I've always been a purger.
It's seasonal. Each September (new school year!) and somewhere in January/February (early-spring cleaning!), I tend to start shoving stuff out of the house.
You would think after a lifetime of this behavior I wouldn't have much left, but it isn't the case. TJ and I are in an extra stuff-bringing situation right now: We haven't moved in three years. In our early marriage, we moved every year. So every 12 months, I had a chance to touch most of my belongings and decide, "Is this really worth packing?"
When I moved to South Dakota in 2008, I had paired my glorified-studio apartment down to what fit in the back of my Subaru Impreza and my mother's Forester. Since then, the moves have required significantly more vehicles.
Don't ask me why I decided to read "The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up" this winter. I think it was motivated by my desire to have more bookshelves. Since TJ lost his job, all of his books went from his big office back into boxes and into the shed. Last fall, we bought large plastic totes and repackaged all of our books out of the U-Haul boxes they'd been languishing in since we moved here from Yakima and put them in "long-term storage" totes. I know that TJ has a deep connection to his books, and I really wanted him to feel like he had more space in our apartment to have himself displayed. The last year has been particularly rough as we've both worked to rebuild our identities.
That process of self-discovery called for physical representation.
So enter Marie Kondo, a Japanese organization and tidying expert who is, quite likely, certifiably insane. However, her book is beautiful and calming and a fascinating read, from the culture perspective alone. In short, she gives you guidance on how to re-evaluate your life via your stuff: You must hold each thing in your hand and ask yourself, "Does it bring me joy?" If yes, keep it. If no, thank it for its service to you and release it.
I read the first half of the book entranced. The way she talks about possessions is fascinating. Each item should be happy, she says. Hang up the clothing that is happier hung. Fold items so they are happy folded. What a sad drawer of balled-up socks. Those socks are unhappy, she tells us.
I was in full-force. I assigned TJ the chapters on clothing through papers, and I began to dig in.
The art of tidying begins in the closet, then progresses on to books, and then "komono" (everything else, basically), and ends with mementos and emotionally-wrought material. Each person must do their own things; you cannot tidy for someone else, and you cannot question another's choices. She recommends an "all-in" approach that requires dumping everything of one category on the floor and going through it, doing your entire home in one swoop and not really taking breaks.
I have a kid and a life, so that's not happening.
But let me tell you what has.
We've taken at least five trunkloads of clothing, toys, books and kitchen supplies to the various thrift stores in town in the last two months. We've filled our large trash can at least three times.
TJ donated hundreds (though we didn't have the strength count them) of books. And T-shirts. For the first time in our marriage, TJ has all of his books in the house. Mine are still in the shed (because it started snowing again before I got to mine). We both have all of our clothes in our dressers and our shared closet, and the drawers are not over-packed. I no longer have to use the portable closet I bought for the hallway. I no longer sort throuh the "bad socks" in my sock drawer to find my "good socks." The kitchen drawers don't stick with junk and I know where the pot I need is. I don't avoid using the slow cooker, because I know it's accessible and not lost behind a pile of cake pans that I'm not using. We donated a large trash bag full of movies - including some blu-rays we'd bought and never watched.
Here's what else:
We're deciding who we are. For TJ, this mean donating a large assortment of polo T-shirts and professional dress clothing. He said, "This is not who I am." And it's not in rebellion to his student/unemployment status - he still has lots of nice work-appropriate clothing. It's him saying, "Look, I hate polos. I'm not a polo guy." and being able to release that expectation of himself that he could become one by dressing the role. For me, it was releasing two storage tubs full of size 12 pants and saying, "Look, it's OK. I'm not a size 12. I will not let this tote of clothing make me feel bad."
Among the books TJ released were collections of "rock journalism" and lots of writing-craft work. He's past the rock journalist desire, he says, and he's advanced beyond the tools those craft books can teach him. They have been released for others to learn from.
For me, I let go of multiple sizes of Wilton pans, and glass cake stands that I bought as props in my food-writer days. They were beautiful. But -- I don't need photo props any more. I don't need to bake a wedding-cake sized layer cake. I will never use this soccer ball cake mold. That's OK.
Tonight, I cleaned out two boxes from the top of Clark's closet. Both held memento-style material: Lots and lots of birthday, anniversary, Valentine's and baby cards. A pile of leftover wedding invitations. Two baby scrapbooks I forgot I had so I've never filled them out. More cards. (Lots of cards).
I opened each card and re-read the message. I kept one or two from each of Clark's birthdays. I kept two samples of our wedding invitations, and one each of former Christmas card photos. And to the rest I said, "Thank you for being a thoughtful message from someone I love." And I threw them away.
It sounds harsh. And TJ loves cards -- it's his love language. And for him, I kept a few: The first card I ever gave him: A Christmas card when we were in college together; and the card I sent him that included the $100 in gas money he needed to move to South Dakota so we could be together.
I want the items we keep to be worth keeping. To be cherished memories that paint a picture of memorable people. I'm tired of hauling around photographs of scenery I can't remember or ex-boyfriends I'd rather forget. I'm tired of being burdened by clothing that doesn't fit me or make me feel good.
I'm tired of not being able to find myself in my life.
And so we tidy. We dig through boxes and we sort socks. We hold each thing and think, "Does this make me happy?" And we learn a little bit about our soul as we say, "Thank you for your service" and release each item into its next journey.
And we take another step into the strength and confidence of our own identity.
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