I went to the Container Store today to return a “cord keeper” I bought a few weeks ago. The Monkey’s desktop in the basement is a soul-crushing mess of wires and I thought I’d use the keeper to deal with them. In the end, I decided that it was unnecessary. The computer is now old enough that I can probably just deal with the corded chaos until the time comes to upgrade his system (to a laptop – cord free).
I had some time today and decided I’d take it back (three cheers for being proactive!). Also, since the Monkey wasn’t with me, I thought I’d have a leisurely poke around the store...maybe find a thing or two I missed when we were there before and pressed for time.
The Container Store is kind of my Mecca. It’s shiny in there. The whole store is filled with neatly stacked boxes and attractive storage whatnots. They have pretty little glass jars just begging to be filled with some treasure. The displays of organized closets make me drool. I’ve (half) joked that I shouldn’t be allowed in there unsupervised (or with my credit card in hand). Every fiber of my OCDelightful being vibrates when I walk in the door. I want to take it all home with me!
Today was different. I only poked around for a minute or so before I gave up and got in line to make the return. It turned out to be a fairly joyless poke. I thought maybe I might find something else I “needed,” but I realized that now that I’ve shed so much of my stuff, I really don’t have much to organize. I don’t need as many clever containment objects because there’s not much left to contain.
I can’t decide whether I’m happy or sad about this. On the one hand, it’s incredibly liberating to not be saddled with stuff to organize. On the other hand, I really like to organize! On the other (other) hand, maybe now I’ll have space (literally) to discover something else that I really like to do. On the other (other, other) hand, I’m now feeling a bit unanchored.
Like the story of the frog on slow-boil, the weight of needless things kind of crept up on me. I carried them around for so long, they seemed more like fixtures than superfluity. I slowly grew accustomed to the stuff. The weight became familiar. It felt normal. Now that I’m suddenly in its absence, I feel like I’m drifting.
This transition is uncomfortable, but I recognize the opportunity. I have a moment – this moment – to exercise careful intention about what I do next. The default, I fear, would be to find some other anchor…something to replace the weight of the things I’ve shed. The better choice – the more intentional choice – would be to grow accustomed to the feeling of lightness…to learn to live with fewer tethers…to find out what happens when I fly.
I took a big breath as I walked out the door of the Container Store today. I knew, on some level, that I won’t be back there anytime soon. The parting was a touch bittersweet, but the fact remains: I simply don’t need my life to be contained anymore.
Showing posts with label Minimalism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Minimalism. Show all posts
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Minimal-ish Living: My Fight with a Red Sweater
I’ve been decluttering. No, that’s too tame a word. I’ve been radically overhauling. At last count, I’ve made six trips to Goodwill since the beginning of the year. I’ve offloaded clothes and shoes and furniture and literal truckloads of “things” – none of which I’ve missed, so far. I wrote the story of my initial a-ha moments of shedding for my friend Jennifer’s blog. In that piece, I talk about the items in my home that were humming with guilt…and how realizing that they were guilt-carriers made it easier to let go of them.
Unfortunately, even after I’d rid myself of the guilt-items, I still had a lot of stuff. Ugh, I still had way too much stuff, so I decided to repeat the exercise that provided the insight about Guilt. I asked, aloud, “Ok, now what are you holding on to?” This time, the answer came back a little bit more slowly…more like a gradual realization than an immediate response. In fact, it happened in the middle of an argument with a sweater.
This particular sweater is a simple, shapely short-sleeved number in an awesome shade of red. It’s an “I feel amazing” sweater. It’s summer on a boat in the Hamptons, effortless and put together. It’s hot and cool all at the same time. And this sweater put up a very convincing argument. It whispered to me stories about how amazing I felt in it. It reminded me that with a little more exercise and continued attention to my diet, I could feel amazing in it again. “Just wait til summer,” it purred.
Sweaters are surprisingly good negotiators.
