Home of Misfits - Messy Middle Notes #someday

The Security Blanket

Fri, 19 Jun 2026 08:07:47 -0600

Well, this is awkward...
I thought I was being prepared. The truth was far more interesting.

For most of my life, I thought hoarding was something other people did. You know, the people everyone shakes their heads at. The people whose houses become cautionary tales. The ones whose garages haven't seen an actual vehicle since the late nineties because every available square inch has been claimed by things they might need someday.

I never considered that I might have something in common with them.

Not once.

Now before anybody starts imagining towers of newspapers, forty-seven cats, and a narrow trail leading through my living room like some sort of archaeological expedition, let's calm down. My version was much tidier than that. My version fit neatly into closets, drawers, cabinets, and shelves.

Lots and lots of shelves.

Looking back, I can see exactly how it happened. It wasn't a conscious decision. I never woke up one morning and thought, "You know what would really improve my life? Keeping random things for decades." It happened slowly, one item at a time. Craft supplies. Office supplies. Books. Cables and cords whose original purpose had long since disappeared into the mists of time. Trinkets, gadgets, and perfectly good things that might come in handy one day. Things that had once served a purpose and no longer did but somehow continued earning their place in my home.

The funny thing was that every single item came with a perfectly reasonable explanation.

I might need it.

It could be useful.

What if I can't replace it?

What if?

At the time, those thoughts felt practical. Responsible, even. I wasn't hoarding. I was preparing. I was being resourceful. I was thinking ahead. Look at me being a capable adult and planning for the future.

Meanwhile, my closets were quietly preparing for the apocalypse.

Not the exciting kind with zombies and dramatic movie soundtracks. The organized kind. The kind where I could confidently survive because I apparently owned enough office supplies to supply a small company, enough craft supplies to open a hobby store, and enough mystery cables to reconnect technology from three different decades.

The longer I sit with this now, the more I realize the stuff was never really the point.

The feeling was.

Because every object represented something bigger than itself. It represented security. It represented preparedness. It represented the comforting illusion that if something went wrong tomorrow, I would somehow be okay because I had saved the thing.

What thing?

Didn't matter.

The thing.

That realization hit me harder than I expected.

One day I found myself looking at something I hadn't touched in years. I don't even remember what it was now, which is probably part of the lesson. I just remember standing there asking myself a question I had somehow avoided for decades.

Why am I keeping this?

The answer wasn't because it was useful.

The answer wasn't because it was valuable.

The answer wasn't even because I particularly liked it.

The answer was because it made me feel safer.

And suddenly this wasn't a conversation about clutter anymore.

It was a conversation about scarcity.

Growing up, scarcity wasn't an occasional visitor. It wasn't a passing thought that showed up every now and then. It was more like an unwanted roommate that never left. It colored how I viewed money, opportunities, possessions, and sometimes even life itself. There was always this underlying sense that there might not be enough. Not enough resources. Not enough security. Not enough certainty. Not enough guarantees.

When you spend enough years living with that belief, you start preparing for shortages that may never come.

You start collecting safety.

Once I saw that pattern in myself, I started noticing it everywhere. Suddenly the idea of hoarding became much bigger than overflowing closets and storage units. Some people collect possessions. Some people collect money. Some people collect accomplishments, titles, influence, status, followers, or power. The pile changes, but the promise underneath often sounds remarkably familiar.

"If I get enough of this, I'll finally feel safe."

That's where things started getting uncomfortable.

Because society has a fascinating habit of judging some forms of hoarding while celebrating others. Fill your house with newspapers and people become concerned. Fill your bank account with billions and people become impressed. One gets labeled a problem. The other gets labeled success. Yet underneath both can be driven by the exact same question.

What if there isn't enough?

Now before anyone sharpens their pitchfork and starts drafting an angry email, I'm not saying money is bad. Success isn't bad. Influence isn't bad. Ambition isn't bad. Not even a little. Money is a tool. Power is a tool. Influence is a tool.

The real question is why we're collecting.

Are we building something meaningful?

Or are we trying to soothe a fear that can never be satisfied?

Because fear is greedy. It never reaches a point where it says, "Perfect. We have enough now." Fear always wants one more. One more dollar. One more achievement. One more backup plan. One more reason to believe everything will be okay.

Just one more.

