I’ve always wanted to get my life organized, Then I’d know what I’m doing now, Maybe tomorrow too. It would also help compensate my past disorganization. What is that saying again? “If I’d only been organized, what my life could have been!” No, that’s not it, but it’ll have to do.

Truth be told, I am an organized person. My space is neat and my pens are in a row. I have an agenda, and I love to make lists. I’ve got things under control. Even if I don’t. What it is is that I’m organized in my disorganization.

My thinking is that being too organized is worse. You’re left staring into the abyss of “what now?” With everything sorted and labelled, boxed and stacked, pruned and jarred, all the plans and people in your life ordered, there’s only the plans for the plot and stone. And that’s just stupid. Better to have never bothered at all.

The ephemeral is the thing, the magic and tingling, the joy of stepping out and seeing what’s next. And so, yes, to the organization, but only to the point where the moments are furrowed so that things may happen, knowing there’s a drawer full of clean underwear for the morrow.