A couple of weeks ago, I posted about dealing with clutter as we unpacked in our new, smaller house in Georgia. (Click HERE for that post.)
Picking up an object or a book to ask 'Why do I own this?' but also 'Do I need to keep it?' seems simple -- at first. But whenever I have a good bit of decluttering to do, I find the task cooks up a thick emotional stew of reminiscence, excited rediscovery, and mild shame.
During our unpacking and downsizing, the most difficult -- and the most rewarding -- was my home office. This is the place where I conduct business from answering emails to sending birthday cards, from planning the week's meals to preparing craft projects for my child. Thus I need office supplies, arts & craft materials, and uncluttered work space for the everyday life that happens here. Yet my office is also the place where I write.
I often find myself mentally working on writing projects while taking daily walks or pushing Eli's swing on the playground. For those ideas to become reality, though, I need quiet work time, but also tools and resources -- web access, my laptop and camera, and more than a few reference books. I need my files, which means multiple cabinets' worth of family history materials, clipped articles, and idea-triggering pictures. To top it off, there are objects as well. My latest nonfiction manuscript, for example, involves old fashioned cooking, so recipe boxes and antique biscuit cutters are now tucked into my office shelves. In other words, each writing project I take on means collecting materials and items that glitter with potential usefulness. A home office can easily become as cluttered as a magpie's nest.
As I started the culling process, handling some items brought a wave of renewed interest, a joy akin to reuniting with a long-absent friend. The problematic items, however, were the ones that once seemed important but my interest lessened over time. It was as though some books, papers, and objects had a thin but oh-so-sticky residue of nostalgia mixed with duty. I needed a spray bottle of cool, clear thinking to shine them up before I could make proper decisions about their worth. Luckily, I found a quotation that seemed to do just that...
In his book Clutter Free! Finally and Forever, household cleaning expert Don Aslett discusses "alleged or former hobby clutter" and it struck a nerve:
"Maybe just buying and owning the tools and trappings of something will do, make up for interest and application or even a talent we don't have. So we accumulate all the gear and equipment for something it would be neat to do, or nice to be thought of as doing. But we never do it, or do it for a little while and drop it. But we still have all that elaborate fishing, gardening, camping, hiking, rock climbing, or skeet shooting gear, taking up space in behalf of our 'image.' " (pg. 149. Pocatello, ID: Marsh Creek Press, 1995.)
I realized I was dealing with "alleged or former writing project clutter." The reference sources and other materials that felt emotionally sticky? It was because they weren't truly meant for me anymore. Even if they had once been compelling and actually could have been a decent writing project, I'd moved on. Other projects now needed the emotional and physical space. It made me sad -- at first. But now that there were fewer projects, my attention and work time was no longer as divided.
Suddenly full of energy, I started piling "sticky" books and objects into boxes. The more I culled, the more ruthless I became. It was no longer about just thinning enough to make do with one less set of bookshelves. Hours later, there were empty slots.
There is a particular sort of bliss that comes with clarity, even if you have to haul a carload of boxes to Goodwill to reach it. Afterwards, my office had breathing room. More about that in the next decluttering post...
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