I love that my life is a mess – a continuously evolving, and lately upwards-trajectory kind of mess.
Three weeks ago, I was going through a phase of relative boredom, or the rarest of calm weeks – until life saw my misery and decided to toss me some curveballs again.
Now, I have a new job coming up in two months, am moving into a new house with a garden that needs work, a workshop that needs to be cleared and fully made mine, and a main building that needs to be renovated. I do that in between my main job and my side job milking cows, and making and selling my scrap art – there is just no shortage of tasks, and I love it.
Not all my weeks are like this, but the good ones are, and this being my tenth move in thirty years means that I have grown used to the fresh air of fresh places. Over the years, I have found a certain routine in the chaos that surrounds moving, quitting, starting, building and repairing, or tearing down and ripping out.
The best days are those that don’t go as planned, and that can easily be achieved by surrounding yourself with chaos of the good kind. To give you an idea of how my life looked over the previous week:
I switched between tearing down wallpaper, trying to find the garden underneath all those rabid plants, clearing the house of the previous owner’s trash, cleaning the workshop, taking some loose steps from the porch, tearing down an old wooden structure with my chainsaw, then using a somewhat functional board from that to enclose the steps so that I can later pour some concrete.
I also bought garden and tool supplies, fixed two rain barrels that weren’t connected, bought a pump to pump out two others. I have a pressure washer now and a wood splitter en route to me, and I haven’t yet managed to figure out how to turn the outside water on. I went up on the attic and threw about a metric ton of useless trash downstairs, then disassembled an old wooden bed frame to later make some shelves out of it.
At my old apartment, I am packing boxes, cleaning doors, painstakingly removing scratches from the wall so that the landlord doesn’t realize I leaned my bike against it. Everything is packed up, labeled, waiting for my friends to come in a few weeks and help me out – and I am starting to get on the nerves of store clerks who have to keep giving me empty banana boxes. I crave banana boxes, they are so much better than normal moving boxes, and people just don’t realize.
In between, I’m getting sales on my scrap art store, have to bring what I already brought to the new house back to the old, pack it up and deliver it to the 24/7 post box at damn near midnight – but money’s money, and orders made are promises kept, or something.
And then, on a quiet hour, in the evening after I handed in my two-months-notice at work, I realize that I haven’t done any work on my website project, and I might as well take care of that, and rebuild the whole site.
These are the times when I am happiest, and my life is at its most complex, and least complicated. I love that I can afford to get into this reactionary flow where I hardly have time to think things through, and time is of the essence. Contrary to what most people think, these are the simplest times in life, because everything makes sense. I have a wood stove now, so I need a wood splitter, so I order one without much thinking. I have stumbled my way into a job interview that I wasn’t even looking for, so now I have to sign a bunch of paperwork, resign at my old job, and I can push aside the question of whether I am making a smart choice, because there is another room to renovate.
The best phases of my life have always been like this, the ones where I made most progress, the fastest. I have long stopped questioning life’s waves and why they wash over me, and have begun to enjoy them as much as they used to stress me out and drive me insane. Trying to maintain stability is an expensive pipe dream that I can not afford, and compartmentalization is what really allows me to survive and thrive. I struggle to come up with a freak accident that would make me lose my house, my friends, my job and my car in one fell swoop – and each of those could cover the fallout of losing any of the others.
To me, that is what brings me peace and actual tranquility, without the drawbacks that usually come with that. This way, my life is always good for a story or two, and I can trade those for happy friends who are willing to lend a hand. I have a friend with a van, some more with arms to carry and time to spare – and I have done enough work for them to make me feel comfortable asking for help back.
Until then, I’m using my trusty Volvo wagon to transport anything that fits, which is everything, and I just exclude the furniture because it’s more efficient to keep that for once the guys and gals arrive.
It’s the good life, and I love the simplicity of a complex life.