Chaos & Order
Chaos and order are not two sides of a coin, but rather two extremities on a continuum, and most of us strive to strike a balance between the chaos and order in our lives, hopefully finding a resting place somewhere near the middle. Of course there are some people who seem to court chaos, living a tumultuous life of pandemonium, mayhem and strife. And others who tend towards being super methodical and organised, never allowing themselves to stray outside of a life of perfectionism. At the extremes, these characteristics become problematic and can even be indicative of serious mental health disorders. What is needed is a balanced blend of both, as both are necessary for a good life. A steady foundation of order is needed to provide a safe haven to operate from, but too much stifles and smothers our development and growth. Chaos is also needed to some degree, in order to prevent us from vegetating in our comfort zones. It helps us to remain adaptable to change, which is a good thing. But too much can be catastrophic, plunging us into destabilising anguish and distress.
Would it surprise you to learn that every single month, the task of writing my monthly essay manifests as an epic symphony co-created by the opposing forces of chaos and order that coexist within my mind? This usually plays out as a cage fight in three parts. The first part is the idea. A theme. A topic. I never start writing straight away, but normally allow the concept to just be. Knowing that it’s there, I simply allow it to linger in my brain. To marinate. Sometimes within my awareness but mostly not. And though it may appear that I am doing nothing, this period of dormancy is a vital part of the creative process for me. My subconscious makes connections, kneading out the flesh of the idea. Lines are cast, and concepts coalesce. I make no conscious effort towards this.
When the time is right, part two begins. This is the disgorging of words. And it really is kind of like a mental vomit. Words just hurl out, accreting into clunky, awkward fragments. Sentences spew forth before amassing into ponderous paragraphs. Sometimes it makes sense, other times it’s a dog’s breakfast. Sometimes it’s projectile, and sometimes it’s chin dribble. But I write it all down, no matter how much barf it’s covered in. And sometimes, when the words won’t come, I have to do the mental equivalent of sticking my fingers down my throat. It’s not easy, but you do it in order to feel better. This part of the process is pure mayhem. Unadulterated chaos. There is absolutely no order, rhyme or reason to this madness. I just have to trust that from the bucket of puke I end up with, an essay can be forged. And it always is. Part two is not writing, it’s a tornado. The result is barely intelligible, and a first draft bears almost zero resemblance to what ends up being published.
Part three is when the writer comes out. The writer’s job is not to write, but to rewrite. To make sense of the vomit. To move the carrot chunks around, so to speak, in order to turn them somehow into something beautiful. This is really hard work. This is the part that requires a structured way of thinking, and it requires order and discipline. It is repetitive, monotonous and can appear mechanical. But it is from this drudgery that the magic happens. In fact the magic cannot happen without it. Part three requires skill, and the meticulous application of that skill. It is the opposite of chaotic.
Writing my essays is actually a pretty monumental task. One that I’m proud of accomplishing month after month after month for more than 12 years. As soon as one essay is published, I immediately start the process again with the next one. The three parts of my writing method take up the entire month, so my essays are something that I am always engaged in. They are also probably the most elegant illustration of how the complicated interplay of deep-seated chaos and order can give birth to something unique and singular. But this is unusual. Most of the time it just gives birth to a goddamn mess.
I may come across as being someone who is spontaneous, free and easy. And I can be. I am capable of it. But that is not my nature. My nature loves order. And abhors chaos. Unscheduled spontaneity is chaos to me, and as much as I love the idea of it, the reality can send me into a tailspin. This is something that I have only recently become concretely aware of, and something that I would like to change about myself. But my nature is strong. My nature wants routine, it wants rules, it wants discipline and order. I do better, mentally and physically, when I have that structure in my life.
Of course, as you’d expect, this aligns beautifully with air traffic control, where a very high standard for detail is required. But when I first applied for the job way back in the late 90s, the business consultants and HR execs that comprised the interview panel expressed concern about one of the hobbies I’d mentioned in my application. Writing. The impertinent mofos had the gall to say, “We don’t think you’re suitable for the job because there’s no room for creativity in ATC”. Firstly, they were wrong, because there is room for creativity in aviation. In fact flexibility, and the capacity to change tack is absolutely necessary in such an unpredictable environment. No two days are ever the same in this job. And something that might work one day, will not work the next. You have to be able to think on your toes. Secondly, they were wrong, because I am suitable for the job. The need for hyper-vigilance in ATC actually suits my personality to a tee. I’m such a stickler for the rules, I’d go so far as to say that I’m famous for it round these parts (and you’d best not think about that too much). I can’t afford for any elements of chaos to enter my workplace, and thus high-level order is my default work state.
