of neural activity! Yet, I don't want to de-junk and yank out all my tangled wiring and throw it in a pile.  I can become a master organizer to de-clutter and create. I can use that scatterbrain quality to blow things apart in my inner space and start to gather and synthesize concepts-get down to the nuts and bolts of my "nutzo" mind.  That's hardware my friend and can ultimately help hold things together-to make important neural connections. I can group similar concepts, sort things according to my highest values, establish a place for them so I can ultimately find and access these resources and utilize them fully.  As I examine ideas, I need to first figure out what they are,  decide their value, and then create a place for them and access them-put ideas into action.  I'm certain there will be ideas to discard.  I don't have to keep everything.  But there is all sorts of good stuff I will find as I organize my cluttered mind.  I too, will be able to use my resources and can go about the business of living life in a creative yet organized manner.   I can do something with my life!