why I declutter

Stuff is a part of life.  Stuff is accumulated, it serves various purposes, it's an indicator of wealth (did you see how big his flat-screen television was?), it makes us happy.  We need stuff, and over the course of history, most possessions have been valuable, scarce, and often important for survival. 

But that was then.  In the 'developed world,' at this point, stuff is cheap.  Ridiculously cheap.  Most things are essentially disposable; clothing, electronics, furniture, and even vehicles are all purchased with the expectation that they'll break, wear out, or fall apart in a relatively very short time and need replacing.  Where our grandparents would save up for and treasure a good winter coat for many years, we offhandedly own twenty that are all shoddy.  But it doesn't matter, because even before their short lifetimes are up, we'll probably get bored of them and buy new ones out of pure whim.  

Minimalism isn't really about not owning stuff.  It's about identifying value.  

At first blush, it might seem that the root cause of overconsumption, rampant consumer waste, and an actual topic and audience for the TV show Hoarders is over-valuing our stuff.  I can't possibly get rid of any of my twenty winter coats despite the fact that live in the tropics because I love them.  I need them.  They give me a sense of worth, and I would be losing something valuable if I didn't have them.

But let's think about this.

Is this really value?  What is value?  Is it what someone else would pay for the object, or some quantification of the pleasure or usefulness that you personally derive from it?  It's in your possession, after all.  Are you truly happier with many cheap, flimsy things than you would be with fewer really spectacularly well-made ones?  How do you know?

If you're deriving neither use nor happiness from the item, regardless of what you paid for it or what its 'original price' was, it is worthless. 

Are we, perhaps, actually under-valuing our stuff?  The phrase 'materialism' is generally used to indicate the hoarder-like behavior of accumulating stuff for the sake of accumulating stuff.  But what if we could forge a better relationship with our possessions, and genuinely care about them?  This is a fundamentally different approach.  Appreciating, taking care of, and really enjoying the things in our lives, rather than being ruled by them, seems to me to be a better form of materialism.  If you fell in love with an excellent coat, wouldn't you want it to last for years so you could go on enjoying it instead of throwing it away after a season?  Disposable culture has redefined our relationship with stuff, and not for the better.  Perhaps the problem is that we're not materialistic enough!

When I was little, I participated in the pog craze.  In case you skipped that one, it was technically based on a game developed with milk caps but turned into a pre-teen consumer frenzy in the mid-90's.  Kids bought, collected, hoarded, and traded these little cardboard discs with pictures on them.  Very rarely was the game actually played; it was mostly about the collecting process.  We'd set up little trading posts with each other, and proudly display our expansive collections.  It was quite the phenomenon.

At the time, I had some good friends who lived just down the street.  I'd go over to their house, we'd each claim a corner of the room to set up the pogs we were interested in trading, and then go visit the other 'shops' to haggle and barter.  My little mind was struck with a notion that seemed to have some merit.  My shop instituted a 'quantity for quality' policy, wherein I would encourage my friends to offer their good pogs and in exchange I'd give them piles of crappy ones.  I even made a sign.  They thought this was a wonderful deal.  They were getting ten pogs, while only surrendering one!  What a chump I was!

After a few weeks of this, my friends noticed that I'd accumulated all their high-quality (this is relative, of course.  Fundamentally they were all just silly little cardboard discs.) pogs, while they were left with piles and piles of really cheap, lower-quality ones.  They got sore about it and stopped trading with me.

If what you value is having many things, you will surely wind up with (metaphorically speaking) large piles of low-quality pogs.  Perhaps it won't be a deliberate or conscious process (my friends certainly didn't think to extrapolate the situation beyond each individual trade), but over time actions will align themselves with core values.  Then all the stuff will weigh you down

So what happens if you value good things instead?  If you can appreciate having a smaller number of things, but everything you own is your favorite thing?  Where moving is easy, and there are no piles to trip over, and all your possessions bring you joy?  Wouldn't that be marvelous?

