When I was younger and bored, my idea of a good time was to declutter my room. Not necessarily clean (too many chemicals, blech!), but really get into the far recesses of my closet, root around under my bed, and go through old school papers, photos, and assorted crap. It occurred to me this morning that I have not done this in a long time. Probably due to the fact that most of my stuff is currently sitting in a storage unit in downtown Alexandria, but also due to the fact that I have managed to purge myself of a lot of baggage in the past couple years.
For once I am not speaking of emotional baggage, but the actual physical unloading of the crap I carry around. Moving out of my townhouse after law school had a lot to do with this. I HATE moving, probably due to the fact that I never did it before (that’s right, I still live in the same house I grew up in) and having to pack up and hit the road immediately after graduation forced me to quickly ascertain what was coming and what was going. If it looked like it would gather dust, I pitched it. If it was easily and cheaply replaceable, I pitched it. If I hadn’t worn it in two years, it got donated.
Which means, despite the fact that I am older now, I probably own less stuff than any other time in my life. Which = whoo! I always had this kind of fear of becoming like the creepy baglady woman in the movie Labyrinth. You know who I mean. The one who tried to get Sarah to stay in her old bedroom with all her stuff piled up on her back.
But now, everything I own in the world can fit in an 8 x 4 room. And by “fit” I mean, be stacked to the ceiling. But still. That’s pretty impressive.
I’ve always been a firm believer in the idea that when your living space is not cluttered it helps your mind become not cluttered. So that means I have no excuse. Ready mind? Get decluttered!