How Tidy is Your Home?

No, this is not the home in my tale. 

Recently, I visited someone's home and I was struck by how empty it was. You could barely tell anyone lived there. There was furniture - study and practical. Not shabby, but definitely used. Not fancy, but not strictly utilitarian either. The couches were comfy. The only real evidence I saw that people lived in this home was the fully stocked fridge and part of an apple that didn't quite make it into the garbage disposal. Everything was very clean and tidy. No personal affects, not photos, and no knickknacks, accept for the icons of Christ and Mary on the wall in one corner. A huge, brand new, flat screen took residence in another corner.

I was given a tour of the rest of the home, and the sparseness continued to shock my senses. Even the children's  rooms were mostly bare. The beds were neatly made, and a few stuffed bears decorated the walls. Where was the mess? Where were the family pictures? I know the temperature was set low, but I felt chilled more from the emptiness I continued to see. Why did it shock me so? Because I had seen the downstairs first. That was an entirely different and opposite scene.

I was being given an extra microwave that the family had, as mine had died a week before. (Don't run a microwave for 10 minutes with nothing in it - my son accidentally found this out when he attempted to use the microwave for a timer). The downstairs of this house looked almost like a scene out of "Hoarders". Things were piled (fairly organized) to the ceiling in most corners and along most walls. I knew that the family had rental properties, and since many of the items appeared to be spare parts and housewares, I assumed that the downstairs is where they stored their supplies for their rentals. So, compared to the downstairs, yes, the bare upstairs was jolting.

My brain rarely rests. I got to thinking of my own home. My "mess", as I call it. It is really difficult for me to keep my place tidy as a single, working mom of two young children. I think it was even worse when I was a full time student. I believe in letting kids play and not barking at them to pick up their toys every five minutes. That was something my ex-husband was always fond of doing and always drove me crazy. I remember what it is like to be a kid. You want to get your toys out and play, play, play! If you put one thing away before getting out another, then how can you suddenly invent new games and imaginary worlds because you suddenly realize that you can place with these mismatched toys together? Granted, I do wish they would pick up better at the end of the night.

Nope, not my home either, although it is a fairly accurate representation much of the time. 

Still, even if my kids picked up their things better every night and I didn't have toys strewn from the front door to their bedroom (and for some reason, in the bathroom), my place would still feel and look VERY lived in. I have knickknacks... everywhere. Pictures of family and friends line the window sills, breakfast bar, and entertainment system. Paintings and beautiful framed art/photos are hung on every wall. The bulkheads of my kitchen are each filled with pots, pans, antiques, and the like. My cupboard tops are coated with fake plants or more antiques or knickknacks - most of which are family heirlooms. I have too much furniture - I blame my mom for breeding that trait into me. My books overflow from my giant bookshelves. They are found in every corner, in stacks, on end tables, and ever free shelf I can find. Some even line the floor in front of the book cases. Those are typically the kids books (why do they never find their place back on the shelf?).

I wouldn't mind having this...

My eclectic tastes are displayed for all to see, a bit like my personality. My life is an open book. Ask, and I answer. I rarely try to hide what I think or feel. It suddenly occurred to me that my friend's home that I visited reflected his personality as well. It reminded me of a glacier. You don't see the whole thing until you go below the surface. He's like that. He is extremely private and doesn't have a lot of "stuff". But once you get past the empty facade on the surface, there is a lot of "stuff" inside. That's where his "mess" hides - out of sight. It then reminded me of all those perfect homes that I sometimes envy. They have character, are decorated, and have family affects - but everything is nice and tidy. They don't have to worry about someone stopping over unexpectedly. They don't have to rush to clean up the mess, or shrug when there is no time. But, those home often have secrets tucked nicely away too, just like the people that live in them.

This whole thought process gives me pause. You can read someone's writing or view someone's art and know their deepest thoughts and fears. Why wouldn't our homes reflect our souls in the same way? It seems to me that it makes perfect sense that our homes would reflect something about who we are. I haven't done any research yet to see if I am on to something (therapists and psychologists are probably rolling their eyes, saying, "duh" at me right now, if reading this). I intend to do the research. Why? I like to understand people. I need to be able to understand people better to be effective in interfaith relations.

Until I get that research done, I am curious to ask you, my reader, to lend your voice to this theory of mine. Do you see what I see? Does your home truly reflect you? What about family or friends (its usually to see these things in others, rather than ourselves)? How tidy is your home?

Some links to share (I haven't actually read these yet, but I intend to!):

• What Our Stuff Says about Us
• Your home is your castle - so, what if it's a dump?
• WHAT OUR HOUSES SAY ABOUT US

I look forward to all of your comments!!