1. The Drawer with a Personality
There’s a drawer in my kitchen that could probably run for president if it wanted to. It’s bold, unpredictable, occasionally loud (hello, rogue metal lid at 2AM), and has opinions about who’s allowed to stay. If it doesn’t like something, it swallows it into the back corner. That’s just the rule.
I didn’t mean to let it get this way. It started as a calm, humble place for measuring spoons and a garlic press. Now it’s like the Wild West of culinary odds and ends. I swear I found a twist tie from 2008 in there. I don’t even know how that’s possible.
2. The Art of Chaotic Order
But weirdly, I kind of love it. Not just because it’s chaotic, but because it tells a story. Everything in there earned its spot. Not in a KonMari kind of way. More like, “you survived the last purge, good job” kind of way.
Take the tiny citrus zester I bought in a sleepy online shopping haze at 1:23 a.m. Was I making citrus tarts weekly like I imagined? No. Did I zest one lemon, cut my knuckle, and never use it again? Yes. And yet, there it sits. Slightly smug. Untouchable. I feel judged every time I make tea with un-zested lemon.
See also: How Decorators Build Spaces That Feel Authentic
3. Unexpected Heroes of the Drawer
Next to it is an item that has honestly saved my blender straws from becoming biology experiments. I’m talking about the natural loofah sponge that came in a random multipack and somehow outperformed every scrub brush I’ve owned. It’s small, round, slightly weird-looking, but works like a charm. The drawer accepts it. I accept it. We’re good.
There’s also this old bottle opener I don’t actually use. It belonged to my grandfather. It’s clunky and completely unnecessary now, but for some reason, I keep moving it from one apartment to the next. I can’t part with it. The drawer doesn’t mind — it has a soft spot for nostalgia. It’s allowed.
4. Tools, Trinkets, and Mild Regrets
Then there’s the rogue category: utensils I bought during a Very Ambitious Phase™. Fancy oil drizzlers. Spiralizers. Avocado slicers. Most of them didn’t last. But a few survived the exodus — like that crinkle-cut knife. I don’t know what possessed me to think crinkle-cut cucumber slices would change my life. But they did make one picnic feel elevated. For that, the drawer lets it stay.
Now, mixed in with all the random tools and memories is a category I didn’t expect to become essential: travel stuff. Like reusable cutlery, bag clips, and oddly — floss. Yep, floss.
I once bought biodegradable floss thinking it’d be a good backup for camping. And it turned out to be so much better than the regular kind. Doesn’t shred. Doesn’t come in that annoying plastic dispenser that never works. Also feels weirdly satisfying to use. I toss one in every bag I own now. The drawer holds the extras.
5. Embracing the Messy Reality
Sometimes, I’ll open the drawer and just… stare at it. Not in a poetic way. More like “how did you get like this” disbelief. It’s part kitchen, part time capsule, part therapy. There are notes from old roommates folded up under a jar lid. A tea bag I keep forgetting to throw out. Half a chopstick (the other half might be in the sock drawer, who knows).
If someone else opened it, they’d probably assume I don’t know how to organize. But I do. I just don’t want to, at least not fully. Because this drawer is kind of a reflection of me — not the curated version I present to the world, but the one that collects small joys and mild regrets, old habits and new tricks, all in one loud, semi-functional mess.
It’s not minimal. It’s not maximalist either. It’s just… real.
There are things in there that make no sense, and yet, I reach for them anyway. I even taped a tiny label on the inside that just says, “eh, close enough.” Because that’s the drawer’s entire vibe.
I’ve thought about clearing it out completely. Like, start fresh. Marie Kondo the heck out of it. But every time I try, I end up putting half the things right back. The ice cream scoop that doesn’t match anything but scoops perfectly. The spatula with the melted handle. The chopsticks from takeout that are way too nice to throw out but I also never use.
So I’ve decided to embrace the drawer as-is. Messy. Sentimental. Occasionally unhinged.
Because honestly, it’s kind of freeing. Not everything has to make sense. Not every object has to be optimized. Some things just belong, because they’ve been around. They’ve shown up. They’ve survived dishwashers and dropped lids and one weird houseguest who used my apple corer as a bottle opener (it worked… somehow).
And when something new earns its way in — like a tiny multi-tool I just bought on a whim — it gets to meet the rest of the crew. No judgment. Just utility and low-key chaos.
If you have a drawer like this — and I bet you do — I hope you give it a little love today. Maybe dig through it. Find that thing you forgot about. See if it still works. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, it’s probably got a story.
And if you don’t? I kind of envy you. But also, I don’t trust you.
