This week, I scheduled a technician for some work at our house. As I thought through where they would need to go in order to get their job done, I mentally started a checklist: Make sure they can safely get to the fuse box. Can they easily reach the other systems they need to access to get the job done? Where else might they need to go? A picture frame may need to be moved away from the fuse box, a rug may need to be rolled out of the way on the day they arrive, but in general, every access point I thought of was accessible.
No one would walk into my house and consider me a minimalist.
But if we had to have emergency services of any kind, I wouldn’t be distracted by needing to get a lot of things out of the way.
The daily work of decluttering and uncovering is not only benefiting how we live in our spaces each day, it’s also serving as preparation for emergencies and unforeseen circumstances.
One of the things I was looking forward to in this journey was gaining more of an awareness of what I have. It is so easy for me to live disconnected in so many areas – I don’t grow my own food, I don’t make my own clothes, life is increasingly virtual – especially this past year. The act of going through my possessions is bringing a level of awareness of what I own but it is also breaking through disconnection in other ways.
Going through my photos forces me to see what I have in a different way. It reminds me of the variety of experiences I’ve been able to have, from the births of my children, to bowling with friends on a random trip to Illinois; Singing in choirs from churches to Carnegie Hall to more outdoor adventures than I could remember; weddings, funerals, parties and memorials. It reminds me of relationships that have spanned decades and relationships that have come and gone, or changed significantly. It reminds me of the thoughts I had at the very beginning of this blog:
“The transformation from dust and to dust is not limited to just our literal birth and death, it is found in every season of our lives. In every season there are cycles of creation, dust, waiting and re-creation.”
Some photos were reminders of the dust, some were reminders of the cycles of creation I see in my relationships. I loved reaching out to a few friends and family members this week, sharing with them some of the little memories I found. I loved sitting with my child at the end of a long day, reminiscing and laughing at old school journals and projects.
And I love that there is still room my photo boxes. There are seasons of recreation still to come, and more photos to be taken.
Image Contents: A throw-back photo of the author and her favorite childhood dog (a Great Dane), posing like horse and jockey.
There are experts who will tell you never to have a garage sale. (You end up storing stuff to wait for it, you never get a good return on your time, you waste time and money prepping for it, etc.)
There are experts who tell you to definitely have a garage sale. (sell EVERYTHING on your path to get out of debt, get rid of your stuff and make a little cash doing it, etc.)
I have typically been closer to the first camp. I’ve hosted a couple garage sales in the past, but they’ve always been fundraisers for specific organizations or causes I care about. For those, I gathered help, made a plan in advance for the leftovers, set up refreshments manned by adorable little bakers and lemonade servers, merchandized the inventory and advertised extensively.
This was the first time I’ve ever said, “hey, I should have a garage sale, right now, in the middle of the afternoon, while I’m home by myself and haven’t told anyone to advertise.”
A few things I learned anyway:
-It.is.exhausting. Even just the set up/tear down process of dragging everything out, dragging everything in when it got dark, dragging it back out the next day, dragging it to the garage or curb or car trunk after. Then comes getting rid of the leftovers, not to mention any time manning it.
-It is typically a horrible return on investment. Granted, some of the fundraisers I’ve had in the past brought in a very significant amount of money donated, and this one today most likely would have been much more profitable had I scheduled and advertised ahead, employed help, etc.
-If you tell someone you are having a garage sale, 99.9999999% of the time, they will offer you their own items to bring to sell. Or they’ll just drop them off at your house. when you’re not there. on your driveway. in unmarked bags. with no contact info.
-At least one middle aged or older man will drive by the garage sale and ask “well then, how much for the garage?”
-people will come by and say, “this is so nice, I can’t believe you’re just getting rid of it” and you will have to decide how much you want to tell a complete stranger about your journey to less stuff while standing with masks on talking across a lawn. Or the version from people who know you, “I can’t believe you’re getting rid of THIS!” (that comment from friends was usually referring craft items.)
After hosting my, uh, pop-up sale (does that make it sound more modern, inviting, and trendy than “last-minute garage sale?”) I confirmed garage sales are not my jam.
I loved getting to see some friends and neighbors I haven’t seen in at least a year. I loved gathering donation money from it. I loved getting rid of stuff. But it was 2 days of work I wasn’t planning on doing and I still have lots of stuff left to donate. (Plus two unidentified bags of donations.)
If you are getting out of debt or saving for a specific goal, go for it. Sell like it’s your job.
