Wishing?

I wish the semblance of organization in my mind would manifest itself in my everyday life. I want to be like those people in Southern Living with perfectly beautiful, always neat homes that seem to say “Come in!” (they also say “Don’t touch!” but that’s for later!). I wish my expenses were all carefully organized in an Excel document and that I balanced my checkbook on occasion. I wish all my clothes were neatly hung up in my closet, and that my dresser wasn’t cluttered with an assortment of hairpins, slips of paper with seemingly important information scrawled on them, and various tubes and bottles. I wish my kitchen cabinets were worthy of Martha Stewart stopping by to inspect them. I wish the project work I have to get done this weekend wasn’t spread out in 2 notebooks, 3 sheets of paper, and two Word documents. I wish all the recipes I want to make before I die were all laminated and organized in a 3 ring binder, instead of being written on miscellaneous index cards and envelope flaps. I wish my purse contained only the essentials —keys, phone, Kleenex, mace J instead of the “what if I need it?” items that are crammed in there (someone might stop breathing around me and that CPR mask would sure come in handy!). I wish my schedule was consistent and that I really went running every Monday/Wednesday/Friday/Saturday. I wish the thousands of photos on my computer were efficiently arranged into correctly named folders, all stored under “My Pictures”. I wish that I could promptly reply to all the letters and emails waiting on me. I wish that when I made banana bread half the flour didn’t end up sprinkled over the floor and dusting my shirt. I wish that when I walked I could always keep walking, but instead I make contact with gravel, rocks, doors, and people that you’re really not supposed to. I wish I would remember to water my plants, instead of letting them die slow, withered deaths.
I could go on, but you probably get the point . . . .
I know some of these things I can change, and I should, and I do try (sometimes). But then I think, “Whoa! I’m in my mid-20s; I’m set in my ways--I’m going to be like this when I am 80!!” And I panic for a moment and think maybe I should be a little more neurotic about all these things.
Yet, yet . . . . do these things really matter? The world around me would have me believe that they do, indeed, matter greatly. How many self-help books can I find to help me be a better, more organized, more prepared, more perfect person? Insomuch as these things truly do reflect my heart and mind, then yes, those things certainly need to be worked on and changed so that even in the small things I might “work as unto the Lord”.
But in all truth, I’d rather spend less time, energy, and stress on dusting the corners and more on always having a cup of coffee ready for someone who needs a friend. I’d rather have a clean toilet than a designer home. I’d rather serve Mexican chicken soup that simmered all day than “fried papaya strips with mango salsa” that I spent all day on and no one wants to eat. I’d rather be a messy cook than a take-out queen. I’d rather have an allowance and let someone else keep my accounts straight (hey, I can wish!!).
I realize these things aren’t all mutually exclusive. And maybe someday I’ll get it all together, I’ll be able to have that perfectly neat home and always be able to find my last bank statement. But more than that, I hope that when I am 80 I can look back and not regret how I spent my time and energy.
So come on over. The coffee’s ready and the no-bake cookies are on their way. Just push over that stack of clothes on the sofa and have a seat!