What Lies Beneath

Pragmatics

***See the January 2009 Oprah magazine issue for the article Back to Basics! It discusses Simple Living America, which published Get Satisfied and for which I wrote an essay and the House Party discussion guide! ***

• -Take the glass half empty or full quiz.


• -Speaking of positive thinking, my glass half full “lecture” also brought back a happy reminder of an influential childhood book focusing on “the glad game”. Peek into Pollyanna (Chapter 4 = The Game) here!


• -Here’s Kohler’s 101 on kitchen clutter rehab.


• -I could have used the kid’s version of these tips for cleaning your desk in elementary school. I spent way too much time rooting around for my ruler and eraser.


• -For my writer and editor friends (or those who want a peek into the craft), here’s a piece on literary triage.
  

Prose

This morning Gavin and I played Scramble, a timed shape-sorting game where you fit pieces into their slots, as many as possible before the shape tray pops up and startles you. I had to laugh when Gavin said, “I didn’t get the last piece in,”, rather than focusing on the 17 of 18 that he had inserted!

I went to the kitchen and ran the tap into an empty glass, dismayed to find that he labeled it “half empty”! We talked about positive thinking, something I can use a talk on myself at regular intervals. I thought about the wholly human tendency to focus on what hasn’t been accomplished, as in the old story of authors focusing on their one negative book review (versus the 10 blurbs of glowing praise!).

As the New Year unfolds, both Tom and I seem programmed to want to sort, to purge our lives of clutter. We get the surfaces managed, at least periodically—-papers in the recycling bin, dishes in the dishwasher, dirty clothes in the hamper, blankets refolded and shelved. But lately I am plagued by “what lies beneath”. The cabinets in the bathroom and kitchen are cluttered jumbles of empties, duplicates, and "can’t identifies". The pajama drawer is overstuffed with what no longer fits. The list goes on (you can probably fill it in, based on your own experience).

I have a fantasy of efficiency, one where I sort one drawer a day until I strike perfection. Then, of course, it would be time to start over on each area! Tom’s fantasy is to “take a week off and get everything done.” As if that would be a one-time proposition.

Of course, we know that not everything will get done. Ever. So I get back to one task at a time, maybe one or two good “spring” cleanings a year, bags for the dump, boxes for garage sales, some decent nods to a more streamlined existence. It would be a full-time job to completely order things as I’d like them. Being that I already have a full-time job and a freelancing business, I must settle for triage on the battlefield of clutter and sometime chaos.

I used to be a triage nurse in an Emergency Room, and there was a good exercise in cutting through unnecessary anxiety, looking at the big picture, and making decisions based on real and in-the-moment priorities. I wish I was so efficient outside of the hospital!

Here’s wishing you a year of effective triage—may your priorities rise to the top, your most urgent needs be handled with calm. May your distractions sit patiently in the waiting room while you tend to the business of life.

Joyful Juxtaposition

Pragmatics

Sometimes contrasts allow us to see better. Some thoughts on the topic:

• I found another writer who married juxtaposition with joy. Here are some thoughts on learning from contrasts in the workplace, as well as the garden
• This is the second reference I found to the joy of juxtaposition in gardening.
• Here are a photographer’s thoughts on how the act of simplifying allows, by contrast, the important things to stand out.
  

Prose

I finally tackled it yesterday. Well, some of it. The mess in our house had reached critical mass, partly the fallout from busy schedules, part the fallout from domestically unfriendly choices (like using precious spare time to write). My disgust with the clutter grew for weeks, and it was this disgust that propelled me to clear the decks with the pace of a whirling dervish.

It felt good to be ruthless. Magazines that I hoped to someday read found their place in the recyclables paper bag. Tom’s tool bag and work equipment have landed too many times on the kitchen chair, so I cleared a new home for them in the pantry. Gavin consented to donating his “baby Legos” to charity. Once the decks were cleared, I dusted. I thanked the heavens for our Roomba purchase. The automated vacuum did not come cheap, but it saves me heaps of time and energy. It makes it possible that I can dust and vacuum in an afternoon, rather than having to pick one!

I clean best when indignant and angry—it fires me up. But in the bedroom I ran into some items that quieted my rant. I started to notice the beauty in our mess, framed by the contrast between real and ideal. The primary colors of Gavin’s many books strewn about our bedroom, clashing with our attempt at muted tones. A “great job” giraffe sticker stuck to the top of our otherwise sleek alarm clock, a memory of a worthwhile day at Kindergarten. A cardboard “treasure chest” next to my jewelry box, recalling the day when Gavin split his gems with me. Countless shells and rocks and leaves, cluttering our windowsill but also memorializing many fine walks. Any decorator worth her salt would have me hustling to remove this “clutter”, and I did find better homes for most of the items. But I appreciated those imprints of a busy, happy family and all of the clutter that can entail.

