Keep-Give-Toss /Spring Clearing

I’m sitting in our “dining area” gazing upon what Evie my inner critic would characterize as the “dumpster fire of clutter” that’s accumulated, again, on every conceivable surface area of our home.  It’s Spring Equinox and my woo woo sources say today’s the day to morph our home into a minimalist spa sanctuary type vibe rather than the lego/book/blankie/workout gear/laundry pile/paper pile/stuff piles everywhere buried alive pre-hoarder vibe that’s currently in play — from my perspective.  

To Mike, my beloved husband, and Ax, our beloved son, our home is perfect.  Perhaps a bit sparse even.  They like stuff.  They like stuff where they can see it, out, everywhere, pending.

Me, I like space.  I like empty space which soothes my buzzy mind.  

Mike and I are aware of this aesthetic/lifestyle conflict.  One day I helpfully suggested we could build an addition, a room of one’s own, for me, to keep empty and enjoy.  

“So you want to move out?” Is how Mike greeted my idea.

“No, honey, not move out, just, you know, have a separate residence with not so much stuff in it.  But, like, attached to this one.”

Aside from the financial impracticalities of this option, it didn’t really achieve the happy coexistence we wanted.  I then suggested we could “get rid of everything,” which sparked an alarming amount of pushback  from my menfolk who acted as if I’d suggested getting rid of them rather than just the stuff - stuff  everywhere which looks like eye-stabbing clutter to me but is apparently precious and lovely to them.  

So removing myself and removing their stuff are two options that aren’t gonna work.  They don’t achieve the bigger goal of how do I coexist - cohabitate - with people I love who don’t share my tastes or desires, whose way of being isn’t a problem for them, but is for me.

So far the way it’s worked in the past is that stuff builds up, then gets to a tipping point where I can’t stand it anymore and I get bins and boxes and clear common areas and put everyone’s respective items in their respective rooms to address as they see fit, sometimes with my assistance (Ax), sometimes not (Mike).

I’ve learned that a lot of warning and opportunity for them to address their stuff before I do seems to make for a smoother process.

And then there’s my stuff, the clutter I carry, which tends to be less physical and more mental.  The stories, fears, perspectives I  picked up along the way that maybe served me in the past, stories of lack, of imminent danger, of being not okay, of my worth being tied to my youth, my brain, my looks, my wallet — these stories came into my head for whatever reason but don’t fit my current reality very well — they’re mental equivalents of the long blonde wig I bought after I cut my hair off, or the silver sequin tube top & miniskirt outfit I wore the night I wanted to look like a disco ball, or the dark blue pinstriped suits from that Wall Street Lawyer Barbie era.  

It’s much easier to let go of the material, physical stuff than the mental stuff, the paradigms and perspectives I’ve been carrying around.  It’d be cool if I could stick them in a bin and take them somewhere, away, and have them be gone.  

Maybe I’ll work on clearing that stuff, the clutter in my head that really keeps me from enjoying this life, and worry less about the legos, the well-intentioned drum kit, the dog paraphernalia, which bring  joy to my family, which, if I let go of how I think a house is supposed to look or let go of what I think I need on the outside to feel okay on the inside, might not be so excruciating.  Might even be wonderful.  I’m coexisting!  Who’d have thunk it? I’m gonna keep going. 

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