You Have To Make a Mess To Make It Better

I used to have a craft room. Then we replaced our carpeting and had to empty the living room, so box after box of stuff ended up in that space. When we had the floors refinished in our bedroom, the same thing happened. Stash stuff, close the door, ignore. Instead of a craft room, I ended up with a dumping ground—one that became impossible to use or navigate without toppling a teetering pile of detritus.

That room weighed on me. For years. I was going to tackle it, but then I had that shoulder surgery in 2020, the pandemic hit and I had to spend my time worrying, my dad passed away, my mom needed my attention, I had to work, grocery shop, feed the cats, and attend meetings. I had to do anything BUT tackle that room.

A few weeks ago, I had coffee with a friend and she mentioned that she’d turned her son’s room into a “zen space,” a nice quiet retreat in her own home. Boy, did that sounded inviting. That conversation planted a seed of motivation that quickly bloomed into action.

One morning I donned my virtual hardhat, and began the excavation. Fire up the steam shovel!!

A mish-mash of stationery and handmade cards in desperate need of sorting

The going was SLOW, and tiring, especially at first when it was difficult to see much progress. Clearing one area just messed up another. This time, though, I was determined to not peter out.

Chipping away

Eventually the shame and fatigue fell away and I began to enjoy putting together this puzzle of a room—figuring out what to keep, what to toss, what to donate, and how to store what I wanted to keep. SO MANY decisions. Many doses of vanilla ice cream and fresh strawberries were required to maintain my energy.

Then, like the world’s slowest game of Tetris, it all started to come together.

Rubber stamps, paper, and envelopes, all in one place. (Novel concept, I know.)

Washi tape sorted and contained—some in old (but good), lidded Christmas card boxes.

Books scrutinized and sorted.

As well as a snarl of pen refills.

And all of my good pens and pencils.

The working cast-offs were donated to a local Women’s and Children’s shelter for the kids to use in school.

Hey, look! You can see the paper cutter!

And so it went, digging through the layers and restoring order.

Handmade cards I’d forgotten about

Every evening for about three weeks, I’d say (mostly to myself), I think I’m getting there. And finally, I did. I got there.

As with any good archaeological dig, I unearthed some artifacts—high school and college report cards, as well as a letter dated April 8, 1962 from my cousin Robert to me. He was nine. I was three. Apparently I’d gotten a new tricycle because he asked me how I liked it. I probably still owe him an answer to that. Interesting relics for my personal museum, to be sure.

Nothing like sepia-stained, dot-matrix report cards to make you feel like a vintage human being..

The bulletin board next to my reclaimed “computer desk” (The ancient iMac has finally been recycled.)

An enormous weight has lifted, and I can’t wait to start making cards and exploring other paper crafts again. It feels so good to be able to leave the craft room door open without horrifying myself.

In fact, the momentum the craft room project created shows no signs of stopping, and my once-jumbled pantry is now all the better for it.

No more hidden crackers from 2021!

I guess you could say I’m on a roll.