If I die tomorrow
at least my kids can't read my journals
If you don’t live in the frozen north, you may not know how spring works here. Right now in mid-February we are staring down another two+ months of cold and snow. Why, just this week a blizzard was scheduled for us by the National Weather Service!
Once spring allegedly begins, we experience many phases: first spring, false spring, second spring, fool’s spring, second false spring, third spring, and so on until May. Then about three weeks of glorious 70° weather precedes a month of cold rain followed by the fires of Hades until October.
But the other day I was out enjoying a properly blustery day on a deserted hiking trail when a warmish breeze teased my face. It felt moist. And that moist, warmish breeze sneaking in amongst the icy blasts, that’s a spring breeze. I don’t know whence it came, but it lit a spark inside me I’ll call Marie Kondo.
Back when I had TV I used to sometimes watch Hoarders and the Marie Kondo show, because they drove me into my basement to clean. I needed that motivation because there was a lot of disorganized shit down there and I did not want to end up like the victims on those shows. I turned to my inner MK spark to push me through this or that pile or box every time.
This is when I dumped all my journals (massive debate about this choice ensued on a Facebook post wherein most people told me I shouldn’t do it but I did it anyway), jettisoned my cassette tapes, gave away my quilting supplies because I no longer made massive quilts on frames, and trashed old binders of teaching materials because Google Drive exists now. I wrote no fewer than 16 facebook posts discussing plans to clean my basement. My new house has no basement and this is a gift.
My new house also has no TV for cleaning inspiration. Instead, I have ninja spring breezes to make me feel as though rejuvenation is possible and necessary. After my hike I came home and ripped all my clothes out of the drawers and closets, threw everything on the bed and started sorting. Two piles: “keep” and “donate.” I was ruthless and invoked the worst of every garment in some pointed self-talk: “the pilling on this sweater drives you crazy“ and “you’ve had this pretty skirt for 15 years and never found a decent top that goes with it” and “these socks suck.” The haul was four bags.
A regular exercise I undertake, sometimes even subconsciously, consists of peering around my home with what I hope is a critical eye, trying to identify places where I could reduce and neaten up. Right now I am greatly bothered by the top of my sideboard, which shows evidence of the start of tax season in the form of a messy pile of papers. I also know there is a space full of cords and other electronics crap overflowing out of a basket, hidden behind a cabinet door. I must manage all this or it makes me very unhappy.
I am not entirely sure where I come by this urge to purge. My mother is tidy but she has a LOT of stuff. My grandmother, whom I spent huge blocks of time with as a child, was less tidy and had even more stuff. Perhaps it is a reaction against that. But also, I have moved a lot in my life, and moving with tons of crap is really unpleasant. Also, one day, I’ll die! I hope nobody has to go through excessive amounts of my shit then.
If you haven’t yet come across Margareta Magnusson’s The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning: How to Free Yourself and Your Family from a Lifetime of Clutter,1 it is a delightful read that helps you think about what things, people, and activities are important in your life. A point Magnusson makes is that “death cleaning is not about dusting or mopping up; it is about a permanent form of organization that makes your everyday life run more smoothly.” That’s what I want: not just to be unbothered by the hidden mess behind that cabinet door, but to not have that mess at all. And also to know that if I had to move tomorrow - or, more morbidly, my children had to clean out my house tomorrow - it wouldn’t be a huge burden on anyone. Magnusson reminds us how to know when we are overrun:
The intention is not that we should remove things that make our lives pleasant and more comfortable. But if you can’t keep track of your things, then you know you have too many...Many of the things you have in storage have probably been standing there for ages. You may even have forgotten what it is you have there. Good for you, because you will now realize that you will not miss anything if you throw it away.
Magnusson’s book is a treatise on dealing with clutter, but also on finding joy in simplicity. Of cleaning and planning for the future, she writes, “Look forward to a much easier and calmer life - you will love it!”
And it does seem that though I’m committed to reducing and living more simply, there’s always another cabinet to fret over. The stuff never truly goes away. Which is good in a way, because I have months of cold weather in which to declutter my home, again and again.
She has a new book out too, called The Swedish Art of Aging Exuberantly. I’ve got it but it’s on the to-read shelf, along with a number of other books I’ve not yet purged.
I'm not on Facebook so can't wade in to defend you, but for what it's worth I burn all of my private journals. I kept them forever, and one day started wondering if I really wanted them left behind after I die. So I gave myself 10 years (really!) to make that final decision. I waited the decade, made the choice, and burned all the way through journals literally going back to when I learned to read and write at around 8 years old, and haven't regretted it. I write in one almost every day, so had a lot of fire pit fodder! Now I just burn one when I've filled it up.
I’ll have to look through my clutter to see if I have any clutter to de-clutter. For now, I lack the “urge to purge “..: know what you mean though, having moved the rough equivalent of three households to NoDak, then moving myself out, then moving again, and finally a third time...by necessity I purged at those times, only to find that in my new, relatively spacious 2 bedroom duplex, I can have more shit. Good thing there’s no garage. 🤦🏽♂️