I also thought back to a personal joy I experienced this week. A columnist at the Baton Rouge Advocate gave eloquent thanks for things not owned, a thought that propelled me reduce and recycle (and acknowledge that there are some things I can’t reuse). Even better, he called my essay in Get Satisfied "charming”, definitely a banner moment.

The contrasts outdoors are getting more extreme: branches against sky, the sharp cold against our skin, and soon the fall of snow that will soften but also showcase every shape. I'm hoping for a winter where each juxtaposition lends a lesson, each contrast uncovers a forgotten joy.

The Art of Saying No

Pragmatics

Saying no is a hard-won skill. Here are some links to learning the art:

• -Online organizing.com supplies 20 ways to say no—a great cheat sheet!
• -Real Simple did a spot on saying no to requests for money. It may come in handy this holiday season!
• -About.com’s stress management column offers some practical tips for naysayers. I like the time-tested “let me get back to you” option.
• -Even the Mayo Clinic deems saying no a worthy cause.
  

Prose

Pursuing simplicity is an act of embracing. Embracing what and who you love, embracing your beliefs and ideals. At the same time, it is a turning away—from demands and expectations that threaten to overshadow the good stuff; from possessions and practices that clutter your home, your mind, the environment.

Embracing comes naturally to most of us. After all, we are embracing those things we already love. But saying no takes practice and skill. Today I insisted I really needed some time to write and relax. This meant no to a family ice cream outing (definitely a tough call), and it also meant disappointing my husband. But now I am happier: I got to slow down a bit and write; I got to play Cat Stevens (major childhood memories) in the kitchen and make crab cakes with Gavin. I feel refreshed and much less cranky—and hopefully more fun to be around.

Christmas is not far off and we are starting the season, as we do every year, vowing to have a simpler approach. Tom and I don’t really need gifts, and have agreed that just having a long-postponed date would be more rewarding. But already I feel the vortex pulling me in: maybe just stocking stuffers, maybe just something small. It is hard to stop that snowball effect of buying more, incurring unneeded debt. I want a clever scheme that will save me from The Ghost of Christmas Must Have. Still working on that one.

Then there is that backlog of stuff you didn’t really need in the first place, or maybe you outgrew it. Gavin, only 5, is already experiencing some of that hanging onto stuff, and it seems tied in with sentimentality. In anticipation of Christmas we started to clean out his (several) toy storage bins, starting with a big hallway trunk. The emphasis on charity didn’t work as well as I hoped. What worked better was my allusion to Santa’s assessment of toys already owned, and how he might bring fewer toys to boys that seem overloaded. That resulted in a small garbage bag filled with forgotten toddler toys, although the barking dalmatian toy that he no longer walks had to stay.

As a mother, I struggle with sentimental clutter every day. The volume of artwork that comes home from kindergarten and daycare is staggering. I might trial a weekly “art sale” where we pick the top 5 “keepers”. Gavin’s baby clothes are packed in giant Rubbermaid bins in the attic. I can’t bear the thought of losing them; they all carry such memories. And yet, maybe some little boy out there could really use at least some of them. Do I really need 50 onesies and T-shirts to hold my memories of babyhood?

A local author and artist, Jill Butler, wrote some columns in our shoreline paper. I liked the term she came up with: rightsizing. She wrote about how downsizing sounds so deprived, while rightsizing sounds so, well, right. This is a great way to put it. I don’t want fanaticism. I don’t want deprivation. I want sanity—a clear head and clear surroundings.

What is it about saying no that’s hard? In my case, I don’t want to be difficult. I don’t want to be a “stick in the mud”. I want to be fun and easygoing, not the “bad guy”. And yet, a few carefully placed “nos” have yielded some great results. I said no to being a manager and regained some workplace sanity. Before that, I said no to a career at a large, prestigious company and got a short commute and a much better rapport in exchange. I say no to the ringing phone when I am absorbed in something else and get far more done. I say no even to mothering when I feel the need for escape, and come back much more patient, ready for any challenge.

I like this quote by Linda Breen Pierce: If you say yes to one thing (like a job promotion), recognize that you are saying no to something else (perhaps more time with family). Live consciously and deliberately.

Mountains of Things

Pragmatics

• -Here's a piece, courtesy of Home Is Where the Dirt Is, on tackling attic clutter.


• -I have always been intrigued by the idea of bartering, making your junk another's treasure (and hopefully acquiring something you actually need). Here's one site devoted to bartering.


• -Even better than bartering (especially if you want to live more lightly) is Freecycle, a concept that is taking off.


• -I love how Imelda Marcos ended up opening a shoe museum. I'd love to charge admission to my clutter!

Prose

This weekend, despite the recent relative heat wave up to the low 70s, we agreed it was time to retire our stand fan until next summer. I clumped clumsily up the stairs, already anticipating a challenge in finding space. I found a nearby cluster of miscellany that suited my purposes, but before I descended back to our home I shuddered at the mountain of things piled before me.


