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.