Humour: Delight in disorder

If a cluttered desk is a sign of a cluttered mind, of what, then, is an empty desk a sign?

—Albert Einstein

Few quotes attributed to geniuses reassure me as much as this simple one by one of the world’s most famously complex brains. There is a delight in disorder – to pinch a phrase from the 17th century poet, Robert Herrick – that is undermined by everyone from Sigmund Freud to Marie Kondo. And it’s not just about desks. From kitchen cabinets to dashboards and from office drawers to desktop screens, messes abound in our everyday lives. And yet we’re so puritanical about them. The less-than-immaculate are constantly berated by the super-organised at the slightest opportunity. Where does this freakishly neat streak come from in our collective living?

Transcendental cleaning

With humans working from home at a hitherto unheard of scale, the focus on tidy living is greater than ever. I have friends cleaning their homes for close to five or six hours a day! Now that exclamation point does not begin to do justice to my abject horror. These bewildering times are revealing us to ourselves, it seems. Corporate overachievers are now obsessing about non-existent cobwebs. Renowned actors are scrubbing surfaces clean with the zeal of criminals erasing incriminating fingerprints. Athletes are lithely climbing ladders to peep into lofts and reorder their contents.

As ever, I beg to differ. I tried being the model self-isolator at the beginning of this tragic-comic distancing journey. Like so many women in so many magazines, I decided to take charge of my life by cleaning my cupboard. An interminable hour later, I was done. Let me frankly report that all I had at the end of the exercise was a clean cupboard. No transcendental visions. No feeling of unbearable lightness. Not even a lasting sense of accomplishment.

Dust if you must

Which leads me to a logical conclusion. Perhaps tidiness is the province of those with an access to the mystical realm. Maybe those of us who are not able to channel its much-touted blessings are spiritually bankrupt. I’ve tested this with dishes in the sink, clothes in the washing machine and the indescribable assemblage on the bedside table. Nope. Sorting, cleaning and arranging is not the soul-cleansing remedy that is widely advertised. It just passes the time between bouts of philosophical wondering. A book or a movie works better.

There is, of course, that ultimate frontier that I’m saving for a really, really desperate day: dusting. Life is too short, like that Rose Milligan poem liberatingly proclaims, to dust.

Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be betterTo paint a picture, or write a letter,Bake a cake, or plant a seed;Ponder the difference between want and need?

Couch and crayons

There is, of course, a big obstacle to the peaceful progress of the charmingly messy. Cohabiting with list-makers and paper-filers, labellers and staplers can be quite a challenge. They breathe down your neck when you’re in your unmade bed with all the books you woke up thinking about. They raise an eyebrow when you aim for the clothes stand with your ancient, unwashed jeans. They cluck their tongues when you spill turmeric powder on the white marble of the kitchen. (Okay, this I understand.) Cut us some slack, oh ye of unattainable standards!

It is the homes with children and pets that give me hope. Freed from all the constraints of structure and appearance, they offer a glimpse into a world where couches and crayons are friends, and creases and stains are the norm. They are where the unkempt go to feel superior. Just thinking about them now makes me feel good. These perplexing times are difficult enough. Let’s not make matters worse by holding ourselves to impossible ideals.For starters, try tilting the frame hanging in the living room wall so it rests at a jaunty angle. Next week, we’ll learn how to ignore the curtain hem that has come loose. Precision’s just got good PR. Sweet disorder is where it’s at.

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