That's why I talk so much about getting rid of things.  Not really out of any ascetic drive or sense of self-deprivation, but out of selfishness.  I want to love all my things, instead of being annoyed by how they're in the way and dusty and taking up so much space.  I want the freedom to take a job across the country and move into a smaller place.  I want to spend much less time thinking about, stressing about, and cleaning my stuff.  I want good stuff that actually enriches my life, dammit!

I'm in no way unique in this, of course, and there are many out there who are on the same journey. 

On one of the above-linked articles (I forget now which one), one comment in particular struck me:

"I don’t want to be rich, I want to be free. And freedom is worth more than stuff."

Yes. 

bears, and a dresser top

As part of my mission to declutter, I'm purging things I have sentimental but useless attachments to. 

Slick

  
Meet Slick.   Slick was given to me by a very good friend when I was 11 or so.  He's named slick because he is made of a very slippery fabric.  I love ya, B, but I don't need the bear in order to remember that. 

floppy bear is floppy

As for this bear... he doesn't really qualify as a sentimental item because I honestly have no idea why I have him.  Because he's floppy and fuzzy?  My quota for stuffed animals is much lower now than it was ten years ago, and most of that is filled by my flying monkey, my Lil' Richard (squee!), and my maille-wearing, butter-knife-weilding SCA bear.  This guy gets to go on an adventure with Slick to a fabulous new home.

Fortunately, I happen to know several 9-ish year old girls who will appreciate these guys.  So they'll get passed on to the next generation at my next opportunity. 

This ends the highlights of the clearing-off-the-ridiculously-cluttered-dresser project.
Before:

messy, cluttered dresser top

And after:

clearer, easier-to-dust dresser top

Ah!  Much better!  Mr. Geek quite literally gaped when he saw what I'd done to this previously super-cluttered area.  I figure that's a reaction to be proud of.  Now to find another corner to tackle...

the final frontier

If you had one room to live in, what would it look like?

I don't claim to know what mine would be yet, but it's a useful thought experiment to keep in mind as I continue along my decluttering journey.  There are many benefits to living with less stuff.  Today I want to talk about one in particular, one very near and dear to my heart as a person in possession of two X chromosomes: clothing.

Some of my favorite memories are from traveling.  When I go somewhere, whether it's for a weekend or a month, I'm pretty stubborn about taking as little stuff as possible.  Of course, when I was younger, that was not at all the case.  I recall going to see my extended family over the holidays for about three weeks by myself when I was six or seven (complete with excessively friendly flight attendants and an enormous orange tag around my neck that said who I belonged to) and bringing one of those enormous bags that would probably be over the airlines' weight limit these days. 

What on earth did a six-year-old need with fifty pounds of clothes? 

Granted, at that age I certainly wasn't the one who had to schlep all that around.  That's what grown-ups were for.

This behavior continued for many years thereafter.  In order to go anywhere I seemed to think that I needed absolutely everything that might possibly be useful in any contingency.  Then, of course, if I wanted a particular thing I would have to dive through the huge pile of stuff for several minutes in order to find it.  It was really only a few years ago that I realized the foolishness of this.  It finally dawned on me that if you carry less stuff you become much more mobile, experience less travel frustration, and can even find your stuff when you look for it!  And as yet another bonus, the airlines never get a chance to misplace your things (an unfortunate situation that I've thankfully never had to go through, but I've seen it seriously mess up trips) if you only need a carry-on. 

Now I do things like travel in Europe for two weeks with only an undersize carry-on and a large purse.  I obsessively read packing tips, think for weeks about which outfits to bring to maximize versatility, and drool over nifty travel gadgets.  On our Europe trip last year, Mr. Geek had to put up with me stringing an elastic clothesline across the bathrooms of various bed and breakfasts and washing out clothes in the evenings.  Of course, that was the least of our adventures, but those stories are for another time.

