The Joy and Magic of Decluttering

It was a Friday evening near the beginning of my summer vacation from teaching. I had decided I was going to spend what was left of my summer decluttering my life. It had been about three months since I broke up with my ex. I had another two months off from work, with no particular plans. And I was on a mission. I needed to put on my adulting hat and get my apartment in shape before I could bring any new guy into my life.

If I wanted to find someone that actually acted like an adult, I would need to find a way to present myself as one too. And it was going to take some  serious magic fix my apartment. Currently, it looked like either a thirteen year old girl, a college student, or a seventy year old granny lived there, depending on where you looked.

And that was what brought me to Pages. Pages was one of the few independent bookstores still in existence. It was a Friday night, when most of my friends were out on dates or engaged in other fun activities, but there I was, looking at books.

I walked around the store until I came to the self-help section, but I didn’t know what I was looking for. I stood there, staring at the shelves. There were three full rows on cleaning and organizing. How would I ever decide which one to pick? It must have been obvious that I was struggling because it wasn’t long before a little old Japanese lady came over to ask me if she could help. She had silver-grey hair and the kind of face that made you think she could be thirty-five or seventy.

“I’m trying to turn my college dorm style apartment into a mature adult woman’s home.” I explained.

“Oh,” she cooed. “Is there someone you are trying to impress?”

“No, that’s the problem. All the men I ever meet are man-children. I want to attract an adult for once. But when I do, I want an adult home to bring him back to.”

  “Ah! I see. I know just the book for you. I don’t think we have a copy out here. Let me go look in the back.” And she shuffled off to another part of the store.

When she returned she was holding a small silver book. For a self-help book, it was remarkably fancy. The delicate swirling letters on the cover read, The Joy and Magic of Decluttering. The old woman handed me the book, and it felt warm in my hands, and heavier than it appeared. There was no dust jacket or even a blurb on the back that explained what was inside.

“Trust me,” said the woman. “This book will help you.” And again she shuffled off.

I wasn’t sure what to think, but I had asked for a recommendation. I took the book up to the register to pay. The old woman was waiting for me. She offered me a fifty percent discount and I was grateful. I was excited to get home and get started.

I returned to my apartment, ready to learn. I hadn’t gone shopping in a while, so I made myself a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. I shoved the half-finished knitting project that was in the middle of the couch to the side. And I plopped down to begin reading. If I was going to start acting like an adult, I would probably need to start eating like one, too. Jeff had not minded coming over for a peanut butter sandwich and a quicky. But the Jeffs of the world were not who I was trying to attract anymore. My new man would expect to eat some real food if I invited him over for dinner.

I opened up the book to the first chapter. It started out with a list of simple habits to break and myths to dispel. Nothing super exciting. I continued on until I came to the section about visualizing what you want. This type of thing was not usually something I was good at. But for once, I had a crystal clear idea of what I wanted.

I pictured the condo my friend Jessica had recently bought. Jessica and I had been friends since high school. She lived in the city, and she had a fancy job working in a high rise building, doing marketing work for some multi-million dollar start up company.

Her apartment was a perfect blend of modern-minimalist, and artsy-fun. I didn’t even know those styles could blend. But Jessica’s apartment looked like it belonged in a magazine. There was never any clutter. If she met a guy one night, she would not have to run home to make things presentable before he came in, even if he was a rich handsome businessman. Alright, I didn’t think Jessica was looking for a Rich handsome businessman. And neither was I, to be honest. But if she found one, he would be impressed with her apartment.

That’s what I wanted. Mine would be a bit more homey, but the same clean, crisp, grown-up sort of space. I scrounged up a half-used notebook from the pile of clutter on the desk in the corner and started jotting down my ideas. I knew a lot of it was wishful thinking. I wasn’t buying all new furniture or artsy decor on my teacher’s salary, but putting down the ultimate dream on paper gave me something to work towards. I could set aside a bit of money each paycheck to find some of these new things. Planning my savings made me feel a bit more like an adult already.

