Yeah, it’s paradoxical sounding and that’s exactly why I chose it for my title. That, and it’s entirely relevant to what I’m going to talk about.
I was just reading a post on 43folders—a site that might seemingly border on the edge of complete anal retention, but, in reality, it’s not that severe. It’s a take-it-or-leave-it kind of advice, like real advice should be. Otherwise, it’s not really “advice” is it?
Anyway, there’s a whole series on the book It’s All Too Much by Peter Walsh, an organizer from a show on my ex-lover—TLC. Yes, I have left you for the much hipper, although heavily Canadian, HGTV, and I’m never looking back… except to watch shows about dwarves.
Alot of what lies at the heart of all the crap we keep is an emotional attachment, some kind of guilt, a feeling of some kind of obligation to keep something. The obligation can either be social (”Oh God, Aunt Mathilda will die if I don’t have that lamp on display when she comes over.”) or simple anxiety (”What if I NEED that someday?” says the man about his steak branding equipment.)
I am afflicted with both. This has lead to a pile of books that I do not use, unsightly home decor that I will never hang, and papers upon papers for that “What if…”. In my old, very gorgeous, sorely missed for its architectural details apartment, keeping things wasn’t such an issue because the place was so huge. Who cared? Now, though, my little bunghole, uh, bungalow simply can’t take it.
At first, this produced some anxiety, naturally. Where do I put all of this crap? Believe me, you just don’t know you have a problem until you hear the people helping you move saying that they’ve never seen one person with so much stuff.
Now, as I have somewhat mistakenly eliminated some of my already non-existent storage, I’ve become rather cut throat about clutter. I simply say, I have NO room for this. That simple statement really keeps the emotional factor out of it. It’s not even really a choice. “It just don’t fit fellas.” Pretty simple.
I’m not packed to the gills, I can still walk rather unencumbered through my house, but there’s shit all over the place. Shit that has no home. It can’t even be too good for its home because it doesn’t have a home to be too good for.
In order to lower my level of frustration with the size of my house, I now get rid of things. LOTS of things. Furniture, books, papers, an extra vacuum. Soon it will be speakers, other furniture, MORE books, and anything else that gives me the stink eye when I walk by. Out, out damn… Mini Disc player?
The social factor is still the hardest, though. People get really offended when you try to give something back or (scandal) give something away. I’m a pretty giant bitch, though, so its almost expected. Well, not completely. I try to balance it out. I keep a few small things within view and then the rest I just hope is forgotten about. “Oh, it must be in a box somewhere still.” I’ll be using that FOR YEARS.
The key, though, is that by taking the justification really out of my hands and stamping everything as “doesn’t fit”, it has made it quite easy for me to be ruthless. If I need something again, I’ll borrow it or buy it. I’m not throwing out a Ferrari so I can probably afford a new something-or-other at some later date. Obviously, there’s a little live and learn involved and some calculation of “When did I use/read/wear this last?” And yes, I pretty commonly need something only after I have gotten rid of it, but really, it just feels so good to have less junk. That soothes the sting a little.
You’re the ultimate decision maker (HA - NOT the ‘Decider’) and you know what you’re going to need. Don’t be afraid to throw away, or put something on notice Paul Anka style. “If I don’t use you in the next three months, you’re out like Lance Bass.”
This is your one chance to be really ruthless, and everybody needs a little of that sometimes.