At least the clutter has a halfway house outside of our living quarters. The problem is that the halfway house too often becomes a permanent residence for what amounts to junk. Worst case: we actually have a box labeled “tacky Christmas ornaments”. I also noticed at least 4 plastic trick-or-treating pumpkins (and we only have 1 child). What else? A box of old cell phones that we meant to donate, old lace curtains that will never see a window again, kitchen tchatzkahs (Yiddish for knick-knacks), textbooks (I am approaching 2 decades out of college), etc, etc.


Why do we hang on to this stuff? A lot of reasons. Sentiment, guilt, or laziness, to start. In my case, I often hang onto things because they represent an idea. I buy books because I like the title, or I’ve heard I should read certain titles. One day I look back and there are 10 unread titles waiting for me. And then, whatever the initial reason for keeping what you keep, a sense of being overwhelmed takes over.


When I worked in psychiatry, mental illness was often defined by how some behavior impaired your ability to function. (In politically incorrect lay terms, we are all at least a little crazy. It’s just that many of us still manage to function.) The ultimate example of dysfunctional squirreling away is a feature of obsessive-compulsive disorder called hoarding. I once had a patient who crowded himself out of his own house with old newspapers. He knew intellectually that he did not need these newspapers, but emotionally they came to symbolize security to him.


Whether you have a bona fide diagnosis or not, the key to any level of overwhelm is baby steps. I want to go to my attic at least every Sunday and remove a minimum of 5 things. It’s not just that I want a clean attic: I also want to honor the simplicity I so admire as a philosophy and as a real-life approach. There aren’t many specific objects like plastic pumpkins, trivets, or lace curtains I need in plural tense. For other things, like shoes, I concede I need a small collection to cover work, exercise, or dressy occasions. Still, I have accumulated way more shoes than I need, and I am not even into shoes!


The clutter phenomenon reminds me of weight gain: you turn around one day and you are much larger than you intended. And the American habit of overabundance reminds me of the potato chip slogan You can’t eat just one. Becoming larger than you want to be, whether in girth or possession, is connected to living unconsciously, or living by skewed priorities. You keep eating the chips, glassy eyed and no longer hungry. Or you keep buying the items you think you need, although if you looked again at home, or thought about it, you would find that you didn’t need some, and had nearly identical matches for others.


Typical of me, in a spring cleaning mood in near-November. Maybe it's the global warming.

Bringing Simplicity Home

Pragmatics

• 
  
  This week, I found myself stunned to find décor magazines recommending at least 2 sinks per kitchen. Apparently appliance garages are essential (can I get a remote door opener with that?), and one article that implied a “simple” cottage lifestyle gushed, The more “stuff” you have in your cottage style rooms, the more it will feel like you have been collecting for years. Below, some thoughts that buck the madness too much stuff, too much to do, and the exhaustion that can result:
  
  -Care2’s got it right in this Simplicity Overhaul piece on making time for what really matters. I like the idea of listing priorities (for me, family time, writing time, and nature) and then identifying some of the day-to-day obstacles.
  -I didn’t realize it was all Walt Disney’s fault. If you have 5 minutes read National Geographic’s The Theme-Parking, Megachurching, Franchising, Exurbing, McMansioning of America. This is a reflection on the collective mess that can occur with skewed priorities and poor planning.
  -“Less is more” seems to be making its way even into high-tech machines and systems. But it seems America is conflicted on this point. I love this quote from the Fast Company article The Beauty of Simplicity: The market for simplicity is complex. If I offer you a VCR with only one button, it's not all that exciting, even if when you use it, it's likely to be easier.
  
  
  
  

Prose

I wrote above about the exhaustion that comes with too much. The links I provided are focused mostly on too much stuff, or the pollution of clutter (be it household, community, or even visual aesthetics). But it goes beyond the physical realm, of course.

The clutter for me, of late, has been the clutter of responsibility. When so much is expected of you, how do you clear the decks, how do you make way for a life that feels more livable? This is what I have been struggling with over recent weeks, so much so that I wrote nothing last week.

Maybe the first lesson is to surround yourself with the right kind of support. I wither when I don’t write, so I finally got back to the computer today. But I might have delayed it even further had Linda (my godsend of a sister) not encouraged me to write, if only for 10 minutes.

I took a small step at work and begged off of a business trip so that my workload stays manageable. There’s still a long list of projects waiting for me, but now I’ve gained an extra day to address them. I need to do more of that.

The responsibility of relationships can be a struggle. I have learned to keep an eye on my family role, often self appointed, of helper and coordinator. I am learning, quite painfully sometimes, when to pull back, when to let others make mistakes, how to focus on my own needs.

Lowering unrealistic standards really helps, and I brought that into play this weekend. I tend not to invite people over unless I’ve just cleaned. These days, this habit translates to not much company! I realized that my friend Pam will remain a friend even if I have dirty dishes in the sink and an unvacuumed floor. This letting go meant that Gavin had precious play hours with Sara, the 6-year-old love of his life, and Pam and I got to have a long-postponed, honest-to-goodness conversation.

Here’s to a new week with clear decks and new possibilities.