I continued to read, and plan for my beautiful grown-up apartment, until I got to the first actual step. It was getting late, and I knew I should get some rest. I carried the book into the bedroom with me. I changed into some comfy fleece pajamas. I pushed the clean laundry I had forgotten to fold to one side of the bed, and went to sleep.

The next morning, I was ready to begin de-cluttering my life. I opened up the book to the next chapter, and again the  weight and warmth of the tiny book in my hands surprised me.

I was supposed to start by piling all my clothes in one place. Luckily most of them were on the bed anyway, so I began piling the remaining items there. Next, I needed to look at each item of clothing, and decide if it brought me joy. And if it didn’t, I was supposed to thank it for helping me up until this point and send it on its way. I had never imagined clothing bringing me joy before. And thanking each item? I mean, it was clothing.

I should have expected some cultural differences in the way things were presented. I knew all about Feng Shui and other more spiritual practices in Asian cultures. Whatever. I would give it a shot. What could it hurt?

I picked up a pair of slacks. They were pants I frequently wore to work to teach in. They were comfortable yet dressy enough that I felt professional in them. The ends were getting a bit frayed because they were a bit too long on me. Did they bring me joy? Not really. Thank you, Slacks, I thought to myself and tossed them in the trash pile. It felt good to realize I didn’t need them in my life.

Next I picked up a breezy summer shirt. It was not something I could wear to work with the open back, but it was comfortable and pretty and made me think of vacations by the beach. I smiled as I began to realize what the book meant about it bringing me joy. I tossed it in the keep pile, and I felt a warm tingle run through my body. The book appeared to be glowing on my night stand and I felt warm all over. It really was like magic. 

I continued through the mountain of clothes, tossing items I had worn to the club in my college days, blouses with plunging necklines that I had used to attract the wrong sorts of men, and piles more of practical yet professional teacher clothes. When I was finished, I realized all that was left were sundresses and flowing tops that reminded me of summer, warm cozy sweaters and comfortable yet flattering jeans that reminded me of snuggling by a fireplace, and a few special occasion outfits I had worn to meet friends for dinner or to family parties. I had nothing left to wear to work in September. 

I pulled back out a few pairs of pants and a few tops, enough to have enough clothes to last me through one week of teaching without needing to do laundry. I could have sworn I heard an audible hiss from the book and I felt a cold sweat as I tossed clothes that most certainly did not bring me joy back into the keep pile. 

“I promise I will get rid of these as soon as I have enough money to replace them with items that do bring me joy,” I spoke out loud to the book. “It’s not like I can go to work naked.” 

The book let out a grudging huff as if it would grant me this one, but it was not happy about it. 

The rest of the week was a blur. I worked my way through all the steps in the book, getting rid of anything that didn’t bring me joy. Each time, I tossed something I hated, the book purred in happiness and that now familiar warmth crept over me. Everytime, I tried to keep something because it was practical or because I felt like I needed it, even if I didn’t like it. The book hissed and the cold clammy feeling returned. Sometimes, I listened to the book. Other times I kept it anyway, promising to discard it as soon as I could replace it with something I liked.

I had no idea how much I could learn about myself through this journey. The most surprising and fulfilling part about it was when I organized my spare bedroom. I turned it into a true creative space. The cluttered desk from the living room fit perfectly under the East facing window, where I could watch the sunrise with my coffee while I worked on my computer. The empty dresser that was collecting dust in my bedroom since Jeff had moved out his things was perfect to store all of my craft supplies. 

The hardest thing for me to de-clutter had been my books. I found that they all brought me joy. I thought that the book would be angry with me when the only books I got rid of my old college textbooks, and teaching practice books that were out of date anyway. Surprisingly, I heard not a sound from the book. Perhaps it could tell that my books truly brought me joy. 

I folded the warn futon back into a couch for the first time in over a year, vowing that unless I had a guest sleeping on it, I would always do that. And I had just enough additional room to set up a small card table with my sewing machine. 