The biggest surprise wasn't how much lighter my house became when I finally started letting things go. The biggest surprise was how much lighter I became. Every item that left seemed to take a little bit of fear with it. Every shelf I cleared created room somewhere inside me too. It wasn't really about decluttering. It was about dismantling a belief system I had been carrying around for years.

Turns out, I wasn't hoarding stuff.

I was hoarding security.

And the irony is that the security I was looking for was never sitting in those closets in the first place. It wasn't hiding in a drawer. It wasn't tucked away on a shelf. It wasn't waiting inside a storage container to rescue me from some future disaster.

It was hiding in trust.

Trust that I could handle whatever came next.

Trust that there would be enough.

Trust that I would figure it out.

Trust that I was already far more capable than fear wanted me to believe.

That lesson didn't arrive overnight, and if I'm being honest, it's probably still teaching itself to me in small ways. Every now and then I still find something I'm reluctant to release. Every now and then that old voice still whispers, "What if you need it someday?"

These days, I simply smile and ask a different question.

What if I don't?

Funny enough, that question has created far more freedom than all the shelves ever did.

Turns out freedom wasn't waiting on the other side of more.

It was waiting on the other side of enough.

The sneaky little bastard.

What About You?

As I dug into my own relationship with scarcity, I discovered that the things we hold onto aren't always sitting on shelves or tucked away in closets. Sometimes they're old beliefs. Old fears. Old stories we've carried for so long that we mistake them for truth.

What are you holding onto?

What belief, fear, expectation, or "just in case" story might be taking up space in your life?

You don't have to figure it out alone.

If you're feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or caught in patterns that no longer serve you, a Wayfinding Session can help uncover the perspective shifts hiding beneath the surface. Sometimes the biggest breakthroughs don't come from working harder. Sometimes they come from seeing the story differently.

Learn more about Wayfinding and explore what's possible at MattersOfPerspective.com.

Because shift happens ...

And sometimes freedom begins the moment we realize we already have enough.

The Someday Box

Thu, 18 Jun 2026 07:49:49 -0600

Where good intentions go to collect dust.
I didn't realize how much of my life I'd packed into the Someday Box until I started unpacking it.

Next month I'll turn sixty.

Now before some of you start getting all emotional about that number, don't worry. I'm still mentally somewhere between twelve and forty-two, depending on the day, the amount of coffee involved, and whether Jeff has suggested a trip to Costco.

What turning sixty has done, however, is make me pause and take inventory.

Not in a sad way. Not in a "where did my life go" kind of way. More in a "holy crap, how did that happen so fast?" sort of way.

Because the truth is, when we're younger, we think we have all the time in the world.

I know I did.

When I was still living in Germany, there were so many places I wanted to visit. Germany itself has incredible history and beautiful places, but I also dreamed of exploring other parts of Europe. Castles, museums, little villages, big cities, adventures waiting around every corner. At the time, I didn't have the money or the means to do many of those things, so I did what most people do.

I put them into the Someday Box.

You know the one.

The place where dreams, hobbies, adventures, projects, and brilliant ideas go to collect dust while we wait for life to cooperate.

I'll do it later.

I'll do it when I have more money.

I'll do it when things calm down.

I'll do it when life gets easier.

I'll do it someday.

Then life happened.

I met Jeff. Moved halfway across the world. Built a life. Raised children. Navigated challenges. Celebrated victories. Collected stories. Collected wisdom. Collected enough titanium in my body to set off security systems for the foreseeable future.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, decades quietly slipped by.

Today I have no desire to move back to Germany. My life is here. My people are here. My adventures are here. But there are still things sitting in that old Someday Box that never happened. Not because they weren't important. Not because they weren't possible. Simply because someday kept getting pushed a little further down the road.

Funny how that works.

The thing is, it wasn't just travel.

It was books I wanted to read.

Hobbies I wanted to learn.

Projects I wanted to start.

Experiences I wanted to have.

Conversations I wanted to have.

Risks I wanted to take.

Someday.

Such an innocent little word.

And yet it can be one of the biggest dream killers we ever invite into our lives.

Now, before anyone starts feeling sorry for me because there are things I can no longer do physically, please don't. This isn't a pity party. I don't even like those. The snacks are usually disappointing.

The reality is that my body has taught me some valuable lessons over the years. There are absolutely things I could have done thirty years ago that I cannot do today. That's simply true. But I've also learned that happiness has very little to do with perfect circumstances and a whole lot to do with perspective.

