comfortable in chaos

I’ve come to accept that I’m someone who feels most alive when things are slightly unhinged. I have proven time and time again that I feel deeply unsettled when things are too comfortable. I would much rather be working on a never-ending project or perform the sacred ritual of emotionally avoidant cleaning rather than simply sitting still in peace and quiet with my thoughts.  I will quite literally shake things up when life feels a little too calm—whether that means moving to the other side of the country (twice) or adopting another adult cat to add some excitement to my one-bedroom apartment.  It’s almost as if stillness feels like suffocation, while chaos feels like home. I warned you—we’re going deep this time around.

And now, willingly—yet enthusiastically, of course—I have two cats running my life for the next 20 years.

I’m sure this is connected to my tendency to feel restless and impulsive. I also think it’s a pretty clear sign of my avoidance patterns—kind of like how some people can’t sit in silence or eat without a distraction. (Read: me. Again.) Chaos tends to mask the deeper issues lurking beneath the surface. It can also create the illusion of being “too busy” to get things done. When I overpack my schedule, it makes my life look full—but what am I actually doing? What am I actually accomplishing?

Turns out, it was more noise than nourishment if ya catch my drift.

I recently came across a quote from Jessica Turner that said something along the lines of: You’re never too busy to do something—your life is all about prioritization, and you make time for the things you want to do. That being said, I often claimed to be ‘too busy,’ but the truth is—I wasn’t making time for what actually mattered: this blog, working out, or connecting with people I care about. I was waking up at 5 a.m., in bed by 9, and somehow still drowning in unfinished tasks. I mean—I'm not Steve Jobs. I should be able to knock out a to-do list.

But in reality, my schedule isn’t that demanding. Let’s be real—I spent a total of about 10 hours gathering information on that traffic ticket case, which I ultimately lost. I was just using busyness as a way to avoid what actually needed to be done.

When I quiet the noise—literally, in complete darkness and silence, like a monk in sensory exile—it’s never as difficult as I expect it to be. And I get the tasks done much faster.  Imagine that.

Whether it was alcohol, shopping, or getting a tattoo with the wrong numerical date on it (guilty), the rush I feel after doing something impulsive is exhilarating—until it fades about five minutes later. Then, I immediately start looking for something else to fill that void. I’ve been trying to understand why I do this.

The obvious answer is that I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts. But I think it runs deeper than that. When life slows down, a quiet kind of chaos begins to stir—restlessness, discomfort, the familiar haunt beneath all my stillness. It’s not just silence I resist—it’s what the silence reveals.  

Could it be that I crave control in chaotic situations? My house might be on fire, but at least I know where the fire is. Or does chaos actually fuel my creativity? Because there are times when it works in my favor—when I channel it correctly.

When I was drinking, my entire life was chaotic. I never knew where anything was (most notably my wallet and keys), I was late for everything, and I was rarely prepared.  Over the past 2.5 years, I’ve slowly implemented rituals to help quiet the noise—but every now and then, that old impulse still takes over. The overwhelm rushes in like muscle memory. Case in point: adopting a second adult cat precisely when life finally felt… suspiciously calm.

Upon further reflection—and with a gentle nudge from my therapist—I started to wonder: Could “chaos” simply be another word for challenge? I knew introducing two adult cats would be difficult, but I underestimated just how much. Still, there’s something deeply fulfilling about caring for them, learning their rhythms, and creating a space where they both feel safe. And yes, I do give myself a little figurative pat on the back every time they coexist peacefully instead of plotting each other’s downfall from opposite corners of the room.

A win is a win.

Maybe I don’t just seek chaos.
Maybe I seek challenge, growth, and the satisfaction of figuring things out.

Yeah. Let’s go with that.