The Joy of Less

by Amy Newmark

  I decided to get rid of any shoes that hadn’t been worn within the past eighteen months.

  My brow furrowed. I didn’t spend lavishly. Buying shoes wasn’t one of my guilty pleasures. In fact, I hardly ever visited the shoe department. I tried to analyze my unexpected excess. True, in the Midwest, wardrobes are more complicated. Four seasons require different types of shoes. You can’t wear sandals to trudge through snow or fleece-lined boots when it’s hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Yet I finally had to admit changing weather couldn’t hide an obvious fact. Somehow I had collected way too many shoes.

  Twenty pairs of shoes ought to be enough for anybody. I set my lips in a firm line. I only needed to figure out a way to reduce sixty-three pairs to twenty. At first the sea of shoes overwhelmed me until a ragged and scarred pair of brown leather boots I’d owned for nearly twenty years caught my eye. Then I spied dingy gray tennis shoes used in the days when we’d gone on float trips. Next to the tennis shoes sat a pair of rhinestone-studded sandals I’d worn to a wedding ten years ago, but never again because they hurt my feet. Perhaps the problem wasn’t how many shoes I had added to my closet. It was how few I subtracted. This realization provided my strategy.

  I decided to get rid of any shoes that hadn’t been worn within the past eighteen months. If a shoe looked like it had been fished from a dumpster, it would have to go, too. With a plan in place, I armed myself with two enormous trash bags. In one bag went shoes too beat up to save. Gently worn shoes suitable for donation went into the other. I would keep the remaining shoes.

  At times the process pained me. How could I get rid of the shoes I wore to my daughter’s wedding or the run-down-at-the-heels loafers I grabbed because even though they looked ragged, they fit me like a glove? Yet I realized if I had any hope of staying within my twenty pair target, I had to forget sentimentality. I squared my shoulders and stuck to the plan.

  Two hours later, the bags were bulging. A count of the surviving shoes revealed twenty-three pairs still standing. I resisted the urge to shove the extra shoes under my bed and with a single deep sigh, selected three more pairs for the donation bag.

  Finally I filled the new shoe organizer and stepped back to admire my handiwork. The closet hadn’t looked so good in years. I could see every shoe I owned with no need for digging. Fewer choices gave me an added bonus. It would take less time to decide what to wear. By taking control of my closet, life became a little easier. I decided never again to own more than twenty pairs of shoes.

  I’ve kept to my rule though there are occasions when I find myself gazing at a snappy pair of shoes marked down to nearly nothing. But there’s truth in numbers. My twenty-pair rule shapes the parameters of my shopping. I can’t add new shoes without subtracting old ones. This formula helps me think a lot harder before succumbing to temptation and making a purchase.

  Spending money just because you discover a good deal makes no more sense than holding on to something you don’t need. There are fewer shoes in my closet, but like old friends, they’re the ones I really want to keep.

  ~Pat Wahler

  The Yard Sale Party

  People coming together as a community can make things happen.

  ~Jacob Rees-Mogg

  We have a real estate agent who markets our neighborhood and gives us a great gift each year — he sponsors a “Neighborhood Yard Sale!” He buys ads in the local paper and puts up signs to direct traffic into our neighborhood. We simply need to open our garages, haul out our unwanted stuff, and reap the financial benefits.

  One year, I decided to make a real party out of the neighborhood yard sale. I got busy on the phone and asked several friends to join in by hauling their own offerings over to my driveway. As the time grew closer, we kept each other accountable as to our progress and challenged each other to release more and more of our unnecessary possessions. Why is it so hard to part with things you haven’t used in years? I realized it was also getting quite competitive! But with the added energy and support, it seemed just a bit easier to release your once “prized treasures” into the hands of others.

  We decided that we would all meet on Friday night with our boxes of sale items so we could semi-arrange them before the sale started early Saturday. What an array of stuff arrived at my doorstep — kitchen items, clothes, sports equipment, books, music, office supplies, camping gear, artificial Christmas trees, dishes, jewelry, and garden stuff. There was even a bathtub, remnants from a recent remodel! Over pizza, we talked about the game plan for the morning and shared laughs about the memories attached to so many of the items.

  The next morning arrived way too early but strong coffee and donuts got us motivated and we started hauling our assortment on to the lawn and driveway, each lady carefully displaying her wares in her designated zone. As we all sat down to await the arrival of our first customers, we took in the splendor of the view, realizing that it was more of a confusing mess than splendor at all. We also had a friend arrive with one last item — a box of kittens!

  As we sipped more coffee and munched more sugary treats, one by one we started to offer some ideas on how our display could be improved. Within thirty minutes we had transformed our mess of merchandise into a mini retail outlet! We had our clothing, sports, housewares, holiday, and garden departments each neatly displayed along with a small music and bookstore. We put the “pet store” near the cashier so that any potential buyers could be properly interviewed to assure the kittens were going to a good home.

  We have a real estate agent who markets our neighborhood and gives us a great gift each year—he sponsors a “Neighborhood Yard Sale!”

