A Crapton of Jewelry Counts for a Week's Worth, Right?

There is no love lost between myself and Suze Orman (who's retirement book consistently ranks slightly lower than mine, thankyouverymuch.) But something she talked about years ago has finally made sense to me.

Pictured: Wee beady eyes!

The woman only owns a single pair of earrings, which you can see pictured above. When I first heard about that 10 or so years ago, I thought it was stark, raving insanity. Why oh why would you choose to limit your jewelry in such a way?

Now, after having learned more about both minimalism and decision fatigue, I recognize that Orman might not have been wrong about the jewelry thing. (Other stuff, yes. Don't get me started on her branded prepaid debit cards.)

The actual jewelry box that I keep my jewelry in is something I'm very proud of. I paid for it with my first paid writing gig nearly ten years ago. I wanted a well-made, antique jewelry box that would theoretically help me be more organized with my jewelry. It is well-made and antique, and it offers plenty of storage possibilities. And yet, my beautiful jewelry box has always been a snarled mess that's covered in dust because I leave it open for fear of making an even more snarled mess.

Back when I was incredulous about Suze Orman's single pair of earrings, jewelry happened to be one of my gazingus pins. I could always use a new pretty bauble. And there was once a time when I wore jewelry every single day.

Then these guys came along, with all their what's-that-shiny-thing-I'm-gonna-pull-on-it-as-hard-as-I-can-hey-why-are-you-screaming-mama?

So I haven't regularly worn jewelry in over 4 years. Back when I wore jewelry, about half of my jewelry never made it into the rotation, and of the half that I wore there were still only about a half dozen pieces that were my go-to favorites.

So I decided to clean house. My rules were simple. I would keep:

1. Family jewelry
2. Items I always feel good to wear (of which there is a big overlap with the family jewelry)
3. Items that I truly love, even if I only wear them once or twice a year.

Pictured is about two thirds of my collection, which is heading out the door.

My now organized jewelry box is a thing of extreme beauty:

Of COURSE I didn't take a before photo. What do you take me for, some kind of competent blogger?

It hurts to get rid of many pieces. For instance, there was a fairy necklace that I loved when I was 14 that is far too precious for me to wear now (and which I don't love anymore.) I'm a little sad to give up that connection to my teenage self, but having an organized jewelry box feels so much better than owning jewelry I know I won't wear again.

So now I'm going to say something that I hope I don't regret:

Suze Orman was actually right. (About this particular issue.)

It Can Be Hard to Purge When You Don't Trust Your Own Motives

This is a locket that my high school boyfriend gave to me when I was about 17.

I have been meaning to get rid of it for years. It sits in the bottom drawer of my jewelry box, year after year after year, and I would like to not own it anymore.

The problem is why?

On the purely practical level, I know that I will never wear this locket again. It simply takes up space, and taking up space is anathema to minimalism.

But I worry that I want to get rid of it for less neutral reasons.

The relationship that this piece of jewelry commemorates left me feeling unworthy, less than, and broken. For many many years, I laid the blame for those feelings on the boy who gave me this locket. And I don't doubt that he played a part in it, as did I, as did our youth, as did many other factors that contributed to our broken hearts.

But for years, I've held onto his blameworthiness.

Last year, my mother and I were sorting through my jewelry to find something appropriate for me to wear for BB's bris. We came across the locket, and as I do whenever I remember its presence, I opened it up and looked at the engraving and the pictures of the two children inside.

"He really did love you," Mom remarked.

I closed up the locket and thrust it back in the drawer.

The fact that he loved me doesn't fit neatly into my narrative of blame. It's a lot harder to hold onto anger when I remember something so sweet as teenager's gold locket.

And I'm afraid that's the real reason I would like to divest myself of this particular part of my history.

So, I have taken a picture and written here about my conflicting emotions. If I need reminding of the fact that all history is complicated, particularly personal history, I can return to this blog post and remember the sweetness that lay behind all the anger that I held onto for more years than were probably necessary.

