Ordering the Chaos

In the course of the past few weeks, I think the word that I have most often used to describe my life has been "chaotic" or "disorganized."

I have been living out of a suitcase for the last two months.
A month ago, I moved 14 hours north of my hometown.
Three weeks ago, I started work on a new campus.
Two days ago, I moved into a new apartment, sans furniture of any form.

Yet today, suddenly, I feel a tad bit calmer and more settled. What changed, you might ask? Well, friends, that's quite simple:

I installed a rod in my closet for hanging clothes and I built my own dresser (save the applause; I already know that you're impressed!).

And, lest you be thinking... "uhhhh, KG, are you sure that you haven't been dipping into the wacky tobaccy? Cuz that doesn't sound particularly logical to me..."

Before you write this off as a sappy and irrelevant rambling, allow me to make my point: I think there is something in all of us that longs for order. Systems. Guidelines. Parameters. Some semblance of expectations. There is something indescribable about feeling like you have a "place," even tangibly a "place" to put your stuff. Even the free-spirits among us seem to thrive more when given a system to rebel against.

For those of you who know me well, you know that I am not a stickler for order. Just look in my closet for proof. I thrive on not conforming to social norms. I enjoy being unexpected. And I have never been particularly organized. Myers-Briggs, I am almost entirely a "P." But at the same time, there is something in me that longs for things to "fit together," "to feel right," "to belong," "to be understandable." In other words, to have some semblance of order.

Maybe, just maybe, this is because we were created for one system, wherein everything had its place, there was beauty in the disarray and in the meticulous arrangement, and each part of creation belonged. Each part knew its role, its place, and its individual and communal beauty.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something in us that knows we were made for something better: a place not of inexplicable chaos, but a place of "belonging."

And maybe for me, that is reflected in my longing to unpack.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go place my shoes in their proper place: haphazardly strewn on the floor.