  As the morning moved along, we needed to consolidate areas as sales were made and more space opened up. It was like a perpetually renovated store that took on new dimensions with each passing hour! So many people lingered just because of our friendly banter and discussions over prices and new ideas for arranging our mall. Some shoppers even offered their own ideas of how to make the remaining items more appealing!

  By the end of the day, we were exhausted but filled with such joy. Not only were we each getting some much needed cash as well as less congested homes, but we had enjoyed a day of laughter, creativity and time to talk with friends and neighbors. Our yard sale party was a gift to treasure for years to come!

  ~Joan Wasson

  Clearing Out the Clutter

  It is preoccupation with possession, more than anything else, that prevents men from living freely and nobly.

  ~Bertrand Russell

  I recently completed my grand summer cleanout, an ambitious home project I started in July. My goal was to have a place and a purpose for every single item in each drawer, cupboard, cabinet and closet. It was a lofty ambition to be sure. This cleanout, born of necessity, was a project on which to focus in the midst of personal heartbreak. For a year prior, enduring family stress and illness, I sustained an injury that damaged my vocal cords. I couldn’t speak or sing. Eventually the disability found me barely able to arise from my bed each morning.

  Not only was the loss of my voice a career destroyer for me, a singer and voice teacher for twenty-five years, but it caused me to question my true purpose in this world. I viewed it not simply as the quitting of a job, but also as a shift in my worth. I was a woman at sea without a life jacket, that which I generally wore in the form of a worthy vocation. I was devastated. Months later, after surviving a period of vocal mourning, I knew I needed something to pull me out of the doldrums. I turned my attention to home.

  “Closets and cabinets and cupboards, oh my!” was my Oz-inspired mantra. I had been daunted by the overwhelming task of organizing my house for almost a decade. As an admitted project-starting enthusiast without the discipline to complete my ventures, I had continued to purchase and plan, cram and pile designs into every crevice without completing most of them. Now, there’s a saying about what happens when the going gets tough. Yes, as the truism states, I “got going” when things got tough. I wish I meant moving
with resolve. Instead, I mean I would literally GO — out the door — on my way to the next idea, all without seeing my original plan through. Thus the sheer volume of “stuff” jammed into every nook and cranny of our home had gotten overwhelming.

  I started small and cleaned out a drawer. A slight weight lifted, then I felt a tickle of pride. So I cleaned out another, then another. Next I tackled a kitchen cabinet. I was breathing easier already. The stress of the previous months began to abate, coupled with a sigh of relief that only ridding one’s life of excess can produce. “Okay,” I thought, “time to rope the kids in.” As my son watched the Little League World Series, I would hand him a drawer full of pens and markers with a request, “Will you test each of these on a piece of paper? Toss anything that doesn’t work.” Forever my happy helper, especially if he can work while watching sports, he would grab the drawer and say, “No problem, Mom!” My daughter was a harder sell but was eventually converted. Though she may deny it, I think she secretly enjoyed the time we spent together getting organized. Side by side, the kids cleaned out our movie cabinet, discovering video compilations along with hours and hours of family events recorded but never enjoyed. We loved watching these precious finds. Little did I know, however, the intangible treasures would continue abundantly as we furthered our mission.

  I began to view the contents of my home for what they truly were. They attempted to fill a void in my heart.

  For somewhere in the midst of days, then weeks, spent cleaning and organizing, a familiar thread began to surface. I began to view the contents of my home for what they truly were. They attempted to fill a void in my heart. They were a bandage, a temporary fix of an illness. So many years of craving and purchasing passed by without the desire to address the real issue. I was not living life. I was not valuing my role as a mother and wife. I was dreaming and spending my way through it. I had been covering up lack of purpose with material possessions just as my injured vocal cords were now covering up the ache of our family issues. Only when everything ground to a halt was I able to see clearly what I had been camouflaging. What a blessing in disguise.

  We worked diligently for three months, and as I cleared the dark recesses of my closets, I recognized I was also clearing the pain, sorrow and insecurities from the past year and beyond. The empty spaces on the shelves signified new spaces within me to fill with an openness of heart and mind: new beginnings, new goals, and new healing. As I straightened each cabinet and drawer, I was straightening out my priorities. Family was once again at the forefront, and even though we weren’t having a summer vacation, we were spending hours of quality time together, helping one another and laughing all together. My children and I were never closer.

  Lastly, I grasped the importance of completing this monumental project — step by tiny, necessary step — as a final resolution to my self-indulgence. For years I had longed for a bigger home, newer furniture, more space, and more fashionable things. I longed to be accepted for my personal savvy rather than the beauty of sacrifice in raising my family. In finishing all of my tasks, I finally understood that I had been longing for all of this as a way to fill a thirst in me that objects could never quench. I was longing to run from those personal qualities I didn’t want to face. Starting small, I finally completed my grand summer cleanout of both my living spaces and my head spaces. Now that I have faced my fears, my regrets, and my skeletons in the proverbial closet, I look forward to each day in my home, free of clutter, free of disorder, and free of distraction. I am focused on life. Best of all, my heart is free once again to be filled with the good things it has to offer… hope, faith and family. It was the greatest summer of my life.

