WordSisters

Category: Downsizing

  • The Everlasting Charm of Cardboard Boxes

    I’ve never met a cardboard box I didn’t like. As a result, I have a dedicated box closet in my basement. This humble, unfinished space is not just for storing boxes; instead, it’s a testament to being able to find the perfect box only a flight of stairs away.

    Each one I’ve saved tells a story and invites me to recall a package delivered, an appliance purchased, a gift received. Each one also awaits its turn as the perfect box in which to return a book, send a present or hold my recycling.  

    There’s also a practical reason why I save so many boxes.

    Two decades ago, a neighborhood punk broke into my house and stole two TVs, a couple of kitchen appliances, my monitor and a number of other things. In filling out the police report, I was asked to provide pictures of the items as well as their serial numbers. Alas, with the items gone—as well as the boxes they came in—so was proof of my ownership. (And yes, I could start snapping pictures, writing down serial numbers and recycling boxes, but I like seeing visual proof of things I purchased and gifts I received. When shipping a package, I also like knowing I have a closet full of boxes of various dimensions from which I can choose.

    Yes, cardboard boxes hold an undeniable magic for me that transcends their seemingly mundane nature. This is especially true since the start of COVID, when I, like many others, opted to order everything from groceries and office supplies to pet food and electronics, rather than test fate by going out to shop.

    In a world sometimes obsessed with grandeur and complexity, the cardboard box stands strong in its corrugated simplicity, a reminder of the importance of both form and function and how, when combined, even the ubiquitous cardboard box can be a thing of beauty, a way to do what I’m trying to do more of: celebrate the seemingly mundane.

  • Aspirational Clutter: Not Yet Time to Let Go

    Two years ago a friend introduced me to Clutter Chronicles, a podcast that features a woman named Mary and her “unusual relationship with stuff.” Ever since, I’ve been working hard to rid myself of my clutter, as well as all sorts of other stuff I no longer need or use.

    I’ve made good progress. I’ve tossed reams and reams of client files from a four-drawer, 48-inch-wide file cabinet. I’ve donated hundreds of books, a dozen bags of clothes, several sets of linens and my favorite china.

    Parting with most of that stuff turned out to be easier than I thought thanks to another friend who encouraged me to stop dragging my anchor behind me and instead toss it out in front of me.

    But I’ve since come to realize that there’s a category of clutter I’m still having trouble letting go of: aspirational clutter.

    I’d never even heard of aspirational clutter until a third friend introduced me to Apartment Therapy, a home and décor site that defines aspirational clutter as “anything you’re keeping for a future version of yourself.”

    As a lifelong goal-setter with all sorts of imagined future selves and plenty of storage space, I’ve accumulated a great deal of aspirational clutter, most of which revolves around hopes and dreams related to creative pursuits such as writing, drawing, painting, sewing and knitting, all things I used to love doing as a kid but gave up decades ago.

    Some of my aspirational clutter is electronic, like the list of words I keep on my computer, words I aspire to one day not only remember the meaning of but also use in a short story. The list includes noctilucent, opsimath, sere and wheedle.

    There’s also a list of clever headlines, as well as lists of books to read, movies to watch and podcasts to listen to, all in line with my aspirations to develop compelling creative content in a variety of forms.  

    But what about the things that do take up physical space? A shoebox filled with recipes. A plastic bin of yarn. An untouched set of oil paints I received for my 40th birthday. A six-inch high pile of pages I’ve torn out of magazines in preparation for making collages.

    Despite the fact that some of these things have sat dormant for decades, tossing or giving them away is harder than I would have imagined. And that’s exactly how my more creative future self would want it to be.

  • When it Comes to Downsizing, Fire is Not the Answer

    Have you read “How to Get Rid of Stuff: The Survey Says…”?

    Published on Next Avenue, the article features an interview with David J. Ekerdt, author of Downsizing: Confronting Our Possessions in Later Life.

    Although I’m too busy confronting my own mountain of stuff to read Ekerdt’s book, the article brought me face-to-face with my own struggle to take control of my possessions.

    One line in particular stood out to me. It referred to the “magical thinking” approach to downsizing, which can be summed up as wishing a fire would “take care of” all one’s possessions.

    I’ve been guilty of such thinking. In fact, more than a decade ago, I fantasized about this exact thing with my friend Maery Rose.

    Last week my fantasy almost came true.

    That’s when I came home from a socially distanced visit with my aunt Caroline to a smoke-filled bedroom.  

    It started because of my hair.

    I haven’t had it cut or colored since the pandemic began, and it’s been driving me crazy. I wanted to give it a bit of TLC from all angles, so I plugged in a curling iron in my bedroom, where I could adjust the mirrored bifold doors of my closet to get a 360-degree view of my hair.

    Though I didn’t love what I saw, a figured a few quick curls just before walking out the door would get me to “good enough.”

    But in the middle of making those curls, I got distracted by a call and forgot to turn the curling iron off. What’s worse, while I was gone, it slipped from the radiator onto my bed, where I had a pile of clothes I’d been debating about whether to keep or giveaway.

    By the time I returned home, the curling iron had burned through the clothes, as well as a treasured handmade afghan, my down comforter and my sheets. Even my mattress was beginning to burn.

    I’m lucky I came home when I did. The damage could have been much worse. And while I certainly hope I never accidentally set another thing on fire, there’s one positive that came out of that day: I’m finally, after years of talking about doing so, letting go of those things that don’t fit my future self.

    In fact, in the week since the fire, I’ve donated two carloads of boxes and filled my dining room with dozens more.

    And thanks to this tweet by Angela Giles Klocke, I’m able to see some humor in the fact that the universe had to light a fire in my bed in order for me to finally take downsizing seriously.

    Inspired by Angela, I’m now cross-stitching my own aphorism: “Home Is Where We Unplug Curling Irons So We Don’t Burn Down the House!”

    Angela is right, it does have a nice ring to it, one I hope will keep both my home and hers fire-free from now on.