Even if I am purging this piece of jewelry for the wrong reasons, I am hereby taking responsibility for remembering.

I have also decided to hide the locket somewhere for a random stranger to find. It's an entire story in itself (not unlike Ernest Hemingway's much-more-tragic never worn baby shoes), and I would hate for someone to miss out on the unexpected joy of creating a back story for a mysterious find.

It feels good to let go.

Why Don't They Make These in the Maggie Simpson Star Shape?

Although, if they did, then I'd have a devil of a time being okay with releasing into the world.

BB has outgrown it, and it will go to warm another baby.

If You Don't Know What These Are

I'm not going to tell you.

Suffice it to say, I don't need them anymore. I'll be Freecycling them.

If I Haven't Used It Since I Moved to Indiana

Then out it goes.

This is a milk steamer that J got me for my birthday about 8 years ago (I think.)

At the time, I'd discovered the joy of chai tea and other drinks that are improved with steamed milk. J got me this and we made some delicious hot drinks in honor of my birthday (which is in February.) And yes, sometimes we made delicious hot adult beverages if you must know.

Every winter for a few years, I'd bust this bad boy out to make my favorite hot drinks.

I don't think I used it the winter before we moved here (2009-2010), and I know I haven't used it since I've become a Hoosier. As much as I am sad to part with a well-thought-out gift graciously given and well-enjoyed, I know that it's time to let someone else enjoy it.

Thank you, J, for giving me such a lovely present. And thank you, little appliance, for serving us so well.

A Link to Kenyon

This is a CD of all the work I created on the Kenyon College server during my four years at college. The IT department burned one of these for every student upon graduation back in the day. (I suspect these days you can just transfer your work to whatever the hell the Cloud is.)

I have held onto this disc for over 13 years (since May of 2001.) While I think that I took a look at some of my work within my first year post-graduation, I know that I have not looked at a thing on this disc in at least 12 years, and I have moved it a grand total of seven times.

It's really hard to get rid of this. It's a physical manifestation of all the work I did as an undergraduate, a reminder of the fact that I once spent four years thinking really hard.

But I know I'm never going to look at the work on this disc again. (Frankly, I don't know that I even have a computer that can read it.) If it were to go poof during one of the many periods when I forget its existence, I'm sure I wouldn't miss it.

So, out it goes. I don't need it to remember how hard I worked as an undergraduate.

We're Really Not a Crystal Kind of Household

These lovely glasses were a gift, and for that reason it's a little hard to part with them. But the fact of the matter is that these bad boys will be sitting in a cabinet for at least another 8 to 10 years before I feel comfortable letting them grace our dinner table.

Add to that the fact that my father trained me to only drink out of plastic (when I was about 12 months old, I bit down on a glass of water he was allowing me to drink out of, and a piece of glass broke off in my mouth, traumatizing him and causing him to give anyone under the age of 25 a plastic drinking glass ever after) and it's unlikely that these lovely tumblers would ever be in regular use.

As per Marie Kondo's recommendation with gifts, I am taking a moment to be silently thankful to the giver for their thoughtfulness, and I am taking a moment to thank the glasses themselves for being a representation of that affection. They have served their purpose in my life very nicely. They can no go on to bless a less rambunctious/paranoid household.

The Boomerang Spoons

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, LO goes to our local Montessori school.

He takes a lunch on those days, which invariably include a cup of applesauce.

The school provides him with a spoon with which to eat said cup of applesauce.

Every. Single. Time. the spoon that belongs to Montessori comes home in LO's lunchbox. They then pile up at our house:

Every once in a while, I gather them up and send them back to Montessori in LO's lunchbox with a note explaining that they are not to come home.

They generally come right back home in his lunchbox.

Every once in a while, a note is sent home asking me to send a spoon in his lunch, after which point I growl with annoyance, gather up all of the Montessori spoons, and send them in to school in LO's lunchbox with a note explaining that these spoons live at Montessori and would very much like to go home.

