All my life, I've kept a treasure chest. I still have my original cool little wooden box from my childhood, filled with my then-precious things. It was originally a stationery box that my mom gave me when I was around 4 or 5 years old; a hinged box actually shaped like a treasure chest, with curved top and a ship painted on top. It isn't very big -- about the size of a load of bread -- but it was a perfect size for the little treasures of a little girl. A tiny Disney figurine. A special seashell. My Oscar Meyer wiener whistle (really). A carved wooden bear. And so many other things I can't remember right now. It's not a big box, but it's very big box to me.
That's my original treasure chest, tucked away somewhere in the basement. Of all the stuff I plan to tidy up down there this year, that chest is one thing that I'm really looking forward to finding again. It will be the reward for that huge tidying up task.
But in the meantime, almost without meaning to, I've added another box over the years, and it's become my current treasure chest. This box is bigger. It's not huge ... around the size of a picnic basket, but shaped like a small steamer trunk. Its contents are from about the past 30 years or so. (Yikes, I'm getting old.) It lives on the top shelf of my closet. I went through that chest this past week, looking through all its treasures. A pretty key chain. A shiny, flower-shaped magnet. A silver yo-yo. An embroidered coin purse. And much more. Most of the things in that box still have specific memories attached to them, like the string of worry beads from Greece given to me by an old boyfriend, or the tiny painted box filled with potpourri from an old friend, or that little metal rabbit charm from my dad. But a lot of the treasures don't have memories, they have only special feelings. Why does that pencil with a tube of pebbles on top make me happy? Why does the miniature padlock feel so special? Why do I care about that round metal mirror? Somewhere inside of me, all of these things mean - or meant - something.
Yes, I got rid of some of the contents of the box during my tidying. Things never belonged there, or whose meaning has drained away. Somewhere along the line some of the treasures turned into flotsam and jetsam that I don't need. But the things that are left now have room to breathe, and the box is still quite full. None of these little items represent huge, milestone moments in my life. They're small objects, with small memories and faint feelings. And maybe that's the point. Taken one at a time, they're no big deal. But taken together, they comprise many of the moments, feelings, and occasions that are making up my life and have made me happy. I guess life really is lived in the small moments. Perhaps I should focus more on those from now on.
Monday, January 19, 2015
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Black knee socks
I have way too many black knee-high socks. What the hell is that all about? Yes, I wear them frequently under slacks and jeans, or with boots. But I have (correction, had) a collection that would outfit a Catholic girls' school for a year. Honestly, there must have been about three dozen pair in that drawer. The black tight collection wasn't far behind. And that's not counting all the other colors.
My little book's author is adamant about the "right" way to fold stuff . Not binding them, allowing them to follow their own pattern, not interfering with their energy flow, allowing them to breathe. Stuff like that. Who knew? For instance, she's pretty clear that one should not tie socks together, or stretch the tops out to make tight little balls -- she insists they should be rolled gently "like sushi". I'm not an expert in sushi, but I tried this, out of curiosity. I certainly had enough socks to experiment with. First I got rid of all the ratty ones that always seem to end up on the top of the drawer (a hint as to why I had so many, I'm not going to ponder it beyond that). Then I rolled up the survivors and lined them up in the drawer, on end. They don't look much like sushi. And those little footsie stockings look more like meatballs. But they certainly take up a lot less room, and are easier to see and access, which I suppose is the point.
One odd moment was when I discovered two new packages of pantyhose that my mom gave me at the bottom of the drawer. She was forever buying them in strange colors (bright blue and off-white this time), deciding she didn't like them or was too old for them (she was right about that), then giving them to me. We didn't even wear the same size; I'm not fat, but she was seriously skinny. And she's been dead for three years. I found that I could purge them without feeling like I was giving a piece of her away; I'm not sure I could have done that a year ago. This is progress.
The book author recommends shoe boxes to keep socks and lingerie together and in place in the drawers. I am not going to all this work and then using old shoe boxes -- this much effort requires retail. So I bought some of those nifty cedar drawer dividers, and now all my socks, tights, lingerie, and such stuff are all organized and neatly in place. Still a few too many black socks, but at least I won't buy new ones for a long time.
I'm falling back into organizing vs. purging, I see, but I suppose this is my way of rewarding myself for what I've thrown out so far -- and there's been a lot of it, about 30% of my clothes, I'm guessing. I keep going into the closet to look at how open and accessible it all is, and opening drawers. Nothing lurking under other clothes on a hanger, nothing collecting dust in the back. No secrets or forgotten chapters. Which is really what the purge is all about, and I don't mean simply my clothes. Confront it, assess it, decide whether to keep it or purge it, then get closure about it and move on.
