Much to my dismay, not everything in life can fit into perfect little boxes, or nestle into aligned spots on shelves. Not everything can be contained. Not everything can be labeled.

 

I’m kidding! Yes, everything can be wrangled, categorized, contained, and labeled! But, let me be clear: by “everything” I mean every thing. Material items. Not people, feelings, ideas, or beliefs.

 

Because let’s be honest here: organization is about control. That’s a good thing, for the most part. You want order and control in your home. You don’t want to live in a house that resembles a ball pit at Discovery Zone. You want your things to be used, maintained, and stored properly so that you’ll get your money’s worth. So that your home is orderly, but also comfortable and cozy. Control is good, in that sense.

 

When you let control get out of control, that’s bad.

 

We all want control in our lives, and we all have different ways of seeking control. Some of us use food or alcohol to create a sense of control. Some of us use exercise. Some of us use lack of food to feel in control our lives. Others use people—pleasing people to gain control, intimidating people to gain control. Some of us hoard things to gain control. Some of us purge things to gain control.

 

I definitely want to be in control of my life. I definitely purge things and organize to trick myself into thinking I’m in control of my life.

 

The reality is… I’m not. No one person is in or has control. I believe God is in control. Others believe the Universe is. Others may deem fate in control. And others might believe there is no one steering the ship. But it still boils down to control.

 

How do you trick yourself into thinking you’re in control? Something to think about.

 

Back to my post about actually having control over material items: yeah, let’s wrangle that stuff! Put a label on it. Makes me feel better. How about you?

 

Okay, so there are some things that really, truly don’t fit perfectly into drawers or on hangers or upon shelves.

 

Those things need baskets.

 

BASKETS! Where do I throw a wad of junk I find in my husband’s coat pockets? Obviously somewhere he will least expect it—which will then infuriate him and cause him to stomp around the house in panic mode wondering where I put his stuff. I used to do that to my dad. When I got married, my dad told my husband, “She’s your problem now. Better hide your stuff.” Muahaha.

 

Yes. I throw his tangled headphones into a tin on the nightstand.

 

I throw his random trinkets—fake glasses(??!!), gum, breath spray (?!!), keys—into a little bowl.

 

I roll wash cloths, nestle them into this super cute basket, and throw a body brush along side them.

 

 

I throw loose tea bags into a cute little basket in the pantry.

 

 

Gold bracelets and a tiara I won from a Sparkly Dress Party for having the sparkliest dress? Bowl. Not a basket. But, a bowl is like a basket.

 

I stick bananas in a beautiful basket until they become overripe or we eat them all, whichever comes first (once they’re overripe, I make banana bread, so as never to waste food).

 

 

And just about any other loose item is thrown into a basket if it doesn’t have a place.

 

Because baskets always make uncategorized, random items look that much better.

 

Put it in a basket and pretend you have control. That’s how I live life.

 

Have a Happy Thanksgiving!

 

 

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