"Edit your life frequently and ruthlessly. It's your masterpiece after all." -Nathan W. Morris
The closet, in my opinion, takes no pleasure in a disordered environment but rejoices in tidy spaces. It bears all things, hopes all things, endures all things. A closet never fails…until it does.
It is also, in my opinion, a powerful metaphor for secrets, mental stability, versatility, resilience, organization, hope, and, of course, your sense of fashion or lack thereof.
Well, all that came crashing down a few nights ago.
In the middle of the night, this loud noise woke both Larry and me. We figured a tree limb had broken or something had collapsed in the yard, but we didn't bother to investigate. It was dark, around 1:30 am, and as you know, nothing good happens after midnight.
We went back to sleep. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it in the morning.
The next day, when I tried to open my closet door, it was as if a dead body was blocking my entry. I pushed. It resisted. I pushed harder. It budged a little, and when I peeked inside, half my clothes were on the floor, along with a memory box, a stash of bows for Christmas, a teddy bear from my youth (Yes, I still need it on occasion), and some floppy summer hats. Katrina Mayer says, get rid of clutter and you may just find it was blocking the door you've been looking for.
Bahaha.
Larry and I were heading out for a training ride, so I just pulled some bike shorts out of the drawer and shut the door on the issue, so to speak.
We'll deal with this later. Are you detecting a trend?
When we returned home, we had to pack for an overnight trip to Capitola with some dear friends. This was not the optimal time to share the 'closet' news with Larry, so I grabbed a bag, my nightie, some sweats for the morning, a pair of jeans, and a cool top (as in short sleeves, not really cool in the fashion sense), and again, I closed the door on the problem.
We showered and headed over the hill to the beach.
So, I finally mentioned the damaged closet to Larry during our drive to Capitola. I figured this was neutral territory, a safe place in which to broach the subject of a collapsed closet.
He said, "I heard something crash in the middle of the night."
I said, "Yeah, that was my closet having a mental breakdown."
Larry says, "Maybe you're putting too much weight on the bar."
"No, she was having a tizzy and threw all my clothes on the ground in protest to the egregious conditions of my closet. It's scandalous, really, I can hardly get to my clothes."
"I think it's time you weed out your entire closet?"
"I think it's time to replace all the fixtures. The baskets don't work, one of the drawers is broken, and now the shelf and bar are both literally on the ground."
"I'll buy some new brackets. It'll be as good as new."
When we returned from Capitola, Larry made a beeline for my closet and loudly assessed the situation.
He says, "Wow, what the hell happened here?"
Me from the chair in my room, "The bar fell."
"I'm going to the hardware store while you empty out this mess."
"I always get the hard jobs."
I get the look.
By the time he returned with new brackets and some really long screws, I had all the clothes thrown on my bed and all the other junk stacked in our room.
It took him about an hour to reassemble the bar and shelf.
That was about the same time I needed to stare at the pile of clothes and muster up the energy to weed through them and decide what to give away, throw away, or keep. As Marie Kondo is known for saying, tidying is the act of confronting yourself. I think the universe is sending me a message.
Well, it certainly was not celebrating my sense of fashion. Maybe it's simply responding to my neglect, and this is my punishment. I've heard the universe is like an echo, returning to us what we ourselves have put into the world. So, if I'm hearing this right, I can no longer bear the weight of my own possessions.
Fabulous.
I know of three domains of experience: spatial, social, and emotional.
Today, I'm doing all three: I'm in my closet, throwing a pity party, while simultaneously having a mental breakdown. I've heard if you want to improve your life, clean out your closet because it's the stuff we hold onto that holds us back. Our things actually anchor us to the past, which, honestly, I'm rather attached to anyway.
I find it physically taxing to weed through my clothes and my things. PHYSICALLY TAXING! Every thirty minutes, I have to sit down so I can talk myself into continuing while I sip a cup of coffee and stare at the unruly piles of things I don't want, need, or use. It was an ugly conversation, to begin with, and now it's getting personal.
They say clutter is merely the physical manifestation of unmade decisions intensified by my desire to procrastinate because my new motto is to deal with it later. But you'll be relieved to know I stayed the course—for the entire day.
Now, I have two substantial garbage bags for Goodwill, one for my daughter and one for my sister. Learning to let go of the things that no longer serve me is my one small step towards lightening my load in life and maybe my carbon footprint.
After trying on every pair of jeans I own, which is substantial, I discovered they all fit, which is weird because I bought them over the last three decades. I decided I would never buy another pair of jeans for the rest of my life. I have every style known to women; skinny, flared, boot cut, wide-leg, high-waisted, capri; while some are acid washed, dark wash, medium wash, and holy (as in holes, not sacred), they are all in good condition. They will continue going in and out of fashion, but I can rotate them when necessary.
Oh, if only we could do that with all our issues.
There is this one small exception. I ordered a pair of Oprah's favorite jeans last week. It was probably a marketing scam, but I fell for it. What's one more pair of jeans among a sea of denim?
I finished organizing my closet around 7:00 p.m. that night. I know there were a lot of unnecessary breaks and a few intense self-therapy sessions.
And there's still so much more to do. The drawers, for example, are a mess, and the cupboard is full of who knows what. Well, it's mostly full of stuff I love and probably can't live without. But that's for another day—my new motto.
I told Larry, "I'm going to vacuum the closet, and then I'm ready for a glass of wine on the patio."
"Sounds good."
When I landed in the soft chair under the arbor, I said, "I kept too much."
"You'll have lots of options."
"But I wear the same thing every day."
"Then get rid of the rest."
"Now, what fun would that be?"
"Either you are getting more difficult as you age, or I am getting more tolerant."
"It's actually the opposite."
He poured me some more wine, wise man.
I gravitate towards the idea of an organized, versatile, and simplistic closet and a life that is much the same. So why is my closet always such a catastrophe?
It could be a stage. Post-retirement confusion? Fear of aging or scarcity?
I realize order contributes to my inner calm. It's just so damn hard to maintain. I also know that creating a simplistic environment forces me to evaluate my beliefs around 'excess' and 'enough.' I just don't like it, besides, I tend to lean towards excess. But honestly, clutter is not just physical stuff, as Elanor Brown notes. It's also old ideas, toxic relationships, and bad habits. It's anything that does not support your better self.
So, I might be ridding myself of outdated and ill-fitting clothing, but I'm also weeding out old thought patterns, my disordered relationship with things, and maybe a few useless habits. Booyah!
I feel lighter today. And the truth is, I can't reach for something new if my hands are full of yesterday's castoffs. Right? As my children constantly remind me, let my legacy be the way I loved my family, not all the shit I left for my kids to deal with when I'm dead and gone. So, let's all agree the first step in crafting the life we want is to get rid of everything we don't.
We leave for Iowa tomorrow. Biking from one side of the state to the other. We can expect heat, humidity, and rain. Oh, joy, and we're camping. Our team name is Tight Butts and Sweaty Nuts. Yes, it is. RAGBRAI is the largest cycling event in the country. A rolling party, if you will. How do I get myself into these situations? I might miss my weekly post, although I'm bringing a computer. I won't be reading posts for two weeks. I'll be missing you all.
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