If I had to summarize our Saturday in word, it would be “purge”. I’m feeling overwhelmed lately and part of the problem is stuff, stuff and more stuff.
I had been contemplating for some time a whole house purge, but was reluctant to mention my mission to Cynical as it’s a big undertaking and I was sure I’d jinx my resolve. It was as if saying it outloud made it monumental and I wanted to bite this task off in small pieces.
I’d started with books earlier in the week. Parting with books is like cutting off a limb for me with a rusty handsaw. It’s painful and difficult. They are a part of me. They represent me. Nevertheless, I dug deep and came up with five boxes to shed and there is still work to be done. It was freeing, and I haven’t found myself digging out a book I just couldn’t release. I have books and books and more books. And it recently occurred to me that I’d never read them all and that often when choosing one I was overwhelmed by the choices. The shelves were cluttered with those I’d never dig into and it was time for them to go to a new home. I had to come to grips with the fact that I’d never read “Sister Carrie”, that I’d never make it through the entire Emily Giffin series and that I was fooling myself when I tried to like Debbie Macomber’s writing. It was time to face facts.
On Saturday I tackled clothing. It seemed a simple task with dual purpose. It was an opportunity for me to rotate my seasonal clothing and to shed some summer and winter stuff. It was simple, but a little backbreaking as our clothing storage is in the basement and our closets on the first floor. However, I tugged and lugged and managed to haul bin after bin up and down those *&^%$# wooden stairs. It was time to let go of the sweater I bought in 1989, but couldn’t part with as it was once a favorite, worn over my legging’s with my shoe boots. I was hot, I am certain, from 1989 through 1990, thanks in part due to that sweater.
And I was never going to wear that sweater with the bow at the neck, no matter how many times someone tried to convince me it was versatile and could pep up my sadly lacking wardrobe. Gone is the floor length flannel gown that matches one my mother bought for herself. Despite its sweet collar and holly leaves, it still doesn’t evoke a sense of holiday cheer and hence, made it into the “out” pile.
And the list goes on. We are now left with the satisfaction that our drawers close smooth, I am not likely to throw out a shoulder simply as I shove hangers aside to hang my coat.
The quest goes on. Drawer after drawer. Cubbyhole after cubbyhole. Box and bin after box and bin. I feel lighter already and I’m not tempted to dig out that sweater or book.