Beau Desordre.

Everything now is algorithm and optimization.

Everyone's morning is the same morning. 

The lemon water. The Pilates. The barre. the matcha. The little linen set. The slow pan across the unmade-but-perfectly-styled bed.

There is a French phrase for the opposite of all this...

Beau desordre.

Beautiful disorder.

It is the only way I live.

Come spend a day with me... Day in the life.... Whose life? It looks like eleventy bajillion other lives.

If your day does not contain your own voice, your own rhythm, your own private superstitions and obsessions and detours... I don't want it. I don't want to see it.

I certainly don't want to live it. 

Beau desordre is the antidote. 

It is the coffee grinder I use that is older than most people with which I work... And possibly has microscopic grounds from two decades ago still in it, buried in the internal machinery. 

It is scarred Instapot with permament crust layer from the amount of meal prepped chicken I have made for my dog over the years. 

It's the Menagerie of lipsticks - nearly all the same color - I have collected over the decades and keep replacing because I think I've lost one, only for it to turn up in a purse I used months ago. 

It's large collection of plants I have in the house that live perpetually on a spectrum of shriveled veins and dehydrated badly to plump and full and overly vitamined.

It's the weeds that grow in the cracks in the travertine around my pool. It's the magic that keeps the critters (mice, rats, roaches, lizards) somehow out of my old house despite living on the corner lot and closest to the sewer drain - yet all my neighbors have had to deal with them. 

It's all a life that could only be mine. 

The algorithm wants you smooth. Wants you legible. Wants you optimized into something it can sell to.

My advice is to be a little feral. A little matutinal - not to get up and exercise, but to lie in bed and enjoy the start to the day before others have poured their energy in to deal with.

Light the candle. Keep the strange hours. Refuse to be useful in moments.

That is the only life worth sharing. The rest is content.