With less stuff it was easy to hop on and off of trains, wander the streets of London (except when his bag's wheel broke... that was a bad day), and fit easily into the sometimes tiny bedrooms at our assorted stopping places.  I also felt like much less conspicuously American, which is a plus when overseas.  I didn't really have to worry about my stuff; aside from the nightly sink laundry, everything pretty much took care of itself.   I didn't even really have to think about what to wear each day, because there just weren't that many options.  Going hiking?  Then it'll be my comfy navy zip-off slacks and my breathable purple top, maybe with the navy cardigan on top in case it gets chilly.  Going out to eat?  Guess I'm wearing my little black dress.  Everything goes with everything else, everything fits perfectly, and everything is the best of its category due to having been so selective in the packing process.

I love clothing, especially in unexpected styles.  I like having a variety of 'looks,' and being able to dress appropriately for any eventuality.  However, there is something about the simplicity of knowing that every single thing available to put on is my favorite, and never having to hunt for anything.  It's interesting that I generally gravitate toward the same items when packing for a trip, but it's not too surprising.  What go with me are things that I love wearing, are in great condition, fit perfectly, and can fit in a myriad of situations.  Starting with the go-to travel pieces would be a terrific way to begin building a well-curated wardrobe in general.  A knee-length black synthetic A-line skirt, for instance, may be the single most versatile piece of clothing I own (unfortunately my best one was recently ruined by a hotel washing machine, so I'm currently scouting for a new one).  It can be dressed up with a sparkly top, thrown over hiking pants to add a layer and a bit of respectability, paired with a button-up for business casual, or worn as a super-comfy bottom when lounging around reading.  Hence, one of those will always have a place in my travel bag.

That says something.  While I'm certainly not going to get rid of all but one of my skirts, it might be a good idea to go through and assign them all a number that quantifies their versatility.  Can it be worn both formally and casually?  Would it work in a business setting?  Is it comfy?  Does it go with the shoes I wear most often?  Do I have multiple tops that pair nicely with it?  It gets one point for each context it works in.   Penalties apply if I haven't worn the thing at least twice in the past year. 

I would propose that about half of my skirts would only score a 1 or a 2 on this scale.  If I got rid of those, I would have more space on my skirt shelf and be able to see the ones I *do* want to wear more easily. 

I've deteriorated into talking about specifics, like skirts.  Let's back up a little.


Why would one want fewer things?  More stuff is the American Dream, after all!

As a culture, we seem to have a bad habit of extrapolating things inappropriately.  If one pill is good for me, surely taking two of them will be better.  This cookie says 'low-fat' on the package, so I'll be healthier if I eat the whole package.  People need stuff to survive, so more stuff will make me happier.

Studies have shown that material wealth and possessions do, in fact, increase happiness.  That is, if you happen to be desperately poor and lacking in the basic necessities of life.  After a threshold, which turns out to be shockingly low, more possessions have absolutely no effect on happiness.  A third car, a slightly bigger flatscreen TV, or a seventh designer handbag will not make you happy or content.  What does correlate with happiness after that threshold is people.  Relationships.  Social circles.  Having close friends and getting to really connect with them.  Not stuff.

The United States is way up there in term of per-capita affluence, but we're also leading the parade when it comes to depression.  I suspect that the logical fallacy of more stuff == happiness is a big part of the widespread discontent in this country.

Enough.  I want to get off that particular train, stop being a good little consumer, and figure out what actually works for me.  I want to create space in my life to do what I really want to do and to connect with people I love.  I want to be able to pick up and move across the country if an amazingly stellar opportunity crops up, without feeling terrified at the prospect of moving all my crap.   I want the things I own to stop owning me. 

