I've been Marie Kondoing the crap out of my life.
I used to want to be a Franciscan. Give everything away. Travel the roads of the world with just my boots and a toothbrush and the Catechism of the Catholic Church. Epic.
And then life got scary, so scary I had to keep it at bay by surrounding myself with circles of stuff, rings, till I couldn't see over the mounds of clothes and mountains of books and fortifications of papers that were keeping me safe, keeping me from the Things In The Dark that could break down my walls and make me Feel too much, make my Sad too big to keep under wraps and mounds and fortifications, make it grow and break out and destroy everything in its path.
They were helpful then, those fortifications. They kept me from going crazy.
And then they weren't any more, and it was time to get rid of them.
So I did.
And I started feeling like the me I was years ago, before life got so scary that I had to hide.
When my Dad heard about it, he said I was healed.
I'm not. I'm a mess. I think that a dozen times a day at least. You're a mess, Clare.
The physical mess is going-going-gone. The fortifications are down. The internal mess, the Scary and Sad that might have drowned me once upon a time, it spills over now without restraint, without anything to stop it, like watercolors.
A hundred different clashing hues stream and pool around my feet, crazy and frighteningly beautiful.
I don't want fortifications now. I want my colors.
Bring on the mess.