The clothing is almost done, except for the coat closet and an odd article or two that keep surfacing. I haven't unlocked any great revelations or truths about what this sudden desire to tidy up means. But as I clear out the old I think it will be much easier to focus on where I'm going next, instead of getting mired down and distracted about where I've been. I can't retreat into cleaning up the past if I've already cleaned it up. And maybe having a clear path behind me will give me a clear path in front of me.
My little book's author is adamant about the "right" way to fold stuff . Not binding them, allowing them to follow their own pattern, not interfering with their energy flow, allowing them to breathe. Stuff like that. Who knew? For instance, she's pretty clear that one should not tie socks together, or stretch the tops out to make tight little balls -- she insists they should be rolled gently "like sushi". I'm not an expert in sushi, but I tried this, out of curiosity. I certainly had enough socks to experiment with. First I got rid of all the ratty ones that always seem to end up on the top of the drawer (a hint as to why I had so many, I'm not going to ponder it beyond that). Then I rolled up the survivors and lined them up in the drawer, on end. They don't look much like sushi. And those little footsie stockings look more like meatballs. But they certainly take up a lot less room, and are easier to see and access, which I suppose is the point.
One odd moment was when I discovered two new packages of pantyhose that my mom gave me at the bottom of the drawer. She was forever buying them in strange colors (bright blue and off-white this time), deciding she didn't like them or was too old for them (she was right about that), then giving them to me. We didn't even wear the same size; I'm not fat, but she was seriously skinny. And she's been dead for three years. I found that I could purge them without feeling like I was giving a piece of her away; I'm not sure I could have done that a year ago. This is progress.
The book author recommends shoe boxes to keep socks and lingerie together and in place in the drawers. I am not going to all this work and then using old shoe boxes -- this much effort requires retail. So I bought some of those nifty cedar drawer dividers, and now all my socks, tights, lingerie, and such stuff are all organized and neatly in place. Still a few too many black socks, but at least I won't buy new ones for a long time.
I'm falling back into organizing vs. purging, I see, but I suppose this is my way of rewarding myself for what I've thrown out so far -- and there's been a lot of it, about 30% of my clothes, I'm guessing. I keep going into the closet to look at how open and accessible it all is, and opening drawers. Nothing lurking under other clothes on a hanger, nothing collecting dust in the back. No secrets or forgotten chapters. Which is really what the purge is all about, and I don't mean simply my clothes. Confront it, assess it, decide whether to keep it or purge it, then get closure about it and move on.
The clothing is almost done, except for the coat closet and an odd article or two that keep surfacing. I haven't unlocked any great revelations or truths about what this sudden desire to tidy up means. But as I clear out the old I think it will be much easier to focus on where I'm going next, instead of getting mired down and distracted about where I've been. I can't retreat into cleaning up the past if I've already cleaned it up. And maybe having a clear path behind me will give me a clear path in front of me.
Monday, January 5, 2015
Okay, I lied
I really thought I was done dealing with the past work clothes (and by default, closing that career chapter). But apparently not. It was easy enough to get rid of the basic around-the-office slacks, tasteful yet bland sweaters and blazers, and the overly conservative costumes we all default to on our normal, routine, office days of endless internal meetings, PowerPoint deck creation and presentation, paper shuffling, email composition, and personal positioning with whomever is the power broker du jour who can make our work lives easier, or make them a living hell. Off those clothes go, via Purple Heart, to someone else plodding away trying to make a living in big company corporate America. And the memories of that mind-numbing time along with it.
In my current job, I can wear more casual, more interesting clothes. There are lots of negatives in my current job that I'll think about later, but the clothing thing is definitely a positive.
But towards the back of the closet are three business suits that I haven't worn in at least 10 years. As I reached for them during my latest tidying up project, I froze. I just couldn't take them off the rail. No, no, no. What was going on?
I've been thinking about those suits ever since. Yes, they're really cute, and suit me (pun intended) much better than the dull office attire ever did. And they still fit nicely, so it's not a wishful thinking if-only-I-were-still-a-size-eight kind of thing. And they're still stylish, because they're classic, sleek and sophisticated. I was assuming it was an unwillingness to get rid of something expensive and in great condition, even though I don't need them now. But I've done a lot of that sort of purging already so I don't think that's quite it.
