The French have this saying that mostly refers to setting ingredients out in a logical and organized way so as to maximize efficiency when preparing a dish, but I think it’s a good metaphor for life.

Everything in its place.

A simple idea, and yet not so easy in practice. At least, not for me. This is the part where I tell you that I excel in messmaking. It’s an art, really, one that is terribly under appreciated but one for which I most certainly have a talent.

Now, I have my theories as to how I became so gifted in the discipline of clutter, and they almost all have something to do with the fact that I have moved seventeen times in the last decade and that, frankly, settling into a space was never really something I had the opportunity to do, and so I never really did.

When we moved into our current house eleven months ago, we were still very uncertain as to whether or not we had made the right decision in relocating to San Diego. After the year we had in Oregon, I think we were all a little hesitant to get too comfortable, too quickly. It’s taken us this long, but we’ve finally chosen to stay put.

San Diego has been good to us, better than we could have hoped. And I got to thinking that maybe, just maybe, I haven’t been able to find places for things because I haven’t felt in place myself. And that in finding my place, I’m ready to do something that I’ve never done before.

I’m ready to make a home. I’m ready to unpack years of boxes, to embrace tidiness, and thoughtfully curate our living quarters.

Which, by the way, I’m sincerely hoping makes cleaning easier, because let me tell you. There are about a million things I’d rather do than clean my house. But my home? I think that sounds kinda fun.

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