Have I mentioned that I am an elite-level packrat? I had to go two generations back to inherit that gene—from Granny, my paternal grandmother. My own mother has never had a problem dispensing with stuff. I, on the other hand, got the double whammy—Granny’s sentimental attachment to things, paired with Daddy’s impatience. So I accumulate like Granny, but I don’t take the time to carefully wrap, hang, and fold everything away like she did. You can imagine the end result.
The thing about a cluttered environment is that it clutters your mind. Like millions of other people, I just read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Japanese cleaning guru Marie Kondo,which a couple of friends had recommended. Kondo’s philosophy is that everything you own should be held up to one simple question: “Does this bring me joy?” Not “Who gave this to me?” or “Does this still fit?” or “Will I need this someday?” but “Does this bring me joy?”
I took her advice and started with my clothes. (I still have books, documents, miscellany, and mementos to go. Egad.) I piled all of my clothes from every closet and every season onto our bed. The size of that mountain was staggering. Clothes I hadn’t worn in ten years. Clothes I had never especially liked. Clothes that were faded and worn but matched other things that were hard to match, so I kept them. Clothes that were the “me” of long ago. Let them go. Let go of who you were and move on to who you are.
Once I removed the joyless mountain, I could see a pattern in the things I had kept. My mother's hand-me-down leather coat, which Daddy gave her in the seventies. I still wear it. A gorgeous velvet scarf I bought in England. I've never worn it very much, but I just like looking at it. I could also see clearly the few things I needed to add—pieces of clothing I’ve always loved to wear but haven’t bought for myself in a long time. I could see the empty spaces.
Kondo promises that de-cluttering your environment will change you on a deeper level, and I can see that happening already. Sometimes we can't see our own empty spaces because they've gotten covered over with distractions. And sometimes we intentionally distract ourselves from those empty spaces because we aren’t ready to face them. It can be hard to look at our disappointments and fears head-on, with lots of air and white space around them. It’s easier to keep them buried and just peek at them from time to time. But once we find the courage to unearth them and ask God to help us deal with them, we can figure out how to fill those empty spaces in a meaningful way. We can move on to joy.