  ~Cynthia McGonagle McGarity

  How a Clean Closet Changed My Life

  If you want to improve your life immediately, clean out a closet. Often, it’s what we hold onto that holds us back.

  ~Cheryl Richardson

  I looked at the bed in our room in amazement. It appeared that a very large, very colorful volcano had erupted. Instead of spewing lava though, the duvet was covered in mounds and mounds of clothes. My clothes. Skirts tangled with button-down shirts and jeans, while T-shirts peeked out between the cracks. Belts coiled like snakes among the hems and sleeves of dresses.

  How had this happened? I had always excused my “retail therapy” habit. After all, it more closely resembled recycling than outright consuming. Sure, I might “binge” at tag sales or thrift shops, but I always brought bags of other clothes and accessories to donate weeks later. The process, in my mind, cancelled itself out. Was I living in dreamland?

  I’ve always had a romantic view of life. I grew up, in fact, thoroughly convinced that I’d been born in the wrong century. I was a Laura Ingalls Wilder wannabe, an Anne of Green Gables devotee. I longed to live in a simpler time: when women held quilting bees, and poetry readings were entertainment in place of television. When women had one “good dress,” and took pleasure in making butter by hand, tatting and making beautiful quilts. Honestly, I’m still not sure what “tatting” is, but it sounds industrious.

  Those pioneers lived in the moment. I dreamt of being whisked back in time, living in a sunny cabin on the outskirts of town, talking with my neighbors instead of dashing off hurried e-mails, and enjoying extended family dinners on Sunday afternoons instead of trying to keep my son entertained on rainy days.

  Nowhere in my childhood daydreams did I imagine the stress of maintaining a career, caring for a house and family, and performing all the other tasks that adulthood demands. If I had, my daydreams of living in the early nineteenth century would have been even more impassioned. Was modern-day stress what fueled my desire to shop?

  More important than all the physical changes though, are the emotional ones.

  I sighed and returned to the closet to survey the results of the last hour’s decimation. Empty hangers swung from the clothes rod, but other than that, and a row of shoes and boots neatly lining the floor, my half of the closet was empty. It looked so big! Spacious. It hadn’t looked like this since we first moved in.

  Stretching my back, I returned to the bed and sat down. Or tried to. Instead I slid off the mound of clothes and onto the floor. Why had I ever thought this de-cluttering challenge would be “fun?”

  For months I’d been scouring the Internet and reading blogs and articles on minimalism and intentional living. The premise of the idea wasn’t new to me: in my early twenties I’d called a timeout on credit cards and cleaned up my financial act. Eventually my husband and I had paid off more than $5,000 worth of credit card charges. I never wanted to do that again.

  I’d even run a class on simple living and written articles on the topic. I’d learned though, that one can live “simply” and still accumulate “stuff.” And that’s why I’d decided to join a closet-reformation challenge I’d found online. Project 333 (www.theproject333.com), founded by Courtney Carver, entices would-be minimalists to live with only thirty-three items in their wardrobes for three months. Sound impossible? I thought it would be easy.

  Sitting here now though, I wasn’t so sure. I took a deep breath and walked over to my pile of trash bags. First sort, then pile. It took hours of brain-numbing decisions to decide what to keep and what to let go of. In the end I hauled three bags of clothes and accessories to the garage for my next donation run. I stuffed another four bags under my bed. These were the “maybe” clothes. As in “maybe I’ll need this again, maybe I won’t.” According to Ms. Carver this was allowed as part of the challenge. I was grateful for that.

  With the clothes making up my new “capsule wardrobe” selected, I hung them carefully, then stood back to survey the results.

  “Wow,” I said, a shiver running down my spine. “This looks amazing.”

  I could clearly see everything that was available. Rather than a mishmash of shirts, skirts, dresses and pants coordinated only by color, I could now easily see each item. There was even a slice of beautiful space between each hanger.

&nb
sp; Now the real test began, though. I bit my lip as I shut the closet door and flicked off the light. Would I be able to create stylish outfits from such a small number of items?

  Weeks later I noticed something: getting ready for work in the morning was a snap. Plus, I hadn’t worn the same outfit in the exact same way since the closet metamorphosis. Because I could see (and actually like) all the pieces left in my wardrobe, it was much easier to put a stylish ensemble together in much less time. I loved the lightness and airiness of my side of the closet, too; so much that I often paused after choosing my clothes for the day and drank it in.

  It’s been more than a year since that closet cleanout. Do I still maintain just thirty-three items in my closet at all times? No. I still have a lot of room between hangers, though, and the clothes there are items that I love and wear frequently.

  Something else interesting happened: my closet became an impetus in other areas of my home and even my life. I’ve lost track of the number of bags and boxes I’ve brought to Goodwill over the past year. The kitchen counter is nearly bare. I love it. I’ve given away more than half of my book collection and a recent rearranging of rooms in our house gave me the opportunity to sort our young son’s toys and share or sell a good portion of them.

  More important than all the physical changes though, are the emotional ones. I find myself asking, “Is this really going to make my life better?” before buying a new piece of clothing. And before I enter a commitment into my calendar, I say, “What will I say no to in order to make time for this?”