I am reading The Happiness Project at the moment. Its a brilliant book that I, of course, could have and should have written myself. What I like most at the moment (I am on page 99 of 301) is the 1 minute rule and the evening tidy up. I agree with my friend Gretchen here when she says that clutter and mess destroys the soul. It destroys my soul. There is nothing worse than coming downstairs to find a baby bottle with curdled milk in it, plates on the side with dried up dinner on and a general feeling of halls of residence.
I know I said in my last post that what makes me happy is what I enjoyed in my youth, in fact I am listening to 'What difference does it make' by The Smiths right now, but my youthful times in the halls of residence kitchen was not one of them. So I have started introducing the evening tidy up and the 1 minute rule.
Evening tidy up. Straight away I need to say that my resistance level is supersonic. Its a battle that I have won twice, last night and the night before so I can say that I have achieved my goals to date but it makes me feel slightly agitated and annoyed. What I recognize is that I like the house to be tidy. I visit other peoples homes and they have this kind of couture mess and I admire it. I like random frayed photos hanging around, I love the old blanket slung on the back of the sofa look, I enjoy seeing books half read, papers opened on a table, children's paints out but it never seems to look that good in my own home. I just see it as another job.
Every evening after getting the girls to bed I clear up. I do it because it makes me feel better. Call it control freak, call me uptight, but right now, when my day is all about stuff everywhere, there is a moment in my evening when it is adult time, toys are put aside, smushed banana in the carpet is cleared up, little peoples shoes are put away and the washing machine is not going. Its satisfying.
1 minute rule. For me this rule has given me quite a realisation of who it actually is that puts things off ALL THE TIME. For example. I see the water cups on our bedside table and I think, I'll take them downstairs later, or I pick them up and leave them on the dining room table and think, I'll wash them later. Either way, the actual task of picking them up, taking them to the kitchen, slinging them in the dishwasher or , heaven forbid, actually manually washing them up, would take a moment, a minute, in fact. So every time I see a job I think to myself, how long would that take? And if its about a minute, I just do it. I get a letter for Alice to have an appointment at the doctors. Old me would put it on a pile with all the other letters and blurb, then I would write a to do list to include calling the doctor, then I would lose the bit of paper, then I would reorganise all my paperwork and find it again, then I would call the doctor, put a tick in the to do list box that I had neatly drawn next to it, and it would be done. This time I just called the doctors, made an appointment and wrote it on the calender.
Why do I make my life more difficult than it should be?
More importantly, why am I always writing to do lists? Is it because I don't have a job? I am a mum at home. I write to do lists. I am therefore legitimising all my daily actions by weighting them down in a list, anchoring them with a box and rewarding myself with a tick.
Kate, get a grip.
x
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