With the furniture set up and my books and craft supplies organized, I wandered around my house, looking for my favorite decorative items to spruce up the rest of the room. I was surprised that the book didn’t hiss at me for keeping a bunch of Disney collectibles that I’d had since I was a child or for going back to my pile of clothes to donate and pulling out some flowing dresses and skirts that I had tossed, but only because they didn’t fit. 

I was supposed to be cleaning, but the creativity my new room sparked had me turning the old dresses into decorative pillows for the futon, and pretty drawer liners and table runners. 

Each night, when I was done with my day’s projects, I sat down at the computer to record my progress. I took pretty pictures of new items, and my organized happy space. It had been days since the book hissed at me, and I felt like I could hear a happy humming on the pages. 

I started posting on my social media sights about the magical process I was going through, and wouldn’t you believe, people wanted to know more. Other young women, like me, begged to know more about what I was doing. So I started a blog.

The rest of my summer passed in a whirlwind. Every morning, I woke up, edited the photos I took the previous day, and posted them online. Then I picked a new decluttering and organizing project to tackle. I didn’t have enough money to buy fancy storage containers, or organizers. So I pulled out all my old crafting supplies and made them. Honestly, they looked nicer anyway, and they brought me joy. Joy when I was crafting them, joy when I organized my precious items into them, and joy when I looked around at the space I was making that was totally my own. And at night, I sat at my computer and wrote blog posts about how I had spent my day.

When my kitchen was finally organized, I started actually cooking for myself again. It was satisfying to know I was eating healthier, and that I was doing it all for myself. I started adding my favorite recipes to my blog as well, and a whole new crowd was following me. I was a regular Millennial Martha Stewart now. 

Before long, Summer was coming to an end, and the list of projects I had left to tackle was also diminishing. A cold pit of dread crept into my stomach at the thought of returning to the classroom. I loved each and every one of those students with all my heart, and I wanted them all to grow into amazing adults. But every time I looked at the back to school sales, or when I saw my “teacher clothes” hanging in the closet, I remembered the book hissing at me, and the cold would seep back in. 

I continued to shove it out of my mind.

One morning, I was looking for the book, and I couldn’t find it anywhere. I was sure I had left it on my desk. But it was nowhere to be found. Had I accidentally tossed it with my latest load of clutter? 

I started to panic. I needed that book. I raced off to the bookstore and asked the young girl behind the register if they had another copy. She had no idea what I was talking about. I asked when the Japanese woman would be working. Again, she had no idea what I was talking about. No Japanese woman worked there. That was definitely strange, but not the thing that had me most upset.

Where would I find another copy? I was almost done. I needed to finish. Maybe I could find it at the library. 

My heart raced as I jogged into the library. I headed over to the catalogue computer and typed in the title of the book. 

No results. 

Damn it. I was about to leave, when I noticed a sign on the door of one of the meeting rooms.

Are you a creative type who’s bored of your 9-5 job?

Would you like to find a way to be your own boss, work from anywhere, and monetize what you are truly passionate about?

Join us for an informative work session to learn about the growing field of independent contracting in creative fields.

When: Thursday August 15 2:00PM

Where: Conference Room A

Drop In Event: No Prior Sign-Up Required.

I couldn’t believe it. That was in twenty minutes. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out. 

That meeting was life changing. I  met other young women, and a few men, just like me. People who hated their jobs. People who wanted a more creative outlet in life, but had been told by their parents, teachers, older role models, that there was no money in their passion. And amazingly people who had actually been successful in their art. I learned that I could turn what I had been doing all month, blogging, and crafting, into a viable business with the right strategy.

I chatted with a young man, about my age, for a while. I asked him what he wanted to do, and how he had got here. My jaw almost dropped when he said he had bought a book about writing, his creative passion, at Pages downtown. And that this morning when he couldn’t find what he had done with it, he decided to come to the library to find a new copy. 

What were the odds?

He asked me if I wanted to go out for a coffee and handed me his phone to put my number in. I could have sworn I heard the familiar happy hum of The Book, and that was definitely the same warmth that washed over me. And I knew, it was the magic of the book that brought us both here.