Cluttered desks offer a world of possibilities
Every now and then I feel compelled to clean my desk, like when
small animals set up winter shelters there or last year’s papers
turn into compost.
Cluttered desks offer a world of possibilities
Every now and then I feel compelled to clean my desk, like when small animals set up winter shelters there or last year’s papers turn into compost.
Unfortunately, I have more than one “workstation” in my life, so the amount of clutter in my life varies depending on where I’m working that day.
At my Pinnacle desk, where I sit every other day, things are pretty clean as a rule. I can see my keyboard and find my phone. All of my pens are in a coffee cup and my paperclips are in one of those magnetic holders.
A number of notes are thumb-tacked to the cubicle wall in front of me, reminding me about newspaper production deadlines, how to upload stories to the Web and how to call people who worked at this office in October 2007. Only one of those 12 would answer if I dialed their extension, but the list still serves a purpose so it remains on the wall.
Most of my desks are about possibilities; a story idea here, a box of file folders that will help me organize there, a Rolodex that is waiting for me to add more contacts to it. There’s a box of Kleenex for when I get a runny nose and copy of last year’s Grand Jury report if I want to read 250 pages about community issues.
My six-tiered plastic file organizer is half-full, because that also means it’s half-empty and my work life isn’t too cluttered.
A desk calendar tells me what I should work on this week and lets me know that Spring Break is a week from now. Oh, and don’t forget that April 22 is Administrative Professionals Day in Canada and the U.S.
My desk in my high school classroom is actually two desks pushed together – one for my computer and the other for lesson plans and un-graded papers and flyers and forms. It, too, is a desk full of possibilities: story ideas for my newspaper students, a coffee cup full of unclaimed student pens and pencils, printed e-mails reminding me of upcoming school events.
Despite its clutter, I can actually find most things that I’m looking for if given enough time. I can also meet most student requests from this spot: Band-Aid? Got ’em in my first aid kit. Rubber band? No problem; I have a bag of them in the middle drawer. Post-It note? Upper left drawer.
“What about the story I wrote last class, Mr. Breen?”
“Oh, that?” I answer, hurriedly shuffling through piles of paper. “Why don’t you just re-print that for me.”
An uncluttered desk makes us feel like we have our life under control. When I “file” (translation: stuff in some random drawer) papers and the fake wood of my desk appears, I’ve done something.
No, I’ve done something good and profound: I moved clutter from one spot to another, hiding the chaos relieving the stress of undone work.
The third desk in my life – the one at home – is in my youngest son’s room so it doesn’t completely feel like mine. It holds my computer but it also holds his knickknacks: baseball cards, a trophy, computer games.
It is the place where I check e-mails (then move them from one file to another to feel productive) and write my newspaper column (but not this one; that was done at another desk). It’s where we upload family pictures and check our bank balance, with a cringe.
I spend a lot of time at the three desks in my life – they are the barometers of workplace satisfaction and indicators of my organizational skills. They dictate my stress level and remind me that holding down the Cntrl, Shift, and number 8 keys will make a bullet point in PageMaker, which I actually don’t use.
But I might some day.
There is hope in these notes and directions in and around my desks; promises of things to tackle and complete in the future. That stack of unused story ideas means that I actually have more ideas than I need, which is a comforting thought.
The local restaurant menus in the middle drawer? Lunch possibilities – if I can get someone to pay.
The empty green binder in the bottom right drawer? An organizational vessel to be filled with important papers.
The Happy Bunny sticker on my monitor that reads “Since you’re gross, shouldn’t you be smart?” I’m not sure what purpose that serves.
Each of the desks in my life is another stop on my journey through this world. They are all important, yet oddly organized. They are all made of fake wood, but sturdy enough to withstand the rigors of my messy existence. They are my desks: my rest-stops and workstations; my storage units; my treasure trove of possibilities.
