I climbed over the rubble, trying to find my footing. This same treacherous landscape had claimed my ankle before. I was furious with myself for being in this predicament. The hazard was a junk pile of my own creation. I was attempting to reach the back of the little storage building beside our house.
I have good intentions.
I get totes and shelving.
I even label boxes,
And try to make sure everything has a place.
But at the end of a random Tuesday evening, when I have to find a hiding place for yet another one of the boys’ ride-on vehicles or an inflatable waterslide, my motivation to keep things organized isn’t quite as high.
Instead of taking the two minutes to keep things tidy, I open the door and just shove the next item in. The job is done as long as the door stays closed.
I inevitably end up spending several hours pulling everything out and reorganizing. I curse myself the whole time. If only I had taken the few minutes up front to do things right, I wouldn’t be climbing over the mess in the first place.
My outbuilding isn’t the only place I let things pile up. Sure, I do the same with the dishes, laundry, and other household chores, too.
But I also let the clutter close in on me in more important areas of my life. I let things pile up at work, with my health, and even with my marriage and in my parenting. It’s so easy to let the mess grow instead of actually dealing with what needs to be dealt with up front.
I often sacrifice what’s best in the long run for what’s easier now.
It’s no wonder I always find myself stepping over my own messes.