The sweater survived the first two big donations with its promises of future awesomeness. It was still in excellent shape and it didn’t make me feel guilty. Still, I felt strongly that I needed to let it go. Why? As I listened to all of its very good logic, I realized that I was holding on to the sweater out of Fear. I was afraid that I might never feel as amazing and powerful and sexy and confident as I felt in that sweater. The sweater had become a beacon of some past-me that I was trying to hold on to…that I hoped, on some subconscious level, to recapture.
When I viewed the sweater through that lens, the notion seemed ridiculous. I don’t need a sweater to feel amazing and confident. I can feel that way tomorrow…or right now, in fact. I don’t need a sweater that I can’t even wear to remind me that I’m sexy. All I really need to do is to let go of the fear that I’m not enough…and start trusting that I am – no matter what’s in my closet.
And, with that, I lovingly folded up the red sweater (despite its objections that I’d seriously regret the decision) and I put it on the donation pile…along with most of the rest of the clothes I’d been hoarding over the years. My closets (and drawers and shelves) are breathing easier now…and so am I.
Peeling back the layers of emotions associated with my stuff has been transformative. I’m finding it easier to accomplish the things I need to do. I’m learning to challenge the long-held assumptions I’ve had about myself. I’m finding ways to coach myself through the emotional landmines, big and small, that present themselves. It’s an iterative process, but I’m on the path to something simpler…something joyful…something free.
…and I owe it all to a very convincing red sweater.
Unfortunately, even after I’d rid myself of the guilt-items, I still had a lot of stuff. Ugh, I still had way too much stuff, so I decided to repeat the exercise that provided the insight about Guilt. I asked, aloud, “Ok, now what are you holding on to?” This time, the answer came back a little bit more slowly…more like a gradual realization than an immediate response. In fact, it happened in the middle of an argument with a sweater.
This particular sweater is a simple, shapely short-sleeved number in an awesome shade of red. It’s an “I feel amazing” sweater. It’s summer on a boat in the Hamptons, effortless and put together. It’s hot and cool all at the same time. And this sweater put up a very convincing argument. It whispered to me stories about how amazing I felt in it. It reminded me that with a little more exercise and continued attention to my diet, I could feel amazing in it again. “Just wait til summer,” it purred.
Sweaters are surprisingly good negotiators.
The sweater survived the first two big donations with its promises of future awesomeness. It was still in excellent shape and it didn’t make me feel guilty. Still, I felt strongly that I needed to let it go. Why? As I listened to all of its very good logic, I realized that I was holding on to the sweater out of Fear. I was afraid that I might never feel as amazing and powerful and sexy and confident as I felt in that sweater. The sweater had become a beacon of some past-me that I was trying to hold on to…that I hoped, on some subconscious level, to recapture.
When I viewed the sweater through that lens, the notion seemed ridiculous. I don’t need a sweater to feel amazing and confident. I can feel that way tomorrow…or right now, in fact. I don’t need a sweater that I can’t even wear to remind me that I’m sexy. All I really need to do is to let go of the fear that I’m not enough…and start trusting that I am – no matter what’s in my closet.
And, with that, I lovingly folded up the red sweater (despite its objections that I’d seriously regret the decision) and I put it on the donation pile…along with most of the rest of the clothes I’d been hoarding over the years. My closets (and drawers and shelves) are breathing easier now…and so am I.
Peeling back the layers of emotions associated with my stuff has been transformative. I’m finding it easier to accomplish the things I need to do. I’m learning to challenge the long-held assumptions I’ve had about myself. I’m finding ways to coach myself through the emotional landmines, big and small, that present themselves. It’s an iterative process, but I’m on the path to something simpler…something joyful…something free.
…and I owe it all to a very convincing red sweater.
Sunday, January 01, 2012
Celebrating the New Year
I have a friend who's rather cynical about the celebration of the New Year. "So what? The earth revolved around the sun again. Big deal." Ok, I can see the logic. It's something of an arbitrary holiday...and the corollary point that there are far more interesting date-based days (11-11-11! 12-12-12!!) to celebrate is well taken. Objectively, I suppose it's not a big deal.