Usually that takes care of it.

Then, I start packing a spoon (belonging to us) in LO's lunchbox.

This works out great except for the fact that Montessori usually keeps it.

AAAAAARRGH!

I packaged this particular batch of boomerang spoons in a separate bag which I will personally hand over to a teacher in the hopes that they will be appropriately rehomed.

I have no doubt they will start creeping back into the house one by one.

Clearing Out the Silverware Drawer

J and I have a lot of silverware.

Recently, BB decided to climb on a chair and empty the silverware drawer, one implement at a time, into the sink.

After washing the resulting mess (which of COURSE we let him do, because other than the crashing sound of silverware being thrown, allowed for about 15 minutes of blessed blessed peace), J told me he thought we could probably stand to get rid of some.

I agreed.

We are not getting rid of all of that. These are the mismatched pieces we owned, but we only have four sets of the one matching set we own. So we're keeping a few of the above pieces in a separate spot for when we have guests, and we've reduced our silverware drawer to the following thing of beauty:

No more drawer jams!

(Here's hoping I still love this when I'm washing forks seven times a day.)

Days 21 Through 24

Just because I am not posting daily doesn't mean I'm not purging daily. Here's what you missed over the past couple of decluttering days:

This is a set of dividers that came with a desk organizer I bought two trips to The Container Store ago. I have never even freed them from their plastic, as the organizer as is works just fine for my purposes. I threw them in the trash.

***

This is a container for chopsticks that came with a Zojirushi Lunch Jar (which I might also get rid of as we rarely use it.) The chopsticks have long since disappeared, making the teeny-tiny container superfluous.

I'm such a weirdo I'm still giving this to Goodwill, in the hopes that someone out there has a very small item that needs a very small home.

***

The shirt on the right has a yellow stain that will not come out. In the past, I would normally save the shirt--thinking I could wear it under other things or use it for workouts/painting/etc. No more. White shirts are a dime a dozen, even taking the importance of fit into account, and I want to protect this beautiful sight:

I also have released myself from the guilt (somewhat) of simply throwing the shirt into the trash. We have more than enough rags, the yellow stain precludes the shirt from truly being useful to someone else, and I know that I'm never going to quilt with the fabric. It's okay to use it up/wear it out--which includes discarding a shirt that is no longer wearable because of a stain. (That's what I keep telling my inner treehugger, anyway. If you've got any better guilt-reducing suggestions for dealing with hopelessly stained clothing, I'm all ears.)

***

The 2T jeans on the left are a similar story. LO, at age 4, is finally outgrowing his 2T clothes. (He's a little small for his age). The timing is fortuitous, because BB, at nearly 14 months, is just growing into 2T, if we cuff the pant legs/shirt sleeves. This pair of jeans, however, have a worn out knee. I thought about donating them to Goodwill, but J pointed out that the pants are well and truly worn out (the cuffs are also a little ratty), and it's okay to throw them out. So I did.

It's less than a month into the project, and I'm finding it's getting more difficult to identify unnecessary items.

This might end up being a long-ass year.

Outdated Much?

Yeah, these vaguely Chinese mules were a thing back in the late 90s and early 2000s.

I haven't worn them in...Frankly, I can't remember wearing these bad boys since college (which I graduated from in 2001).

Why have I moved them SEVEN times?

Books, Why Can't I Quit You?

I have been trying to determine what it is about my books that makes them so very difficult to part with.

In the above pile are several French language books from my undergraduate days. Not only will I never read them again, I doubt that I still have the ability to. In addition, there are a couple of books I read in middle school (!) and have never picked up since (specifically The Autobiography of Malcolm X), a book on teaching film in a high school English classroom, a cookbook I have never used, and a book a poetry that has become obsolete now that the Internet is a thing. (Not that I was in the habit of perusing it before that.)

