Klean Kitchen

Because nothing says “growth” like taking out the trash

I don’t know if it’s now a part of my identity, but lately it’s nearly impossible for me to go to bed with a dirty kitchen.
It feels like a brain-monster squatting on my mental peace.

For the clean freaks out there, you’re probably reading this thinking:
“Uh… yeah. Duhhh.”

But for my people—my Type B creatives, my comrades who have twenty projects open and hopscotch between them like it’s an Olympic sport—I see you. I get you, I am you.

Because for us, it works… until it doesn’t.

And when it stops working, it’s usually not dramatic. It’s subtle. Like a thread quietly fraying.

I’ve always found change to be hard—especially when the thing I’m trying to change feels wired into me, like a personality trait rooted in the motherboard.
I used to ask myself:

Why can’t I change? or Why is it so damn hard to change?
What’s wrong with me? Or better yet is this something I NEED to change?

Here’s the thing I’ve learned the uncomfortable way:

When I’ve tried to change everything, nothing has changed.

One of my buddies, Dickie Bush says this all the time in my head:
small compounding behavior changes.

So I started looking at the smallest slice of my life where I could actually win a clear, measurable battle:
the kitchen.

Not the whole house.
Not my entire identity.
Just the kitchen.

It’s become a physical metaphor for how my world works.
When my space is cluttered, so is my mind. When my counters are clean, I can breathe. I can create. I can think in straight lines instead of spirals.

Funny thing is—I wasn’t raised this way.
I’ve always been a bit of a beautiful mess.
There are childhood photos of me with food on my face, stains on my shirt, toys everywhere. Chaos was the default.

For years, I fought that part of me. I tried to become the kind of person who is naturally clean, organized, fully optimized, and “on top of it.”
I tried to jam that identity into myself like forcing the wrong puzzle piece into the wrong spot.

It never stuck.

But the kitchen?
The kitchen gives me a fighting chance.

It’s the one place I can practice clarity in a world that feels loud.
It’s a space where I can be both messy and creative—then bring it back to center.
It’s a place where I can challenge the old ideas of who I’ve been and experiment with who I’m becoming.

Recently I’ve been learning—maybe remembering—how much my physical environment mirrors my internal environment.

I know when my studio is clean, I make better things. There is more intention and clarity. As the klean kitchen has become my new normal, my next endeavor will be bringing that philosophy into my studio.

Today I gave myself an assignment:
30 minutes to write this, 30 minutes to edit it, and then post.
No perfectionism. No overthinking.
Just a clean countertop and a clean shot at clarity.

Why “Klean” with a K?
Because it reminds me this is personal.
Not Pinterest-clean.
Not Instagram-clean.
Fletch-clean. Klean.

A little bit chaotic, a little bit creative, but with intention.
A version of clean that makes space for who I’m becoming.

Maybe your kitchen is your place.
Maybe it’s your desk, your notebook, your car, your morning ritual.

But somewhere in your world is a tiny slice of reality you can control—
a physical cue that tells your brain:

We good. Let’s go build.

And sometimes, that’s all you need.

Be well,

—Fletch