Clutter is a part of my life. Always has been, probably always will be. I tend to rationalize it, as in I tell myself I’m smart enough not to waste time on unnecessary cleaning. And there is some science to back me up on this. See article here: https://curiousmindmagazine.com/science-says-highly-intelligent-people-messy-profane-night-owls/
So it’s funny that I’ve been wanting to read Marie Kondo’s THE LIFE-CHANGING MAGIC OF TIDYING UP since I first heard of it some years back. Fast forward to about a month ago, I happened to remember the book while searching for a different book at the public library. I put my name on the wait list, and it arrived the other day. (Side note: It’s impressive that there is still a wait list for this book more than two years after publication.)
Books have a way of entering your life at the right time, and Kondo’s is no exception. Lately, I’ve been telling myself I need to get ready for a move, even though I have no idea when or how that will be. I haven’t really wanted to leave Albuquerque. I love the area. The great food, the Sandia Mountains to the east, the volcanoes to the west. It’s just beautiful here. But I need a better job. And I haven’t been making much progress on sending out my memoir. Albuquerque’s been feeling less like home.
Kondo’s method involves chucking anything you own that doesn’t “spark joy.” When I started sorting my clothes first like she recommends, I didn’t think I’d have much to get rid of, and in the scheme of things, I didn’t—certainly not trash bags full like some of her clients. But I did find clothes that I’d force myself to wear in spite of feeling frumpy and old in them. She’s right. Trashing these materials is actually freeing. It’s like a tamer form of Chuck Palahniuk’s blow-up-your-apartment-and-leave method. It feels better to wear something you like and are comfortable in, even if it means wearing the same outfit frequently. While I can’t get rid of every piece of clothing that doesn’t spark joy, a certain income is required for that, I’m more conscious of the clothes I still have.
Over these last days, I’ve been culling more and more stuff, and it’s sorta addicting. Like, what can I get rid of next?!? But then this morning, I noticed a calendar I hung above my writing desk and stopped. My dad’s calendar. It’s one of those free calendars you get in the mail from the Nature Conservancy. I took it from his desk a couple of nights before his funeral. I wanted something of his to hold onto, I told myself, but I think now I was literally trying to stop time. When I hung it up in my apartment, I declared I wouldn’t take it down until I moved out of the city. That’s a lot of mental baggage to hang on yourself, and I realized it needed to go.
But I couldn’t do it.
So I stared at it throughout the day, giving it the beady eye. When I finally took it down this evening, I could feel the frown on my face as I held it. The constriction in my chest. And I missed my father again. I placed it on a chair next to the trash first, and then finally in the trash. Time has moved on. And so must I.
The whole point of this discarding extravaganza is that by ridding yourself of things that don’t make you happy or “spark joy” you bring about the things you really do want. Hm. An actual writing career? A better paying job? Kondo’s got her work cut out for her. Or, really, I do since she never actually does the sorting for her clients.
Next up on my discard pile: Socks. I have about 30 mismatched pairs. Time to rectify that.