I’m going to skip over the fact that my second blog post is 5 months and 2 days after my first post, because time isn’t real and I’ve already shamed myself enough about it. Instead, let’s talk about the thrill of possibilities…and the piles of clutter that accompany them.
If you’re like me, things don’t exist in your memory unless you can see them. As infants, most of us achieve this concept of object permanence within our first year of life. If Mom disappears from sight, she still exists. If a ball rolls into another room, it still exists, too. But somehow this basic function has unraveled during my adulthood. If I can’t see an idea or task represented visually, I forget it exists. Yes, even important stuff. If I made a list of all the ideas or tasks needed for a project, I would never look at that list again. And I would have lost it by then, anyway. That’s why I make piles. Grouping visual triggers–like a bird assembling a nest–is the only way to keep things on my radar. I have Promise Piles (yay) and Boring Piles (boo).
Promise Piles
- Cutouts of pretty visuals and typography from magazines. One day I want to create a complete wall collage in my office with an ombre rainbow effect. But it has to be perfect and the most amazing thing ever (according to my nagging inner voice). So, no pressure there! Cue the uncomfortable laugh. Yeah…it’s difficult to create when you’re constantly self-bullied by your inner voice.
- Horizon of open tabs on my internet browser. If I close even one tab, how will I remember what ideas are patiently waiting for me in these windows? (If you’re thinking “just create a folder and bookmark them for later!” I ask that you kindly revisit the second paragraph recounting my failure to sustain object permanence.)
- Things I may need or may want, grouped by size
- Example A: Large box of empty boxes. These will be perfect for storing things. But I don’t know what I want to store in them…yet. Some of the boxes are ugly and will need fabric glued onto the sides. This pile isn’t disbanding anytime soon.
- Example B: Small random items that don’t really have a place to go…but I may need them! Or I may figure out what they actually are and where they should go. These have existed for so long that my mind does not interpret their existence. If I tended to this pile, it would be futile. It would immediately refill with more of its kind.
Boring Piles
- Things I need to take upstairs
- Things I need to take downstairs
- Clothes that aren’t fresh from the laundry but aren’t necessarily dirty; they’re in a fabric purgatory until I decide what to do with them/
- Half-filled cups of water on my desk
- Half-filled mugs of coffee on my desk, most of which started out too hot but then cooled off too quickly. A few trips back and forth to the microwave, but they never quite took.
My husband is incredibly understanding about all of this. It has taken him a long time to understand how my brain words, aided throughout the years by my eager attempts to explain my shortcomings. Even presenting them as helpful. Our sons have the same tendencies, so my husband is now the odd man out on these matters.
Keeping visual cues alive projects a false immediacy. This can be both helpful and terrible. When I leave the bucket of navy blue enamel paint, brush, and paper towels (there WILL be messes) next to the door, it’s partly psychological. Yes, there is the factor of “I don’t want to put it away because I’m already doing something else that is more important.” But it’s also the thrill of knowing that I can pick up the paintbrush and start painting any thing at any time. I may have a full day of work ahead of me, but I can take five minutes and keep working on my deck project for a few minutes, can’t I? Everything I need is right there. If I had put away all of those paint supplies, it would be a BIG DEAL to get everything out and it would take FOREVER. (Probably less than five minutes, but the part of my brain that processes time is overly dramatic.)
Little Nests Everywhere
“When adult birds abandon a nest, it doesn’t necessarily mean they’ve left the area.”
Kenn Kaufman, Field Editor, Audubon Magazine
At some point in my life I need to accept the fact that this trait is innate–always has been. Always will be. But I need to make it work for me. Not against me. And that’s the intent of this blog: connection and acceptance with the most confusing parts of our ADHD….then creating the tastiest and most interesting lemonade on the block.
Most people call it possibility clutter. Instead, I’m going with “possibility nest.” Do you make piles? It’s OKAY to make piles, sweet bird. Build your nest. Gather from afar–just bring it back to one place. Then put everything in that place. If your piles feel like they need to be permanent, don’t beat yourself up. If you love crafts, have craft piles. Just let the possibilities have homes. Create a village for them. Elect a mayor.
Lemon ADHD 