Unfortunately, this fastidiousness spills over into my personal life where it isn’t necessarily as warranted, or even desired. Turns out I can be a little bit obsessive (my saving grace is that I am not also compulsive). I just need some things to be a certain way, and it can be potentially distressing for me when they’re not. Exempli gratia, the toilet paper needs to be rolled over, and not under (and I will not be accepting comments on this matter). For over a decade, I waged a relentless, unspoken battle against the toilet paper roll in David’s parents’ house, switching the roll so that the paper rolled over, and not under, every single time I went to the bathroom. And I’m still not sure if it was David’s mum or dad, but someone was fighting back. The last couple of years we’ve visited them, however, I’ve started questioning myself. Why am I doing this? Who’s house is it anyway? Why should I exert my will over their toilet paper alignment preferences? Of course it still irritates me when I go to the loo at their place and have to unroll the toilet paper from underneath. It’s like an itchy scab being picked in my brain. But I now resist the urge to flip the roll over, and that’s huge for me. Interestingly enough, studies have shown that people who prefer their toilet paper rolled over (which is actually the correct way) have more dominant personalities, and so are also more likely to change the orientation of the toilet paper roll in other people’s homes. I think the end of the Adelaide toilet paper saga was the beginning of a softening of the uncompromising rigidity which has ruled my adulthood. I no longer feel I need to strive for perfect order in every single facet of my life. I think I just don’t care so much any more. I think this is what getting older looks like. And I rather like it.
That doesn’t mean I can just suddenly become loosey goosey about everything though. One zany example of this is my locker at work. Everything contained within the thin metallic walls of my work locker is there because of a previous lacking, and the desire to not ever be found lacking again. I once arrived at work only to realise that I had forgotten to put on deodorant, shock horror!! So now there is a can of deodorant in my locker. Another time, I woke up after my night shift nap with dry eyes, so now I always have eyedrops in my locker. On a recent night shift, I had to share the break room with a colleague and had trouble sleeping thanks to his snoring. You can bet your sweet ass the next day I brought ear plugs to work and popped them in my trusty locker. I may never need them again, but if I do they’ll be there. And just the other day, I forgot to bring a coffee pod to work for my afternoon shift coffee nap, and was forced to steal one from the training department! So now my locker has a couple of extra coffee pods in it. Also, aloe vera tissues, face towels, tampons (even though I haven’t had a period in over three years), a spare 50dhs note, dental floss refill, a mini-vial of perfume, a couple of lip balms, a jacket, a toothbrush and toothpaste, lipstick, Band-Aids, Ibuprofen and Paracetamol, hairpins and hair ties, a mug (that I never use, but you never know), beef jerky (in case I need a snack), a magazine, electrolytes, a couple of spare face masks, a bowl, a fork, a spoon and a knife, and a mini-can of hairspray to tame my flyaway tresses in Dubai’s unforgiving humidity. Also, a spare set of glasses. This is actually a requirement from the regulator, but I’d have them anyway after once cleaning my specs at work with a dish scourer, scratching the shit out of them so badly that I couldn’t continue working and couldn’t even drive home. As you can see, I’m now ready for anything.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why order and structure and routine make me feel better than freewheeling spontaneity does. And I believe the reason is comfort. For better or worse, it would seem that comfort is my highest priority in life, greater than ambition, or the desire for success or money. Greater even than the need to be liked (though of course I am more comfortable when I am liked). I do think that my propensity towards order is borne from this desire, or at least amplified by it. If I have everything I need around me, ordered in a certain way, then the odds of me being uncomfortable are reduced. Which sounds great, but is actually kind of really shit when you think about it. And completely at odds with the way that I intellectually and spiritually strive to live my life. It’s the opposite of going with the flow and letting go. In Volume 3 of my Words With Chryss essay I talked about my attempts to transcend difficult feelings and situations. Part of my ongoing endeavours to improve myself involve learning to find comfort in discomfort (yoga is amazing for this). Alas it’s so extremely counterintuitive for me, that I have to work really hard to achieve it. Sometimes I do, but mostly I don’t. But learning to keep your equilibrium no matter what is happening around you is a very powerful trick to have up your sleeve. It’s freedom from the shackles of needing order to be happy. It’s freedom from needing anything to be happy. What I’d really like is to no longer have to arrange things to be just right. I want to be happy even if I run out of lip balm. Which sounds inconceivable to me right now, but is something worth pursuing. Do I sound like a hot mess? It’s because I am.
Entropy is the ultimate expression of chaos. Life, the universe and everything are all mercilessly advancing towards randomness and disorder. This explains why we die. It goes no way towards explaining why we exist in the first place. But here we are. Little pockets of order, we resist the irresistible. We oppose the inexorable. For a short while anyway. Life, while at times chaotic, is the ultimate expression of order. Still, this order has no choice but to yield to the rules of the universe. Life is fleeting, and order is just an illusion after all.
