Once in a while an unscheduled Sunday afternoon offers an opportunity to take off in unexpected directions. Yesterday was just such a day. The sky clouded over and the temperature started to drop, countering the morning’s promise of a sunny spring day. Ed has gone to his nap and I find myself with the urge to organize my work area insistent in my hands.
Seated at the frosted green glass-topped desk, I start with the piles of paper- sorting, consolidating, and tossing. Scraps of notes are entered into the reminder list or phone book as appropriate. Items are filed into the “works in progress” folder on the desk. Still, I don’t feel satisfied that I’ve done real clearing. What’s missing, I realize, is the big picture view. For the past few months, I’ve felt bogged down in details and working at a micro-level on seven different projects at once. The strategy of developing multiple jobs and contracts at once has been instrumental in building a sustainable business. It has also led to this: a babble of tasks and projects all wanting attention at the same time. It’s a little like parenting three toddlers: one’s crying to be changed, one is tugging at your leg and one’s heading out the door.
One trip to Office Depot later, I’m back in the office and in high gear sorting, choosing, transferring, consolidating and, best of all, tossing. An hour later, all of the projects and major subtasks are listed on a whiteboard and the upcoming week is in front of me in big picture view. All the stacks are gone. Material for works in progress are stored neatly in a segmented hanging file or in pockets in the desktop book.
I always regard these “clean and organize” events as promising signs of new beginnings. There’s a theory of transition that suggests that new beginnings need to start with clear endings. To make psychic and physical space for something new in life, it’s necessary to review and confront the old. While I’m purposefully flinging and filing, I am reminded of an old Zen story. A very learned professor goes to visit a Zen master. The master asks the professor why he has come. The professor says he has come to learn. He then proceeds to expound on all that he knows about enlightenment, mind and life. The Zen master invites the professor to have tea. While the professor holds his cup, continuing to display his brilliance, the Zen teacher starts to pour the tea. He pours and pours. The tea runs over the brim and starts to drip into the professor’s lap. “Hey!”, the professor shouts. “What are you doing?” The Zen master stops. “This cup is like your mind. If you are truly seeking, you must first empty it out!”
The process of organizing is a process of choosing. What’s worth keeping? What’s needed? What’s it needed for? Is that still what I want? The urge to organize is the voice of ignored opportunities , shouting: “Empty your cup!” It’s a signal I’ve gotten too bogged down in continuing on the same familiar path that I’ve stopped noticing the new roads being built. “Empty your cup! Empty your cup!”