When I mentioned the suits to my husband, he immediately remembered them too -- along with some great memories that they carried. During that brief (3 - 4 year) career phase when I wore them a lot, I loved my job. Loved it, loved it. We lived in Europe, I traveled the world, met interesting people, did valued work for people I enjoyed, and had a blast. I knew it couldn't last forever, and it didn't. Company management changed, and company priorities changed quickly to match. The "must have innovation imperative for the future" that was my area of expertise overnight became "an overhead burden on our core business proposition". (Translation: kill anything the previous management championed, especially promising innovation, because new management won't get credit for it). And I, along with others like me, were shuffled into traditional corporate drone roles where we couldn't do damage with out-of-the-box thinking and would occupy safe little niches in the bureaucracy. But while it lasted, it had been the best part of my career. So far, at least. And I think that was simply because I was respected, listened to for my creative ideas, able to think freely, and in demand by people I admired and respected myself without a thought for corporate titles and org charts and other such management currency.
And I found out something deep inside that I didn't realize I knew. Basically, I was really comfortable with who I was when I wore those suits and I'm not ready to give up that feeling -- or the suits. I want to feel that way again about my work, regardless of what I do or wear. So I'm hanging on to those suits for a while longer, to see what else they can teach me.
In my current job, I can wear more casual, more interesting clothes. There are lots of negatives in my current job that I'll think about later, but the clothing thing is definitely a positive.
But towards the back of the closet are three business suits that I haven't worn in at least 10 years. As I reached for them during my latest tidying up project, I froze. I just couldn't take them off the rail. No, no, no. What was going on?
I've been thinking about those suits ever since. Yes, they're really cute, and suit me (pun intended) much better than the dull office attire ever did. And they still fit nicely, so it's not a wishful thinking if-only-I-were-still-a-size-eight kind of thing. And they're still stylish, because they're classic, sleek and sophisticated. I was assuming it was an unwillingness to get rid of something expensive and in great condition, even though I don't need them now. But I've done a lot of that sort of purging already so I don't think that's quite it.
When I mentioned the suits to my husband, he immediately remembered them too -- along with some great memories that they carried. During that brief (3 - 4 year) career phase when I wore them a lot, I loved my job. Loved it, loved it. We lived in Europe, I traveled the world, met interesting people, did valued work for people I enjoyed, and had a blast. I knew it couldn't last forever, and it didn't. Company management changed, and company priorities changed quickly to match. The "must have innovation imperative for the future" that was my area of expertise overnight became "an overhead burden on our core business proposition". (Translation: kill anything the previous management championed, especially promising innovation, because new management won't get credit for it). And I, along with others like me, were shuffled into traditional corporate drone roles where we couldn't do damage with out-of-the-box thinking and would occupy safe little niches in the bureaucracy. But while it lasted, it had been the best part of my career. So far, at least. And I think that was simply because I was respected, listened to for my creative ideas, able to think freely, and in demand by people I admired and respected myself without a thought for corporate titles and org charts and other such management currency.
And I found out something deep inside that I didn't realize I knew. Basically, I was really comfortable with who I was when I wore those suits and I'm not ready to give up that feeling -- or the suits. I want to feel that way again about my work, regardless of what I do or wear. So I'm hanging on to those suits for a while longer, to see what else they can teach me.
Saturday, January 3, 2015
So it begins
Chronicling a year of cleaning up would make my eyeballs bleed, so I won't be doing that. But keeping track of the process will force me to finish it, and I can hopefully figure out why I'm compelled to do so.
Let's just say I've started. It's easier -- and harder -- than I thought to get rid of things. I started with some fairly tame things, like toiletries and makeup and hair products whatever else gets stashed in my bathroom. But then my well-thought-out process started taking on a life of its own. Like every time I passed my closet, some stray article of clothing yelled "trash me!". The linen closet said "Ugly towels - must go now!" So I grabbed all of that and put it in a pile, and ended up with a bunch of clothes, linens, and random stuff that wasn't even on my list yet for tidying. Down to the charity pile in the basement it went, and back to my process. Kinda. I'm probably going to have to go back and re-purge the closets, but at least the worst offenders have been banished.
As I started nibbling away at my work clothes, it was a weird feeling. Since I'm in the latter stages of my career, I know I'll never need most of this corporate-y crap again. Just a limited number of respectable items along with my casual clothes.
