clearing clutter

"you’ll end up lending this to people," loren tells me when i opened her gift.

it’s a book about clearing clutter using feng shui, a quick read. i’ve already let two people borrow it, and i can’t wait to lend it again. this clutter problem i have is innate. i can’t help it, i’m sentimental. "imagine having to carry everything you own." in the book of birthdays, by russell grant, that’s the quote at the end of the passage for my birthday, which happens to be tomorrow. do thora birch and rupert murdoch have the same clutter issues i do?

"we’ve got to get rid of some of this clutter," i say to my boyfriend. we’ve been sharing a 1000 sq.ft loft for a year. it was his loft first. when i moved in, i was hesitant to make to many changes. i didn’t want him to freak out and have second thoughts about the new living situation. because of this, we’ve spent the year adjusting and rearranging. space is an issue. our kitchen has four upper cabinets and four lower cabinets not including under the sink. most people probably think i’m crazy when i say i would rather have two more cabinets than a dishwasher, but cabinets seem more useful in limited space.

"i can help you rearrange some things in your loft, maybe that will help alleviate some of your frustrations," loren tells me after i unload.

i happily accept her offer. i know in order for this to happen, i have to clear things out and deal with the clutter that has been clogging my life. throughout the year i do small clearings and reorganization, but this is extensive. this supreme clutter clearing is an excavation.

everyone has different clutter. contributing to mine is a collection of shoeboxes i’ve used to store clutter over the years. these boxes have moved with me nine times in the last ten years from texas to north carolina, to maryland, and back to texas. two shoeboxes were added from my travels abroad, one of them i carried from spain to london, then back to texas, north carolina, maryland, and texas again. clearly these things are special to me, but it’s a little ridiculous.

here i have this cast from when i broke my arm in 1987, 21 years later, in a shoebox. racing myself back and forth on rollerskates between the mailbox and the pebbly walk up to the front door, a loop deviously wraps itself around the front right wheel of my left skate. the wheel comes to an abrupt stop flinging me foward, i land on my arm and scrape my knees.

"do you want to keep it?" the doctor who used the saw to cut off the cast asks.

"yes." i beam. having a broken arm is the highlight of that year. both of my parents lost a parent and then divorced. My name was omitted from the list of second graders for valentine’s day. i got eight valentines. not a good year.

i’ve kept the cast all this time in a shoebox, maybe i looked at it a handful of times in all 21 years. photograph it and send it to the landfill. that’s my new mantra. atleast that way i can frame it and hang it on a wall to see and remember that poignant time in my life. i can’t do that when it’s sitting inside a 9 1/2" box inside a dark closet buried by other boxes, all the contents of my shoeboxes share this dilemma. things i don’t need, that i never look at but keep, because i might want to see them someday. letters, my first driver’s license and speeding ticket, badges, ticket stubs, notes and letters from friends in middle school and high school, they all need to go into a book, be collaged, or framed; or, gulp, thrown away (or recycled).

this doesn’t mean i’ll stop being sentimental, if these special things are in books they are valuable. they transform from space cloggers to something to look at, a story to be told. my closet happens to occupy the career sector of the bagua in my loft, making boxes filled with history inauspicious preventing new things from entering. i want it to be organized and efficient.

shoeboxes are not solely responsible for the disharmony in my closet. a whole foods bag full of photos from when i was shooting film has been keeping them company taking up space on a shelf. i didn’t want to throw anything away, and i just didn’t want to deal with it.

"what if i can use these?" that’s what a hoarder says.

"use it or send it to the recycling bin," my new mantra answers.

assured it needs to be done, i make piles of 4 x 6 prints. i go through each pile over three days. some of these space cloggers i immediately toss into the recycling bag. others i keep to put into an album, but most are doubles of photographs i’ve already put into an album.

"i will send these as postcards," i tell myself.

they find a new home, a shoebox for postcards. this kind of shoebox is okay. it has purpose. it helps me achieve my goal to write people more often. three days later, the discards take up 90% of the bag which is now removed from my closet and my life. i have space now on the shelf for a container holding notecards, envelopes, and stamps. it is functional.

a person can only clear clutter when ready. dave is a photographer i’ve worked for over the past year who has clutter issues bigger than mine. he asked to borrow my clutter clearing book. he is aware of his clutter problem.

excited to hear what he thought of the book, i stopped by this week to pick it up and to tell him about the trip i took to new york for my birthday.

"i enjoyed looking at your photos," he tells me.

"thanks," i smile.

he comments on a few of the photos telling me about when he was there with his family.

i tell him a bit of my experience, i mention my birthday was last week.

"oh when’s your birthday?" dave asks me excited to mark it on his giant desk calendar.

"march 11, it was tuesday," i tell him and watch as he navigates his arms buried under the sea of papers on his desk. the whole mess looks like waves before a storm. he sees me smiling.

"i figure it will take me about a year and a half to clear my clutter," dave confesses, then asks, "you know why?"

he opens his desk drawer which i imagine to be a horrifying abyss. he pulls out a little yellow post-it note and holds it up proudly for me to see. it’s a red ink drawing and scribbled "i love you daddy" by his three-year old son.

"i have hundreds of them," he says to me with a guilty smile.

"you should frame it," i encourage him knowing how these sentimental bits from life are important.

"i have the cast from when i broke my arm when i was 8!" i say to let him know i really understand his plight.

"and you know, colin isn’t three anymore. (he’s in junior high!) you have to clear the old stuff out to make room for new stuff."

dave tells me he is in need of reinventing himself professionally. i tell him the clutter clearing will help. he agrees. i leave it at that. he can only begin the clutter clearing process when the time is right for him.

it is a beautiful soul-soothing practice, i know he will see positive results as i did. i feel i have just scratched the surface. it has already made daily/weekly maintenance easier. i still can’t carry everything i own, but for now it feels good to start my 29th year traveling a little bit lighter.