I hate beginnings. Some people love them for the opportunity they hold. For someone who likes to control situations and doesn't like the unknown, they are scary. The first day of school still makes me nervous and twists my stomach in knots, even though I'm now the one in charge! So while I'm excited to start this blog, I'm also a little scared. Will I keep up with it, or will it be one of those unfinished projects? Only time will tell.
The title came to me this past weekend as I was having my hair done for a friend's wedding (congrats fellow captain* :) ). Now, I should back up and tell you that my hair cooperates for no one. I fight it on a daily basis and another reason I love summer is that I don't have to do my hair in the mornings (unless I'm venturing out into the world of course). The stylist this weekend called it "a large amount of fine hair." The one style that did work was the bun I had to wear for gymastics meets, and that was a success thanks to the tightness which pulled my eyes back and massive amounts of helmet-style hairspray. The all-star cheerleading curls were doomed from the beginning. My loving mother would spend sometimes hours the night before a competition pulling my hair into a ponytail, spraying strands of hair with hairspray or gel (whatever was recommended after the previous failure) and tightly wrapping them around sponge curlers. The curlers would then be covered with a bandanna and I would be sent to bed to "sleep" (not an easy task my friend). At the competition the next day, everyone would have perfect tight curls. I would wait until the last minute to take my curlers out and without fail, my hair would be straight by the end of the routine. It was a hopeless cause (and let's not even talk about nationals in humidity-soaked Florida). My hair simply does not hold a curl. SO, as I regaled my stylist with this information, she politely nodded her head and teased my hair into a giant Afro (which I'm sure only made the bride nervous). As she pulled my hair low and to the side, I watched her try to curl strands and silently prayed she would use a lot of the bobby pins that were at her side. As she struggled with one curl, she said, "We want it to be 'a structured mess.'" I occurred to me that this was a perfect representation of my life!
I love structure, but as much as I try to fight it, there is always some mess. Would I like my table to be clear all the time? Yes! Would I like the back bedroom to be free of boxes (never mind we moved 7 months ago...)? Sure! Would I like the coffee table to be neat and organized? Absolutely! Do I want to control our budget and plan out every dollar? 100% yes! But the reality is, there is mail on the table (a pile for the hubby, another for bills, and one of magazines from my mom), the back bedroom still has boxes of stuff I don't know what I'm going to do with (one actually is labeled "junk"), the coffee table is covered with magazines, and there is always that unexpected expense, surprise bill I had forgotten about (car registration!), or "Hey, let's meet for dinner!" text message. So I go around and straighten the piles so everything is facing the same direction, push the boxes against the wall, hope that next month will be less expensive, and there you have it: a structured mess.
"A Structured Mess"
*Names have been changed to protect the innocent :)
