Growing up, cleanliness was next to godliness in our house.
We weren’t religious, but we did worship at the Church of Pine-Sol.
Every Sunday, I had my sacred chores to do: dust my mom’s collection of tchotchkes and scrub my dad’s bathroom. The goal was simple: don’t break anything, and don’t leave behind any dirt, dust, grease, or grime. Sometimes I think my parents had me to be their unpaid maid.
That upbringing stuck with me. For most of my adult life, I’ve kept a reasonably clean home. Sure, life happened. Dishes piled up. Laundry started reproducing when I wasn’t looking. But eventually I’d get things back under control.
Then COVID happened.
Like a lot of people, my mental health took a beating. I couldn’t invite people over, so I mostly stopped cleaning. Days blurred into weeks. The outside world became something I watched through a screen or window. Somewhere along the way, I started keeping things “just in case.” Empty and full boxes multiplied. Half-finished projects took over every available surface. Clutter quietly became my new normal.
I don’t think I would have have called myself a hoarder at the time. But looking back? Yeah, maybe I was just a little bit of a hoarder. Okay, maybe more than just a little.
Moving last summer, with much help from my bestie Drewski, forced me to part with much of the clutter I'd accumulated over the years. The boxes are mostly gone, but the habits that created them have been harder to unpack.
Chaos has a funny way of becoming invisible when you live with it long enough.
When nobody else sees the mess, it's easy to pretend it doesn't exist. But I see it.
Every time I stepped over another pile or relocated something from one flat surface to another, I told myself, "I'll deal with that later." Turns out, "later" was just another name for Future Me, and that poor bastard has been buried in his own unfinished business for years.
Last Friday, I finally had a reason to break the cycle.
A friend was coming over for a movie and music night, so I cleaned like the health department was making a surprise inspection. By the time he arrived, the place wasn’t perfect, but it was the cleanest and tidiest it’s been in months.
The funny part is I'm pretty sure he didn't notice or give a fuck.
But I did. Not because I was embarrassed, but because I know how I like my home to look and feel. I wasn’t raised in a barn, even if my apartment has sometimes told a different story.
Before I started cleaning, YouTube recommended a video by Garret Watts, a handsome creator I'd never heard of before. On his second channel, Garret Unhinged, he posted a long-form video about cleaning up his messy house and facing some of his own inner demons.
Garrett’s video is less a cleaning video and more a reminder that sometimes the first step toward feeling better is simply picking up the first thing off the floor.
If you’ve got the same complicated relationship with cleaning that I do, I highly recommend giving his video a watch. Garret faces his own mess head-on with humor, humility, and enough ADHD self-awareness to make the whole thing surprisingly relatable. Also, Garret is a handsome, furry, blue-eyed devil. 🤩😈
We don’t reinvent our lives with one bold, cinematic decision. We reinvent our lives by taking out the trash. By folding the laundry. By vacuuming the floor. By washing the dishes before they qualify as biohazards. Then you wake up tomorrow and do it again.
Personally, “cleaning up my act” means taking better care of myself and my surroundings. Professionally, it means showing up more consistently. Writing more. Creating more. Spending less time waiting for motivation to arrive like it’s Madonna at a sold-out concert.
For me, order helps create momentum.
A cleaner desk makes me want to write more. A cleaner apartment makes me want to invite friends over more. A consistent creative routine makes me want to create more.
It’s all connected. And interconnected.
For the record, I'm not chasing perfection. I already know that's a losing proposition. I'm just trying to become the kind of person who washes his dishes because they're dirty, not because he's run out of clean ones.
One small mess at a time. One small win at a time….
Keep calm and keep cleaning!
Clint 🌈✌️
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ends 07-15-26
FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
07-06 = Ethel Sands (1873-1962) = British painter and socialite 🌈
07-06 = Frida Kahlo (1907-1954) = Mexican artist 🌈
07-06 = Glenn Scarpelli (1966- ) = American actor and singer 🌈
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MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“The Air Force pinned a medal on me for killing a man and discharged me for making love to one.”
Leonard Matlovich
I can be a little untidy in certain places in my house. Yes, I can hoard a little bit - in the sense that "It may be useful again someday" but by no means like my sister annd brother-in-law or my mother. I live simply and clean as I go.
Clint,
Love the Lysol Lady, I restrain myself but am the kind of guy who would have all the colors and flavors.
I watched the Garrett cleaning his house and honestly, cannot imaging living like that for even an hour.
In my old age, I have been able to be less compulsive, don't even need to clean up after an evening of cooking for friends, dinner, etc. I now am able to wait until morning. Also, sometimes the kitchen and my desk do get out of hand but never like that.
What amazed me more about Garrett was how HYPER he is, so seemingly out of control, and funny and spontaneous and while almost bordering on Mentally Ill, yet he is so comfortable in his body and in his "way" and in his patter and way of relating to us watching the video.
I really didn't think he was going to be able to. get the house under control before mom arrived, but he did.
I guess, I like who I am, how I live, my surroundings, my collecitons, or compulsive orderlyness most of the time.
Thanks for sharing,
Michael