When the call to declutter comes, it’s often not a welcome one for me. I hear it, but seldom listen when bringing something through the front door for the first time. Can it be the stuff I’ve amassed over the years has served to fulfill my unconscious pleasure from unwelcome distractions? In part, yes. Soon I’ll be walking out the front door for the last time so the need for a “tidying festival,” as Marie Kondo, the mother of all organizing consultants, calls it, is well overdue. So, I’m confronting all my belongings in one fell swoop. This “swoop-slog” has evoked challenging, sometimes crippling emotions. The bitter has shown itself, but also so much sweet I can hardly bear it. (If you’re thinking, “Wow, is she emotionally precarious, or what?,” you’d be right!) My grandmother’s wicker porch furniture from the 1940s, including the chaise lounge where as a 10-year-old I spread out for days, sick with the flu reading Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Louis Stevenson, was carried away by college students. My vintage Columbia Rambler bike, given to a college student as well. A Specialized mountain bike I used throughout my 30s, sold for $50 to a guy who collects bikes. My children’s craft projects from 20 years ago, tossed in the recycling bin. The Spode Christmas tree china, out! And honestly, do I really need the 1960s Foxfire Books? (Example: colds . . . “Drink lamb’s tongue and whisky tea.” Cramps . . . . “Turn your shoes upside down before going to bed.” Oh, and I will never build a log cabin, though just the other day I did find it interesting to browse the Foxfire how-to about this one.)
The swoop-slog is happening for a few reasons, the first being an out-of-state move to a much smaller home. I also realize it’s time to be more discerning. I’ve changed, and the things that make up my home either must feed me aesthetically or intellectually or be part of my day-to-day living activities. While all the above is true, the crux of my logic lies deep within the very soul-shaking magic that typically occurs with large undertakings. Here’s what I mean.
Decluttering is akin to a meditative experience; or at the very least, it requires a meditative mindset. In any kind of meditative practice, the mind is allowed to be both empty and full. It empties itself of distractions to make space for all our experiences and memories. When decluttering, I am confronting my entire life: everything invisible I had been carrying around. I’m forced to confront all the things. There’s stuff lurking, even if I never knew it, and I’m making space for confrontation.
Facing difficulty head-on becomes a means for tremendous gain. My relationship with difficulty has changed over the years and will change with the current tidy fest underway. This was the case with previous large-undertakings in my life, most notably, those that took place hobnobbing with extreme elements of nature: a particularly arduous mountain climb; a class 4 river rafting experience; an exhilarating jog along a coastal ridge in a severe rainstorm. The only way out is to keep enduring until it’s over. So now when I feel discomfort, I tell myself that an awakening is just around the corner, because fortitude is a tonic for growth. My individual evolution is about going beneath that old truth and finding the new truth, and then going beneath again to find an even newer truth.
A question I ask: Can I accept my former self without feeling shame, loss, or even regret? I realize that I am someone who at any bottom point, any low along the way, has mustered a plan to save myself. I congratulate my younger self for all the things I did right and try overlooking the many I didn’t. I must give myself grace for all that’s come before and all that will come ahead. So many wonderful people have taught me love, kindness, generosity, and resilience. And while I’ve also learned cruelty and fear, these, too, have contributed to my understanding about what it means to be a resilient and decent human.
The objects I’m keeping, and those I’m giving away or selling have qualities. Sometimes the qualities are what I want around, like beauty, lightness, and joy. Other times, objects are the opposite of that. My tidy fest is teaching me about the practice of loving and letting go. Letting go doesn’t mean I no longer have a relationship with the item. The idea of letting go is more about not being in possession of it, not controlling it. I’m writing a new script, as we humans have an infinite capacity to do, and starting to feel as if I’m on to something bigger than I realized when I started. This script has proven to be a powerful one, and I look forward to seeing how it unfolds.
Mary Daniel is a Certified Nutrition Health Coach dedicated to the pursuit of good health, both for herself and others. Through her business, Your One Precious Life, she partners with clients and communities and in the spirit of collaboration, paves the way for health transformations.
Interested in a free health consultation? Visit: www.youronepreciouslife.com or email mary@youronepreciouslife.
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