Sitting on the floor with a pile of old business wear has gotten me thinking about my career. Am I happy with what I've done? Am I proud of it? Parts of it, I suppose, which is probably true of most people. I haven't changed the world, climbed far up the ladder, or become a captain of industry. Even become much of an expert in my field, just a competent player. The parts of my career I remember most happily are those that connect to why I started in this profession (healthcare marketing) in the first place. Helping, teaching, connecting, creating, building new things. So when I look at the last parts of my career, I have to figure out how to get back to that again. I well and truly hate the politics and the posturing. I've held my nose and done it (badly, actually) to get to do the things I really want to do. There are many expert politicos in my business, and I certainly don't hold them in disdain; I admire the skill set. But not enough to learn to do it -- politics never offered the rewards I wanted. It's just as well. In my field, it's the young up-and-comer who is better positioned for the political games. Not that we older folks have lost our touch or ability, I don't think. In my case, I just don't want to waste the time any more.
The good thing about getting rid of the corporate costumes is that I can dress more like myself now and still get my job done. A little bit offbeat, a more distinct style. Maybe that will inspire me to be a little bit offbeat in one pants size smaller ... chubby funky sounds pathetic.
I wonder what the last parts of my career should look like -- it occurs to me that the old one doesn't fit any better than the old suits do. And how does a 50-something woman fit in to this business world? Or do I even want to anymore? Something to explore.
What I've learned so far about tidying up:
1) As I suspected, tidying up my stuff is a proxy for tidying up internally. Every night, I'm actually dreaming about cleaning closets. How symbolic is that?
2) Being organized is not the same as tidying up. Tidying up (throwing things away) is much harder than putting it away. Not buying any boxes or containers or organizing paraphernalia. The goal is to trash stuff, not store it more attractively.
3) There are few women over 50 who can wear glittery eye shadow and blue nail polish. I am not one of them. That was the easiest port of the purge.
Let's just say I've started. It's easier -- and harder -- than I thought to get rid of things. I started with some fairly tame things, like toiletries and makeup and hair products whatever else gets stashed in my bathroom. But then my well-thought-out process started taking on a life of its own. Like every time I passed my closet, some stray article of clothing yelled "trash me!". The linen closet said "Ugly towels - must go now!" So I grabbed all of that and put it in a pile, and ended up with a bunch of clothes, linens, and random stuff that wasn't even on my list yet for tidying. Down to the charity pile in the basement it went, and back to my process. Kinda. I'm probably going to have to go back and re-purge the closets, but at least the worst offenders have been banished.
As I started nibbling away at my work clothes, it was a weird feeling. Since I'm in the latter stages of my career, I know I'll never need most of this corporate-y crap again. Just a limited number of respectable items along with my casual clothes.
Sitting on the floor with a pile of old business wear has gotten me thinking about my career. Am I happy with what I've done? Am I proud of it? Parts of it, I suppose, which is probably true of most people. I haven't changed the world, climbed far up the ladder, or become a captain of industry. Even become much of an expert in my field, just a competent player. The parts of my career I remember most happily are those that connect to why I started in this profession (healthcare marketing) in the first place. Helping, teaching, connecting, creating, building new things. So when I look at the last parts of my career, I have to figure out how to get back to that again. I well and truly hate the politics and the posturing. I've held my nose and done it (badly, actually) to get to do the things I really want to do. There are many expert politicos in my business, and I certainly don't hold them in disdain; I admire the skill set. But not enough to learn to do it -- politics never offered the rewards I wanted. It's just as well. In my field, it's the young up-and-comer who is better positioned for the political games. Not that we older folks have lost our touch or ability, I don't think. In my case, I just don't want to waste the time any more.
The good thing about getting rid of the corporate costumes is that I can dress more like myself now and still get my job done. A little bit offbeat, a more distinct style. Maybe that will inspire me to be a little bit offbeat in one pants size smaller ... chubby funky sounds pathetic.
I wonder what the last parts of my career should look like -- it occurs to me that the old one doesn't fit any better than the old suits do. And how does a 50-something woman fit in to this business world? Or do I even want to anymore? Something to explore.
What I've learned so far about tidying up:
1) As I suspected, tidying up my stuff is a proxy for tidying up internally. Every night, I'm actually dreaming about cleaning closets. How symbolic is that?
2) Being organized is not the same as tidying up. Tidying up (throwing things away) is much harder than putting it away. Not buying any boxes or containers or organizing paraphernalia. The goal is to trash stuff, not store it more attractively.
3) There are few women over 50 who can wear glittery eye shadow and blue nail polish. I am not one of them. That was the easiest port of the purge.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)