Epilogue

There is a famous Sufi story about Mullah Nasrudin, who is a combination of fool and wise man. Several people come upon Nasrudin and are surprised to see him outside of his house on his hands and knees searching the ground under a lamppost. “What are you doing?” they asked. “I’m looking for my keys,” he answered. So they got down on their hands and knees and starting looking as well. After a little time went by and they had no success, one thought to ask him, “Where did you lose your keys?” “Inside my house,” Nasrudin answered. “Then why are you looking out on the street?” they asked. “Because there is more light out here,” he replied.

At first we tend to think that Nasrudin is just being ridiculous. How silly, we would never do something so absurd. But, upon reflection, perhaps we are much like him. We look for lost items where there is plenty of light, where we can see. However, it’s hard to find your keys when you are looking in the wrong place. One way of thinking about this story is that, when we lose a precious item, we tend to look in the obvious places outside of ourselves. Perhaps, we first need to investigate the darker areas inside ourselves in order to find what we are looking for. If the keys are on the inside, we can look outside all we want and never find them. Another completely different way of thinking about this story is that Nasrudin wasn’t really looking for his keys at all. Rather, he just wanted to get help with his search, so he looked outside, in the light, where people could see him. As his neighbors joined him in searching the street, he got exactly what he wanted: companionship.

The path of organizing is about finding the keys inside ourselves and the companionship to make the search easier. If there is one thing you gain from reading this book, I hope it is that you can find help and fellowship in clearing up. You may have to reveal to others that you are “on the path” of organizing. Risky, perhaps, but worth it. Some of us have the feeling that we are always looking for something, usually alone. Now, perhaps, we can look together. The journey does not have to be so lonely. What we are looking for may be our keys, wallet, checkbook, a bill to pay, or a letter from a friend. Perhaps the item may also represent something deeper that we seek: wisdom, soul, or spiritual knowledge. We can join together in this quest and learn from each other.

In his book Going on Being, Dr. Mark Epstein relates the tale of “a Muslim man who was put into prison for a crime he did not commit. A friend came to visit and smuggled him a present, a prayer rug. The jailed man was disappointed, he did not want a prayer rug, he wanted a hack-saw or a knife or something. But after some time he decided to make use of the rug, studying the beautiful and intricate patterns in the rug as he did his daily prayers. One day he started to see an interesting pattern in the rug, a diagram of the internal mechanism of the lock to his cell. He picked the lock and was free.” There are two aspects to this story. One is that someone may offer us a key that does not look like one at first. The second is that the path to freedom may be right in front of us: in our values, assumptions, and experiences. We have only to look carefully, and we will see the way out.

Getting organized is a path to freedom. Part of the freedom to be found in “good enough” organizing is that we transform our energy from nervous tension and anxiety to a rich source of vitality that naturally flows through us. Chi is the Chinese word for energy, and when I first created this work, I used it as an acronym for Choices—Habits—Insights. Perhaps it was a little too cute, but I liked it because it summed up some of the key aspects of this approach to change. It also helped my clients remember what to focus on. You make new choices—of behavior, thought, or focus. You build new habits—again of behavior, thought, feeling or focus. Finally your new choices and habits yield insights that can lead you to revisit your choices at an even deeper level. As you develop organizing skills and focus more on what is truly important to you, you experience more of this rich, nourishing energy flowing through your life.

It is important to know what this genuine energy feels like. Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche once said, “What you call energy is tension.” Many of us count on our highly stimulating lives to keep us going. Yet our fundamental vitality is depleted. Healthy energy is at once vital and peaceful, bigger than we are, yet very personal, sustaining, and steady as well as flowing.

Fighting the basics of life does not improve the quality of our energy. When I collected my dirty dishes in the sink and refrained from doing them for as long as possible, it simply diminished my energy. Avoiding my mail didn’t help either. Running late amplified my anxiety tremendously. I felt as if I were living a high-wire act; it was dangerous and I could fall at any moment. I felt a lot of anxiety a lot of the time. Interestingly enough, from what I understand, true acrobats don’t live with that anxiety about their work. They can catch the next trapeze with split-second timing only because they are fully present, and in a sense, completely relaxed.