Whether that means having one skirt or ten is yet to be determined.


~~~update~~~
This turned up on my RSS feed this afternoon.  Beautiful stuff.

a tale of two lamps

rickety lamp is rickety

As part of my mission to declutter, I'm spending March purging things I have sentimental but useless attachments to. 


This lamp has stood next to my bed for years. Okay, so it's really wobbly and top-heavy and I nearly knock it over all the time.  Okay, so the leaves are kind of sharp and not fun to run into with a searching hand in the dark.  Okay, so it's too tall for my bedside table and so is kind of glare-y.  Okay, so it tends to randomly blink on and off occasionally, and the lightbulb mysteriously unscrews itself.

Wait, why do I have this again?

Meanwhile, this little beauty was rescued years ago from my grandmother's farmhouse's attic.  It's a darling little porcelain lamp that my auntie had by her bedside when she was little.  Its wiring was completely shot, of course (it was the old fabric-wrapped stuff, and was very frayed and worn), but a few months ago I picked up a lamp re-wiring kit and Mr. Geek was kind enough to take it upon himself to rewire the thing.  So it's now fully functional, but has been sitting dejectedly amongst the clutter on my dresser, serving no purpose at all.  Unfortunately, it does lack for a shade.

cute little bit of history

There's an obvious solution to my problem.   Moving the shade from the rickety lamp to the porcelain one seems to work out pretty well...

And voila!  New bedside lamp that's sturdy, cute, and non glare-y.  Plus, it put the family heirloom lamp to a real use!  The tall rickety lamp goes into my box to donate to Goodwill.  Maybe it'll worm its way into someone else's heart.  

a message

a sweet hello

As part of my mission to declutter, I'm spending March purging things I have sentimental but useless attachments to. 


Some good friends of mine sent me this cute little message thingie after I moved to a different state, with a picture of the three of us.  Originally, when you pressed 'play,' it would play a recording of my friend saying hi.  However, the recording mechanism has long been busted, so it's kind of silly to keep it around.

The picture goes into my box of things to make into a scrapbook someday, and the frame goes into the trash.  This is getting easier.  Next!

roses

As part of my mission to declutter, I'm spending March purging things I have sentimental but useless attachments to.


For my first post regarding letting go of sentimental (but functionally useless) items, I decided to tackle a rather difficult one.  My first area of attack is the extremely cluttered top of my dresser, and first to go are dried flowers.

I have a deep and abiding love of roses, and a nearly compulsive tendency to dry and keep all roses I get.  Ever.  Like, in my whole life.

see?

I hang them upside down until dry, and then put them... somewhere.  Unfortunately, I'm running out of somewheres, and the darn things do take up space.  And collect dust.  And shed little crumbly bits of vegetation all over the carpet.  The picture above shows some of them in a red vase, but I have far too many in my room as well.  The bunch of flowers laying down in the picture have been doing just that: laying down on my dresser, hiding behind some other stuff and not even really visible.  How is this doing anyone any good?

The Jones Soda jar was a shared moment between myself and a very good friend, and the purple and green Mardi Gras necklaces in them symbolic of our favorite colors.  I love you, girl, but I don't need a Jones Soda bottle to tell me so. 

When I was little, I participated in a lot of theatre.  I would sing and dance up on stage with lots of other children with mediocre talent, and I had a great time.  At every single one of those shows, my mom would give me a single rose.  I loved those.  The little hexagonal jar contains the petals from every single rose she gave me after a performance (can you tell I can be a little obsessive sometimes?).   However, it's really the memories that matter, and her thoughtfulness in doing that in the first place.  The roses symbolized personal achievement and parental affection, but they don't really serve a purpose in their undead zombie-petal state in a box.  It's about the memories. 

So the flowers are getting thrown away.  I got lots of enjoyment from them when they were fresh, and I have enough dried flowers in my decor right now, thanks.  The bottle is being temporarily repurposed to hold my masquerade mask, and the petal box will be used to hold buttons or something in my craft room.  The Mardi Gras beads are getting added to the bin of random things to hand out to kiddies on Halloween.  And as for the petals... those are getting set free and crumbled to enrich the garden soil.  Thank you for being there all those times, mom.

matter

"Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." --William Morris  

Stuff.

Most of us, here in 'civilization,' have far too much of it.  It's so easy to accumulate, even if you're not a shopaholic.  Gifts, souvenirs, things that might be useful one day, clothing.  Thingamajigs that were on such a good sale, you bought three just in case.

But now there are far too many things, and the piles are so deep that you can't even find *one* thingamajig, much less your two extras.  Perhaps the house is even fairly clean and organized, but there is just physically too much stuff in the way.  You get frustrated when you need to find something, because the space seems too full and you keep knocking things over.  You find yourself needing to spend an obscene amount of time cleaning, repairing, putting away, and dealing with your stuff.  That's time that could have been spent on something a lot more fun!  Imagine how much time, effort, and money you've spent just to box up, move, and unbox all your superfluous items over time.

That's how I feel.  It takes me too long to get dressed in the morning, because I just have too many options. It's not even possible to walk through most of the office/craft room, because of my huge boxes of fabric, and the last time I sewed something was probably 2006.  We keep saying we need a bigger kitchen because our stuff doesn't all fit in the cupboards, and I've given up on my once cherished notion of clear counters with no perma-clutter.  Dusting is a pain in the neck because of all the knick-nacks.

I can't help feeling that life would be less stressful if we weren't always having to move stuff around to find what we're looking for.   That means (dun dun DUUUUUN) getting rid of stuff.   Not everything, but just the junk that's in the way.  I want to clear the quantity, to make space for the quality.  Remove everything that isn't spectacular.

Until recently, I owned a truly ridiculous quantity of pretty costume jewelry.  It was literally impossible to close the lid on my jewelry box, and if I wanted to wear a necklace it was usually so entangled with all the other ones that I would give up and just not bother.  I had probably hundreds of pairs of earrings, and couldn't wear any at all due to my ears' recent manifestation of obnoxiously good taste.  I went through and purged about 75% of the necklaces and bracelets, and got rid of all but my three favorite pairs of earrings.  Those I paid an annoying amount of money to put new (gold) earwires on.  Now everything in my box is untangled, usable, and easily visible.  I've actually started wearing and enjoying my jewelry again, since I can find the piece I'm looking for.  As a plus, I brought the big bag of castoff jewelry to a friend's party, and everyone had a grand time going through it and choosing new treasures to add to her own collection.  I call that win-win!  I want that great feeling in more areas of my life.

Today I came across a fabulous new term: joy-to-stuff ratio.  This perfectly describes what I want to do in this decluttering endeavor: reduce the denominator in that expression.  I'm sure I'll set missions for myself in the future that focus on increasing the numerator, but one thing at a time.  Ultimately, it's all about maximizing one's own joy-to-stuff ratio.

There are three main barriers to getting rid of superfluous stuff, as I see it:

1. Laziness.  This one's pretty straightforward to circumvent.  This is not to say that it's easy; just simple.  Self-ass-kicking is involved.
2. But-what-if-I-need-it-someday syndrome.  This requires relaxing a bit.  The world won't end if I suddenly become a seamstress and only have one bin of fabric instead of four.  If I take up professional kazoo-playing, I'll go out and buy a damn kazoo.  The universe has a way of working out, especially for those of us who enjoy thrift shopping and yard saling.  I don't need to hang on to anything that's not awesome for me to have right now. 
3. Sentimentality.  But my great-step-aunt-seven-times-removed gave me that moldy afghan!  I can't possibly get rid of it, or I'll be haunted by guilt for the rest of my life!

It's this last one that I want to take a stab at tackling right now.  Living a life of guilt is no fun, so I'm going to give myself permission to actually feel good about clearing space in my life, even if it means no longer hanging on to sentimental (but useless) items.  This is challenging.  So I'm going to periodically write a post about some sentimental item that I'm ready to allow to leave my life.  The memories are not the items, I won't lose the memory of that special person just because I no longer have a particular bit of clutter to dust, and there are no happy-memory police who will show up on my doorstep and ticket me for getting rid of a gift from a loved one.  I'm going to explore the memories here, which are really what's important, and then allow the items to go on their way.  Here goes!