I snapped this uneven, messy photo of a typical morning at the Pickle Jar.
There are many constants in this photo: dusty light fixtures, the pile up of dishes and recycling, a half eaten bag of Doritos from the night before, a water pump and hose that belong in the shed, a ceiling fan waiting to be returned but currently taking up precious real estate that is the dining room table. The top of the fridge is full of clutter. The fridge itself is nearly full of leftovers way past their prime, and the front can’t hold any more magnets or Penn art. There is no order. Tidyness does not live here. Even in the realm of unremarkable, this is exceptionally so. And if you could hear this photo, it’s loud to the tune of “Down By The Bay” sung by these two PYs at 6:30am on a Friday morning. I picked out the melody from the piano, where I turned and took this photo.
I had a long, distinctly beautiful chunk of my life that was dedicated to taking photos of mountain vistas and alpine lake views with captions like “lake life” and “another day at the office,” verbose and particularly blind to the fact that I was building most of my online persona around a singular location, one that I was proud of and that made me feel accomplished. We all applaud this kind of breathtaking content. A messy kitchen? Not really.
But the reason I took this photo isn’t because I thought you’d like it. It was because it was one of those moments in your life that makes you want to pause. This photo is for me. It belongs to me. Hold on, I need to hear that little 4 year old voice just for one minute more. I need that tiny dinosaur robe in the frame. I need to remember that dad making lunches everyday in his t-ball coach shirt.
I read this interview today and I couldn’t help but hang on to this idea. “It's kind of like when people say, "Oh, this traffic is so bad." I'm like, "You are traffic." You can't sit there and be like, "Oh man, the traffic was horrible. I'm sorry, I was late." You are traffic. You're in it. Without you, there would be no traffic.”
I hate a pile of laundry. I hate a messy kitchen. But I am that messy kitchen. I am that pile of laundry. I’ll probably get around to dusting and the recycling will eventually get hauled away. I will probably fold that laundry or just dry it again. Who cares. I have a theory that resisting the fact that we are all messy kitchens leads to us feeling this really boring guilt of not having Insta-worthy houses, not having a life we think should look like this instead of embracing the dust and seeing ourselves and our families as interesting, dynamic, messy human beans.
The more and more I begin to settle into a life increasingly offline, moments like these become way more important than capturing that tidy, dramatic vista in frame. I’m finally able to see my life, and what I define as success, through my own eyes instead of someone else’s. I am a messy, dusty kitchen in Ohio. I’m so thankful that I’m a messy kitchen in Ohio. That I get to be in this specific kitchen. That I get a kitchen at all. This kitchen, my kitchen, full of these specific lunatics. Without us, there would be no kitchen.