Door B

Dried leaves shuffled in my wake as I traversed a path leading to the front door. The air was brittle and a faint smell of wood smoke lingered. Evening loomed and only a few strands of sunlight escaped an aquiline cloud as it towed November’s gray. Before I could finish turning the knob, the door inched open. I was met with a narrow staircase ascending to a small plateau, followed by another three steps. I shifted my duffle to avoid scattering the dried husks of a few entrapped hornets strewn among the paint chips on the sill of an old window. At the top there were two marked doors, one with the letter A, and the other B.

I slid my key into door B, surprised that the lock disengaged counterclockwise, before stepping into my new address.

The door gave way to a hall of average size, with an empty room at one end. To my right, a single step led down to the rest of my new space. It was unfurnished, save for a few basic appliances. The two larger rooms had ceilings that were angled, not unlike an attic. The far room had a wall-mounted propane heater, its pilot turned low and quietly smoldering behind a byzantine grill. The windows, one on each side of each room, were small and choked the setting sun. I closed the door and sat on the step.

 Hypnotized by the refrigerator’s hum, I sat silently for what must have been thirty minutes, pondering a visage marked by the memoirs of previous residents. There was grace in emptiness occupied by shadows. I scanned the room, an invisible guestbook to a hundred year -old house.  Each convention-defying square foot was home to another’s experience and virgin to my own. By the time I stood it was nearly dark, but my eyes had adjusted.

I walked into the room at the end of the hallway, adjacent to the main door and threw down the bag containing a few of my belongings. This would be my bedroom. The windows were larger and centered in broad wood trim and the aged plaster walls wore a fresh coat of paint. The room was empty but a few nails remained. It was nearly square, but there was a recess on the far wall deep enough to place a desk. The house’s age yielded to a draft that seemed stronger in this room but brought with it freshness native to a New England winter. There was purity to the room that forbade electronic entertainment.

I’d not yet begun to unpack, and many of my belongings were in my car or at my parent’s house. I had decided to spend my first night in the apartment devoid of all things that defined me, and experience my new home in its bluest essence. Just before sleep, I remembered to call my mom. She wanted to know what I thought of the place.

Four Coats On A Three-Hook Hanger

An organized living space is essential to your well being. Amidst the bustle of day-to-day life it becomes far too easy to succumb to a heap of mismatched socks on your floor or that stack of two semester-old books taking up valuable desk space or a dollop of hardened oatmeal on the kitchen counter, left over from the morning’s hurried breakfast. A vast collection of material possessions may indeed enrich our lives and provide others with a snapshot of who we are. But when scattered about they deprive us of potential and productivity. That mess, what started as an Xbox controller strewn across the carpet or one too many hangers swaying from the shower curtain rod, soon begins to feel like a metaphor for your life.

Stepping into disarray after a hard day’s work robs us of the power needed to break free of normality. Each morning instills a sense possibility, an energy that is soon wrung dry upon mere thought of the daunting and equally exhausting notion of laboring over a mess. The problem is, most of us do maintain some degree of organization and only realize what we've gotten ourselves into when it’s too late. Next time you’re walking across wherever it is you reside, ask yourself: did you have to alter your path to get to your couch, chair, bed, etc.? If so, pick up whatever it is that rerouted you, and find satisfaction in one of the day’s small victories.

It’s surprising, the ease with which simplistic but sometimes difficult goals can be achieved once the silent cacophony of discordant objects has been removed. Inert they may be, but finding your place is a downhill battle when living among possessions that have theirs. Getting out of bed early? No problem, when it’s stepping into a well-organized home that sets the pace for a structured day. Budgeting time becomes easier, too. When you don’t have that persistent “I need to clean” notion in the back of your mind, it’s far easier to accomplish daily tasks and actually enjoy your free time afterwards, guilt-free. With a clean, well-organized space, the possibility of having company (perhaps even last-minute guests) is no longer awash with the anxiety of needing make your home presentable in the final hour.

I tip my hat to the person who consistently maintains a clean, uncluttered living space. But if you’re at all like me, the thought of picking up that mess is more difficult than the act itself. So next time, if your life is starting to feel a bit cluttered, start by putting that fourth coat on your three-hook coat hanger back in the closet. You might be surprised how easily the rest begins to fall into place.