But my experience of the New Year is different. Like so much of the minutia in my life, I've imbued the start of each year with meaning. I don't think I set out to make the calendar-flip a meaningful time. I've never been into resolutions and dramatic proclamations about life changes. I think it may have come from my habits.
The month-long gluttony of the holidays almost always sends me into a period of shedding. I declutter...I donate...I clear out closets and find places for all the new things that inevitably come into my life from Christmas. I wind up moving around more and eating less because a month of terribly indulgent treats make me feel sluggish and yucky. And, every January, somewhere between the piles of Goodwill donations and the hours on the treadmill, my head clears out enough to think about where I've been and where I want to go...
And so I find that in the middle of the holiday crush each year...in between presents and family and shopping and friends and parties...as the swirl begins to rise to a fevered pitch...I start to look forward to the New Year. It's not the ball dropping or the festivities...it's that I know what's coming next: the introspective lull of January. The crazy, frenetic end of each year finally (sometimes painfully) yields to the quiet start of the next....and I crave it. I look forward to the quiet and the head-space and the reflection and the clean closets and the time and energy to conceive new challenges.
You know how some people figure out their income tax withholding almost to the penny so that the government doesn't keep their money interest free during the year? Yeah, I'm not one of those people. I like the windfall of a refund. I enjoy the sudden boon. Maybe the New Year thing is the same way. Some people may be able to really take time out to take stock of themselves and their lives every day, so they have no need for a designated moment to do it. For me, it just doesn't work that way. Life is too busy and too crazy for too much of the year...so I use that mundane occasion of changing the calendar as my little life refund.
It's true, of course, that the windfall of time and presence of mind could come at any moment. And, believe it or not, I've been known to take stock of my life on a random Tuesday for no apparent reason at all. I appreciate all of those moments of reflection throughout the year. The New Year just happens to be a consistent moment. It's cyclical and predictable...so I look forward to it.
In fact, I celebrate it.
But my experience of the New Year is different. Like so much of the minutia in my life, I've imbued the start of each year with meaning. I don't think I set out to make the calendar-flip a meaningful time. I've never been into resolutions and dramatic proclamations about life changes. I think it may have come from my habits.
The month-long gluttony of the holidays almost always sends me into a period of shedding. I declutter...I donate...I clear out closets and find places for all the new things that inevitably come into my life from Christmas. I wind up moving around more and eating less because a month of terribly indulgent treats make me feel sluggish and yucky. And, every January, somewhere between the piles of Goodwill donations and the hours on the treadmill, my head clears out enough to think about where I've been and where I want to go...
And so I find that in the middle of the holiday crush each year...in between presents and family and shopping and friends and parties...as the swirl begins to rise to a fevered pitch...I start to look forward to the New Year. It's not the ball dropping or the festivities...it's that I know what's coming next: the introspective lull of January. The crazy, frenetic end of each year finally (sometimes painfully) yields to the quiet start of the next....and I crave it. I look forward to the quiet and the head-space and the reflection and the clean closets and the time and energy to conceive new challenges.
You know how some people figure out their income tax withholding almost to the penny so that the government doesn't keep their money interest free during the year? Yeah, I'm not one of those people. I like the windfall of a refund. I enjoy the sudden boon. Maybe the New Year thing is the same way. Some people may be able to really take time out to take stock of themselves and their lives every day, so they have no need for a designated moment to do it. For me, it just doesn't work that way. Life is too busy and too crazy for too much of the year...so I use that mundane occasion of changing the calendar as my little life refund.
It's true, of course, that the windfall of time and presence of mind could come at any moment. And, believe it or not, I've been known to take stock of my life on a random Tuesday for no apparent reason at all. I appreciate all of those moments of reflection throughout the year. The New Year just happens to be a consistent moment. It's cyclical and predictable...so I look forward to it.
In fact, I celebrate it.
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