You Know What They Say About Cleanliness…

Look, I have a long history of being woken up on a Saturday morning with the jams of the 90s and older. The sinking feeling you get when realizing that before you even get to breakfast, there’s a mile-long to-do list. Breakfast on those days is typically cereal or leftovers (like cold pizza). I came to dread the seasonal cleanings that marked the changing of thermostats and wardrobe try-ons. But in my adult life, I am starting to recognize just how important it is that this was passed on to me. Not just the carefully cultivated setlist of cultural significance we became attached to, but the ability to master my own space. It never seemed like something I would need later in life. What could possibly happen if you don't learn to scrub a toilet properly or if you didn’t make your bed for the day? The world wouldn’t come to an end, nor would I disintegrate into dust on the floor. So what could make me so grateful for spending so many weekends singeing nose hairs with the smell of bleach and cleaning a house from top to bottom? Learning how to start and finish. That's it. That's the lesson I took. Let me explain.

My realization that not everyone had the same home training as me was early on in life. But, it never hit me as hard as it did when I went away to college. It was the first time I wasn’t completely surrounded by my community, by way of my family. I was thrown into an entirely different setup. What was my normal, and somewhat refuge, no longer existed. I hadn't figured out what a safe space was, let alone how to find one. My roommate was a sweet, young, white girl from a small town in Indiana, not too far from the university. She and I were completely different in every way. She was obsessed with Grey's Anatomy, and I couldn’t stand it. She started school with a few friends and wanted to go tailgating for homecoming; I wanted to stay hidden in my room for as long as humanly possible. And I was a tidy person, and she was not. She had a tendency to borrow dishes for instant mac or random food giveaways in the dorm but wouldn't clean and give them back until they practically crusted over. And don’t get me wrong, she was as sweet as can be, but walking into a room you fully live in, but it's only half cleaned, you lose your mind a bit. I still have pictures that show where it looked like a tornado tore through half of the room and the other was untouched like one of those freak phenomena. Every once in a while she would manage to clean up her room if her family was coming by or new friends, but outside of that, it was what my mom came to call a pigsty. And she wasn't the only one; I encountered people in the laundry room who had no idea how to load a washer, let alone start it. And in later years, once I had a black roommate, praise the Lord, we both wretched over the smell of something dying that seeped out from people's rooms. It permeated common areas and hallways like a monster conjured by Stephen fucking King himself. But in the first year, seeing the different approaches my roommate and I had was shell-shocking. Before the second semester, she had decided to leave school. I cannot say I saw it coming, but I definitely didn’t mind having a room completely to myself. What on earth does cleaning and finishing school have to do with each other? Hold on, y'all, just stay with me. It was the action of starting something with intention and following through that I learned. I had some of the worst depression I have ever experienced in those first few semesters of college. And even in the times when it physically hurt to get out of bed, I still would. Make my bed, straighten my shoes, arrange my clothes and all. I even managed to get a few mirror selfies together with a decently clean bedroom in the back and a half-mustered smile.

The cleaning and maintenance of my space gave me back something I didn’t even understand at the time. It gave me focus: a task to complete. It gave me control: an environment to maintain. It gave me peace: knowing I could at least do this. I could take the reins this way if only long enough to keep going.

It doesn’t feel like a big life lesson, right? Almost sarcastic. Like a clean bedroom is just so important in building the life you want and the skills you need, huh? Maybe. You know what they say about cleanliness being close to Godliness? I think there may have been some truth to it. It’s about having a space of your own that may not be perfect, but it’s kept by you. You know where things are, you've given it the space, you've set the tone. And as far as Godliness goes, I cannot tell you how divine it is to crawl into freshly washed sheets. Especially after a long day of failing exams, working for minimum wage, and negotiating a lower phone bill because you cannot afford to pay the damn thing. Divinity shows up in the most quiet and intimate of moments for me; truth be told, so do some of the most horrid thoughts I have ever had. But the important thing is, just like I have learned to clean up a space, I have also learned to clean thoughts, energy, friendships, and so many other things. Learning this one small thing from my mom was and is such a big part of my life. It hits me today as I scrub down my apartment for the first time in almost 4 months after my dislocation. I still don’t have full range of motion, but I was able to create a clean and well-adjusted environment. I watched episodes of Marie Kondo and said goodbye to clothes that didn’t serve me anymore, just like my childhood seasonal fit checks. It felt like a huge task to start at 10 pm on a Saturday, but my mother taught me a long time ago to finish what I’d started, even if it’s hard, even if it’s new, even if I didn’t like it.

Cleaning never seemed like a skill that would completely redirect my life, but as I catch a whiff of the Peach Bellini candle dancing through the air of my fully organized and renewed space, I am reminded of how it is so much more. Moms are sneaky that way, even when they don’t mean to be. Teaching us more than we truly know what to do with at the time. It’s later in life when the lessons are now sticking to our bones and we see things for what they are. They are the wisdom of years, far beyond our own, that came from hard-won victories and devastating defeats. She didn’t have to pass along the message, but she did. I always wondered ‘why’ so much as a kid. And, though the universe isn’t exactly unraveling to me, I am glad to at least have this test and lesson in the bag. And who knows, maybe tomorrow the mysteries of life and the great beyond will come to me. In the meantime, I'll keep enjoying the fresh scent of peace of mind filling every nook and cranny. And tell my mom about how she’s the topic of discussion this week (she may get a kick out of it). Anyway, here's a reminder: clean your room, take a breath, clear your thoughts, take a nap, get rid of what doesn’t bring you joy, and persevere like your life depends on it because it does. Now, I got to go call my momma, peace out!