Trashes and treasures

First of all, my family, none of you are part of what I'm planning to haul to the curb.  Despite occasional threats over the years to sell any/all of you to the gypsies, this tidying up doesn't include any big dramas, or made-for-TV movie plots with estranged family members and sordid surprises. This is just about stuff.  Personal stuff.  My stuff.  And clearing out a space to live better without so much stuff.

That said, eventually I'll get to the basement -- ground zero for all kinds of emotional and physical baggage -- and we'll probably be having a discussion about your model airplanes, school projects, and who knows what that you've stored there over the years.  Stored and forgotten, as you've grown up and gone off to build new collections of stuff in your own homes. Just because there's room for it in my basement doesn't mean there's room for it in my basement.  I've got my own collections of scary basement archives and surprises to deal with.

But the basement is for much, much later.

My new little guidebook recommends tidying up by category of stuff, not by room.  It recommends removing every object in a selected category from its storage place(s) all over the house, putting everything in a pile, then quickly sorting while keeping only what gives you "a spark of joy". I see the logic and I think I agree, but that's just not going to be practical for me.

The guidebook author is Japanese, and lives in Tokyo.  I've been to a couple private homes in Japan.  They were just lovely -- nicely laid out, calming and restful.  But even the wealthy person's house that I visited was not notable for its rambling size and spacious storage (although the garden was incredible).  Let's face it, we just have more stuff in the U.S. and we like to spread it out. A lot. Besides, gathering up up all my books or clothes or whatever into a huge pile waiting to be sorted would probably give my organized and neurotic psyche a complete meltdown.  So I'll figure out how to honor the intent of that recommendation, sorting quickly and thoroughly without needing to medicate myself in the process.

The author also recommends tackling non-emotional stuff first, which makes perfect sense.  Then she recommends starting with clothes, which makes no sense.  Clothes, not emotionally charged?

Yeah, right.

The author is a very beautiful, very young, petite woman.  I'm betting she has never had to deal with whether to keep the fat pants in case the skinny pants suddenly don't fit, or admit that clothes that looked great only a year or so ago are suddenly all wrong.  She's never had to set aside styles that worked well for decades (a favorite color that's now harsh, a neckline that has gone from flattering to aging) and then figure out how to evolve her look, being true to herself as she is today.  In short, she's never been a fifty-something-year-old woman.  She's right about the clean up, but it's hardly non-emotional.

So I'll be starting this tidying up process with something a little less traumatizing.

Getting Started

When I was out Christmas shopping this year, I picked up a little book called "the life-changing magic of tidying up" to put in my own stocking. (Mom perk -- getting to stuff your own Christmas stocking.) Anyone who knows me would think that book is the last thing I need; I tend to be pretty organized. Okay then. Really, really organized.  A bit of a control freak.  Still, there must be a reason why such a book appealed to me.

I think it's because the problem with being organized is that things are always, well, organized.  But being organized doesn't mean stuff doesn't accumulate.  Actually, it makes it less annoying and obvious when it does, as everything appears to be under perfect control.  And stuff  creeps up on you, piling up neatly in well-organized drawers, boxes, and files -- and everything stills looks just lovely.  But as things accumulate in their well-controlled containers you find yourself living on the very surface of your "stuff", skimming over so much, only touching the favorite belongings at the surface, overlooking what's below, and never doing the hard work of digging through and figuring out what really should stay -- or go.

The symbolism of all this is not escaping me, of course.  It's not just about the physical stuff.  It might not even be mostly about the physical stuff.  It's about living life on the surface, keeping things (and thoughts, and patterns, and emotions) around that really don't add value, at least not any more. That's what I really want to tidy up -- the inside, not just the outside.

I'm hardly a pack rat, not destined for a TV special about my neurotic hoarding.  But still, why do I keep things that don't make my life better? I wonder what will happen if I follow some of the guidance in that little book, and do a serious, soul-searching purge of my stuff, inside and out?

I'm going to find out.  2015 is going to be my year of tidying up.