As you become more organized, you will find that it is possible to shift from taking action based on anxiety to acting from deep intention. Being disorganized is like our other reactive patterns: it is compelling and provides the illusion of engagement. You can become less entranced by your reactivity and more available to discover and live in accordance with your deeper purpose. You can ask yourself what it means to you to make a difference. What is deeply important to you? It might take some time to discover your answers, but organizing your personal world helps you create a context for that. As someone I work with said, “When I am at peace and caught up on my work, I am extremely motivated to help my clients. And I am much more likely to enjoy my work.”

It doesn’t mean that, as a disorganized person, you cannot do important things that make a difference. When I was running myself ragged and losing track of my paperwork, I was still able to engage in some projects that were deeply meaningful to me and to others. But, since adopting some organizing disciplines, I’ve been able to achieve several things I truly wanted that had been eluding me. I published several papers, created my own body of consulting work, built a professional practice, found a husband, and created a vibrant marriage.

I occasionally look back with a sense of amazement. How did I, who resisted doing my dishes at all costs, who would not wash them until I was totally bereft—until I had used every last plate, spoon, and bowl, until I had dirty dishes all over the kitchen—how did I learn to appreciate doing my dishes? How could I, who could never clean my counters, who in fact was mystified by how people kept their counters clean—for mine were always covered with newspaper, loose mail, purchases, groceries or, of course, dirty dishes—how could I find genuine pleasure in the clean kitchen that I now leave behind me each night? Now, instead of avoiding my household tasks, I often think to myself, “If I have to do these dishes (or open the mail) eventually, I might as well do them now, while the pile is manageable.”

I have offered you a framework, a set of steps, some good ideas on organizing, but, ultimately, healing is a mystery. This is a rich, nourishing, valuable, and yes, mysterious, path to travel. Part of the mystery is that help and growth will come from some surprising places.

I am still learning. There are still days when my office looks as if a hurricane blew threw. There are times when I have to cancel at the last minute and when I completely lose my focus. But now I know that this is indicative of how I am feeling. Instead of getting the flu or getting drunk when I feel bad, scared, angry, or overwhelmed, I get messy. Then I know that I need to ask myself what I am upset about, or what difficulty I might be avoiding, and how I am going to take care of myself. I still dislike sorting papers and whittling down my in-box, but I know how to get through it. I do my best to be mindful and responsible. I still make my messes, but I don’t have to use them to diminish myself, and I am no longer hoping for someone (probably Mom) to come clean up after me. I now consider cleaning up after myself one of the privileges of being alive.

Living with more order and less chaos now seems like a big gift. I love living more lightly on the earth. I’m glad that my old belongings are circulating somewhere, not stuffed into my closets. I have freed myself of needing to have so very many things. When I shop, I now know to ask: “Where will I put it? When will I use it? Do I already have something like it? To whom can I give it?” These are not questions signaling deprivation. These questions have become a part of how I respect myself, our home, and our planet. I have grown to appreciate my limits. I no longer think that true abundance is when every closet is full to overflowing. I believe that it is the ability to breathe and to love, to experience a listening heart, to give things away, to be able to make wise choices, and to make the contribution that I am here to make.

One of my favorite sayings is from the Native American tradition: “Sometimes I go around pitying myself, and all the while I’m being carried by great winds across the sky.” Perhaps the biggest gift of becoming more organized is to reconnect with the blessings that we have received. No longer so frantic, we can deeply experience that despite all our suffering, our human existence provides great opportunities for love, connection, healing, and contribution. We can wake up to our extraordinary capabilities.

There is a Hindu story that goes something like this. Brahman, the master of the gods, saw that human beings—who were divine—were abusing their divinity. Brahman turned to the other gods and asked, “What shall we do so that human beings no longer abuse their godlike powers?” They all said, “Let us hide divinity from the humans. Let us hide it beyond the highest mountains.” “No,” said Brahman, “they will find it there.” “What if we put it in the deepest oceans?” they proposed. “No,” said Brahman, “surely they will find a way to penetrate the depths of the seas.” Finally, one of them said, “Let us hide it in the deepest recesses of their hearts, for surely humans will never look there.” The journey of organizing points us toward the opportunity to find the keys in our hearts, and to make the difference that we have always wanted to make.

I wish you strength, courage, and companionship on this journey and may it lead you to many interesting places, including truly home.