If you’re just trying to get rid of stuff, just get rid of your stuff.
For me, getting rid of (the rest of) my stuff is going to mean a little tour of donation centers over the next couple days and I can.not.wait to come back home after it’s all delivered and assess how everything looks and feels.
(in case you’re confused about the difference between smack talk and trash talk, here’s a helpful tutorial from Kelly Kapoor)
I open up my cabinet and the Instant Pot taunts me: “how many times have you really pulled me off this shelf and used me?”
I open my closet and clothes scream, “hey there, chubby, you don’t think you could actually wear me, do you?”
I open a drawer in my craft dresser, and the watercolor pencils say, “woah, remember the last time you tried to use me? You were soooo bad at it!”
Everywhere I have clutter, there is a voice emanating from it. And they’re rarely kind:
“quitter”
“worthless”
“idiot”
“slacker”
“slob”
“loser”
“hack”
And those voices aren’t just mean. They’re loud. Loud enough to drown out other voices I want to hear and need to hear.
Some of my things actually have beautiful voices. I love fresh flowers and I usually keep a few small arrangements in different rooms of my house. Sometimes it’s just a few sprigs of pine or wildflowers from the yard, sometimes it’s a bouquet from the grocery store, but those flowers typically sing reminders to me that there is beauty in the world.
I don’t want to drown out those beautiful voices.
I also don’t want to drown out the voices that truly help me become a better person.
But clutter doesn’t make me become a better person. Clutter doesn’t speak encouragement or motivation, it speaks shame. And voices of shame rarely motivate us to grow. In fact, researcher, author, and speaker Brené Brown defines shame as,
“the intensely painful feeling or experience of believing that we are flawed and therefore unworthy of love and belonging – something we’ve experienced, done, or failed to do makes us unworthy of connection. I don’t believe shame is helpful or productive. In fact, I think shame is much more likely to be the source of destructive, hurtful behavior than the solution or cure.” (you can find more of Brené’s work here)
I hear the watercolor pencils tell me I am flawed every time I open the craft drawer. I feel the shame of unworthiness when my closet is filled with clothes that don’t fit.
As I declutter my home, I am realizing how powerful those voices can be, even when I don’t realize they’re speaking to me. They can create shame patterns that spiral into the hurtful and destructive cycles Brené acknowledge.
There are a lot of voices I need to listen to, like the voice that tells me I am wonderfully made, fully and beautifully loved.
I also need to listen to the voices that help me grow – like the voices of loving friends, or the fresh veggies calling out to be chosen over the leftover soda bread.
It’s one thing to silence the voice of an underused Instant Pot, accessory or craft item. It would be a whole other thing to try to silence the voice of an upside-down budget by shredding your bills instead of paying them. I’m not advocating for shirking responsibility but reminding myself that it’s ok to remove voices that speak unnecessary and destructive shame from my life in order to clear space for what is really necessary and beneficial in my life.
Today I took a break from slogging through a few disaster zones in my basement and came upstairs to empty the dishwasher.
<pause for a moment of gratitude for a working dishwasher>
As I put a clean measuring spoon back in its holder, I noticed a couple sets of measuring spoons already there. My daughter and I love to bake, and I have kept a few sets of measuring spoons on hand for years so we can measure out multiple ingredients without having to pause to wash measuring spoons in the middle of a recipe. But while I am incredibly happy to have a working dishwasher again, the last few months without one helped remind me that it actually is possible to wash all your dishes by hand, especially if you need a quick turn-around. Who knew?
I stacked up my favorite set of measuring spoons (the only ones narrow enough to fit in some of my spice jars) and removed all the others: Thank you for your service,buh-bye. As I turned back to finish emptying the dishwasher, I realized what had just happened.
The process of evaluating those measuring spoons was practically subconscious and completed before I realized what I was doing. All of the decision-heavy, time-consuming, slow work of decluttering each space and category of my home has been building decluttering muscles and forming habits in me.
Wax on, wax off, paint the fence, and wash the car – all along I’ve been reducing my tolerance for clutter and building not just declutter muscles, but decision-making muscles.
NOTE: This was where I was going to insert a calm picture of our charming pink dinosaur holding our only remaining set of measuring spoons. But someone used…quite possibly every baking tool we own while creating carrot cake cupcakes and cream cheese frosting tonight, and they are all currently strewn about the kitchen. (Did I mention how thankful I am for my new dishwasher?) We’re all about keeping it real here, folks.
Uncovering Real 