I've adapted.

I've modified.

I've learned new ways.

And honestly, some of my favorite adventures have happened after life stopped following my original plans.

Date night at Costco, anyone?

The biggest shift didn't happen because my circumstances changed. The biggest shift happened because I changed.

In 2018, I got the nudge to write a book.

Not a gentle little whisper.

More like the Universe grabbing me by the shoulders and saying, "Pay attention, woman."

The idea for Happiness Matters: Unleash Your Superpower in 7 Easy Steps showed up and refused to leave. Now, at the time, I had plenty of reasons not to write a book. I wasn't a writer. I had never written a book before. I didn't know anything about publishing. I had no idea whether anyone would even read it.

In other words, I had the same list of excuses most humans carry around.

But for whatever reason, I didn't put that dream into the Someday Box.

I sat down.

I wrote.

Three and a half months later, the book was published.

That one decision changed far more than I realized at the time.

Because something interesting happens when you stop waiting for permission. Something shifts when you stop asking whether you're qualified and start asking whether you're willing. Once I finished that first book, I realized I didn't need better circumstances. I didn't need more confidence. I didn't need somebody else to tell me I could do it.

I simply needed to begin.

Now, when a book feels like it wants to be born, I sit down and write.

The blog is another perfect example.

For years I talked about starting one. I even started one a couple of times. Then the voices showed up. You know the ones. The helpful little gremlins who live rent-free in our heads and spend their days offering terrible advice.

Nobody cares.

You're not a real writer.

Someone else already said it better.

Why bother?

And because I listened to those voices, I stopped.

Twice.

This year the nudge showed up again.

Only this time felt different.

I can't fully explain it.

Maybe it's all the inner work.

Maybe it's all the perspective shifts.

Maybe it's age.

Maybe it's wisdom.

Or maybe I'm simply running out of patience for my own nonsense.

Whatever it is, this time I listened.

This time I kept going.

And the beautiful thing is that someday didn't disappear.

It became today.

Now, almost every day feels like someday.

Not because life is perfect.

Not because everything magically fell into place.

Not because I suddenly became fearless.

Lord knows that's not true.

It's because I choose differently.

I follow the nudge.

I answer the call.

I start the project.

I write the book.

I make the phone call.

I say yes to the adventure.

I stop waiting for permission.

Do I still get scared?

Absolutely.

Do I still doubt myself sometimes?

Of course.

Usually before coffee.

Sometimes after coffee.

The difference is that fear no longer gets the final vote.

Because one of the greatest lessons I've learned through all the work I've done is that every moment contains a choice. Not necessarily a choice about what happens to us, but always a choice about what happens next. Most of us spend years running on autopilot. We surrender our power without even realizing it. We allow circumstances to determine how we think, how we feel, how we respond.

Been there.

Done that.

Bought the shirt.

Probably lost it.

But awareness changes things.

Once you see it, you can't unsee it.

You begin catching yourself faster. You notice the stories. You notice the excuses. You notice the fear. And suddenly there is space to make a different choice.

That choice changed my life.

And maybe that's why turning sixty doesn't bother me.

What bothers me is the thought of reaching the end of my life and realizing I spent too much of it waiting.

Waiting for better timing.

Waiting for certainty.

Waiting for permission.

Waiting for someday.

Life is too precious for that.

So if your heart has been nudging you toward something, maybe this is your reminder.

Take the class.

Write the book.

Plan the adventure.

Read the book gathering dust on your nightstand.

Reach out to the person you've been thinking about.

Say the thing.

Do the thing.

Try the thing.

Because someday isn't actually a day on the calendar.

It's a choice.

And today is available right now.

What about you?

What have you been saving for someday?

A trip?

A conversation?

A dream you've quietly tucked away because life got busy?

I'd love to hear about it in the comments.

One of the things I've learned over the years is that most of us don't need more information. We need more awareness. We need someone to help us notice the stories we're telling ourselves, the fears running in the background, and the places where we've accidentally handed our power away.

That's the work I do every day.

I help people become more present, more aware, and more intentional so they can stop living on autopilot and start making conscious choices that move them toward the life they actually want.

If you're feeling stuck, overwhelmed, or like you've been living in the Someday Box for far too long, I invite you to explore the different ways we can work together.

You can find them at Ways to Begin.

Because someday isn't a destination.

It's a decision.

And today is still available.

Shift happens...