One of the things that’s been frustrating me over the past few weeks is other people putting things away in the wrong place in my house. Part of that frustration is because intellectually, I know they are only doing it in an attempt to be kind or to help out, so I can’t really say anything. I know it makes me seem ungrateful.
Unsolicited Advice Always Lands as Criticism
You’ve heard this nugget of wisdom on the internet, yes? Essentially, the idea is that if you give unsolicited advice, it can be as well-meaning and helpfully intended as you wish. It’s still going to land on the recipient as criticism.
Unsolicited advice lands in feelings and reactions like “Do you think I hadn’t considered that?” I always feel like the advice-giver doesn’t really think I’m a fully functional, capable adult.
We have all received – at some point or another in our lives – unsolicited advice that was downright insulting.
My corollary is this: Unasked-for Home Organization Always Lands as Criticism.
I’ve had this happen a few times in my life. Perhaps because I’m autistic, it lands differently for me. I like things to go where they go. I have a system. Even if that system is invisible or even incomprehensible to anyone else, it is absolutely there. And it feels like these home-reorganizer types don’t get that. Aside from the wild frustration of opening a kitchen drawer and being unable to find a tool or utensil (chip clip, scissors, jar opener, hot pan holder…), it also lands – to me, at least – as a form of critique.
Here’s a low-stakes example: I needed a heavy knick-knack to rest on a table in the living room. For the time being, I chose a small stack of 6-7 books. Every single time someone else tries to tidy up my house, they restack these books from smallest to largest. Every single time, I have to move the hardback book to the top of the stack, because the ceiling fan curls the paperback covers and damages the smallest book.
Why can’t people just leave the stack of books alone? I don’t know. Why does it get re-sorted every time? I don’t know. But seriously, there’s a reason it’s not stacked that way. If anyone would ask me what it is, it might even make sense to them.
The fact that I have to change this back at least every 2-3 weeks is enough to make me want to move these books back to the library and find a different object for that table.
At any rate, I think I’ve gotten most of my kitchen re-reorganized at this point.
My “Madness” Applies to More Than Home Organization!
I thought of the title of this blog post this morning when I was looking at my class line-up at Morbid Anatomy. The classes I’ve elected to teach and get on their schedule has seemed a little bit all over the place. In addition to simply applying to the thread that ties my work together, there is actually more nuance than that.
To recap, the class list looks like this:
- Grim Grimm – currently underway
- The Monstrous Feminine
- How to Rewrite Fairy Tales
Plus, there will be an on-demand version of The Unicorn available in coming weeks, and a free lecture about the connections between the Monstrous Feminine and The Unicorn.
All of this is happening at the same time as my Burnout courses, of course.
While this list may look – to an outside observer – that I’m popcorning all over the place in terms of topics and themes, I’m absolutely not. Instead, what I’m doing is looking at a single topic through a prismatic lens like one of those fancy gemstone kaleidoscopes. Each little faceted surface arises a new class or topic. But they are all still gazing at the same object.
What I’m gazing at in all these cases is the point where my lived experience of the world meets the topics of my formal education. I’m selecting the facets that may appeal to specific audiences. I’m selecting facets that I think offer the most movement, change, and help for others. I’m selecting the facets that I don’t see anyone else talking about.
I’m doing what Jung called “circumambulating” – a mandala of a sorts of my own making. I don’t necessarily know where all of this will end up, but I’m circling the same idea over and over again, turning the kaleidoscope this way and that. This is a journey of discovery and curiosity for me.
Irrational Isn’t a Dirty Word
When I moved to New Mexico (3 years ago yesterday), I was moving entirely on instinctual, intuitive, and spiritual urges. It wasn’t super logical. Sure, I could shoehorn logic to make it work in hindsight, but that wasn’t what was motivating me.
It took a long time for me to realize the personal and cultural devaluation of irrational information. Rational and logical “intellectual” information is useful, and valuable stuff. But there’s a reason the Star Trek crew wasn’t comprised solely of Vulcans. Sometimes you needed the passionate heart-driven action, or the libido’s movement forward with Kirk. Sometimes you need to move with the body’s wisdom and listen to Bones. It’s a team effort, exploring the final frontier.
I remember looking at houses with my Realtor, and telling her “Look, I’m not going to make any sensible or logical decisions. I’m listening to my feet and my gut.” Luckily, the Land of Enchantment is the kind of place where non-intellectual forms of knowing are pretty well respected and understood. No one here looks at me like I’m out of my gourd when I say my feet told me that this was home.
It’s easy to conflate irrational with incorrect or inaccurate. Almost as easy as it is for language to make “stories” and “myths” into lies and untruths. But I am following butterflies and rabbits, listening to my heart, and so far, it’s paying off way more than listening only to logic and reason ever has.
Where is All of This Going?
The thing about Leaps of Faith is that you don’t necessarily know where they are going to land. When I moved out here, I trusted that I was held, and guided, and I went. Yes, it meant living in a hotel for 2 months. Yes, it meant some problem-solving. But in the end, it was still a great decision, and I look around my house and yard in wonder almost every day.
When I quit my job last fall, I trusted that I was held, and guided.
At a retreat a few months before that move, Dr. Loraine Van Tuyl said “Being spiritually aligned doesn’t always make sense to the outside world.” I’ve held those words in my heart since then. I don’t have to make sense to anyone else but myself.
Just leave the random utensils in the drawer where you found them, and we’ll be fine.