Rationally, I can look at these books and recognize that they are no longer useful in my life.

Emotionally, it took me three days to screw up the courage to cull them. And these were the easy ones.

After thinking about it, there are five reasons why I, personally, want to keep books that are serving me no purpose:

1. The book represents the knowledge within it. If I get rid of the book, I'm afraid I'll lose the knowledge. Even if I don't remember anything beyond the fact that I read the book, I still feel as though I will always have some of that knowledge as long as I keep the physical book.
2. The book evokes a memory that I am similarly afraid of losing.
3. The book was a gift.
4. Owning lots of books makes me feel smart. I want to be the kind of person who owns a lot of books.
5. Owning lots of books makes me feel as though I always have lots of reading choices.

As for the first three reasons for keeping unnecessary books, I have decided on a new course of action. I am now keeping a journal of what I read and what books I purge.

That way, I know I will always have some kind of reminder of what I have read, of the knowledge and memories those books have given me, and of the people who were kind enough to share books with me. If all I need is a reminder, a book journal is a heckuva lot more portable and storeable than shelves upon shelves of books. I'm excited about this solution.

As for reason 4, I need to recognize that I'm the kind of person who reads a lot, so there's no need for me to own a lot of books. There is no other area of my life wherein I'm looking to impress people. I can let go of my books.

And as for my final reason for hanging onto myriad books, I'm finding that books are turning out to be like clothes. Just because there are a lot doesn't mean I'm happy with my choices. I tend to reread the same old favorites over and over, and there are always an almost infinite number of choices available at my library and as ebooks. I don't need full bookshelves to have plenty of choices.

This was my first pass through, and I'll go through my books repeatedly over the next year. I'm going to start by getting rid of books that I have read and know that I will never open again. For the future, I'm going to find it in my heart to get rid of books I've owned for years and still haven't read. Yikes!

Eventually, I hope to get down to 200 titles total (not including J's or the boys' books). I have no idea if that's even feasible, but it's my goal.

Do you have trouble letting go of books? Why are your unnecessary titles still hanging around?

How Many Shirts Do I Really Need?

This weekend, I decided to follow Marie Kondo's advice about discarding items (from the book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying):

Hold each item in your hand and ask yourself if it sparks joy.

Okay, so it sounds a little ridiculous, but I found it very easy to cull all of these tops from my shirt drawer by simply asking that question:

Prior to this, whenever I tried to purge, I'd be focused more on the practical aspects of various items that I don't particularly like to wear. No, I don't like it, but it could be useful blah blah blah.

This was simple. I kept shirts that I wear regularly and ones that make me feel good. I ditched anything ill-fitting, stained, not my color, or otherwise non-joy-sparking. I was left with my drawer looking like this:

I folded these shirts using the KonMari method

At first, I was nervous about filling two bags with clothes. What if I didn't have enough left over at the end?

But then, once I had everything neatly folded as above, I wondered how all of these shirts could possibly NOT be enough for me--particularly considering the fact that these are the only shirts I actually wear. How many tops does one woman (who works from home!) really need?

J is Getting In on the Fun

I told J yesterday about my plans for seriously purging some books (and more on that in an upcoming post.)

Two hours later, he brought down these books (all his, of course) from the upstairs bookshelf to add to the purging party.

I'm pleased to see that I'm having an effect, even less than 3 weeks into this project.

This Leather Jacket Once Caused a Ruckus in a Whole Foods

Well, not exactly a ruckus. But J went into that bastion of casual veganism and got the hairy eyeball from a number of the (undoubtedly leather-shoe-wearing) denizens. (And no, I'm not Judgie McJudgerson. Not at all. Why do you ask?)

The jacket will go, the story will remain.

This bad boy is actually going to be posted on eBay, since it's still worth something. I'll add a running tally of the money I make from the project in a sidebar, although I don't anticipate it will add up to much.

(Here's hoping those are famous last words.)