The first time I kissed a guy… it didn’t work out.
It was okay, really. Or, I told myself it was okay. He was someone I was in love with and had fallen in love with far too quickly. I wanted to give him that space to grow into someone who could love me too, so I took that really lovely memory of him kissing me and wrapped it up in a little box in my mind. I was going to set it aside and let it be just what it was. I went to put it away and some memories I had shoved into the back of my mind fell on me, scattering across the floor, mixing with this really nice memory. Tainting and confusing the new memory. The memory of being assaulted, the memories of being treated badly, a dozen other memories that put into me this one the idea that I had one value according to others and made a mess of my mind.
I do not think I have to explain how difficult that period of time was in my life. I spent months in the clutter of my mind feeling like I was going insane and when I finally finished clearing the mess away, I had done irreparable damage to some of my relationships and my work life.
And that is when I decided to take a good look around my home.
I have always been of the belief that my home is an outward expression of what my mind looks like. My book shelves and choices in decorations all show memories and things that have shaped me into who I am. I have paintings from places I have traveled and photographs of people I love. All of it shows pieces of who I am and what I have deemed important in my life. If you know what you are looking at you will know a lot about me from the way I keep my home. You’ll read my life story between the four walls that I live in.
On the outside my home looks fairly neat and tidy, if a little crowded with oversized furniture. It’s filled with pops of color and bright imaginative nick knacks. On the surface it looked great. Everything that I interacted with every day was in order and arranged. You might look at it and think, “that Katie really has things together.” The things that I interacted with every day. That is an important detail.
I lived in a little one-bedroom apartment with a small living/dining room space and a surprisingly large kitchen. The hall closet, meant for coats and rain gear, was stuffed full of storage bins that threatened to fall over when I went to get a scarf. I only used half of my very large bedroom closet because the other half was filled with boxes of old clothes, college mementos, childhood toys. I used most of what was in my kitchen, but every cupboard was full and over full. If I wanted a specific thing that had been shoved in the back, it meant removing everything from the cupboard just to get it out. If my home really is an expression of my mind, then my mind was in dangerous state. There was too much that needed to be let go of and dealt with that I kept pushing aside to make room for the things that I did want to use and see. After my experience with memory I knew that was not going to be the way I wanted to live indefinitely.
My dad once said to me that clutter represents unmade decisions. Things we had not yet decided to get rid of or where they go. I decided that it was time to start making decisions. I started researching the concept of minimalism.
Minimalism has a lot of definitions but the essence of the idea, as I understand it now a year into the slow act of decluttering, is making room for the things that matter in this world. That can mean something different for everyone. For some people it means spending less time having to clean, or having less to clean, so they can be present with their friends and family for longer. That could mean producing significantly less waste so there is more room in the world for other things. That can also, honestly, mean only owning 30 books because those are the books you most love. For me, that meant getting rid of the clutter that no longer had a place in my life. If my home was really an expression of who I am then I wanted it to be an expression of who I am now and what has made me into that person and not the pieces of who I used to be that I have left behind and outgrown. Warning: that is, almost a year and a half into this project, an idea that I really struggle with.
The thing is, minimalism, or just living more intentionally, is not about the amount of stuff you own but about the reason it is in your home. If your home tells your life story then every item in it should show a piece of you. I should be able to walk around my living room with you and pick up any given item and explain exactly why I have it. If I do not know why I have that blue hippo then why do I have it? Why is it taking up space on my shelf? It is actually about leaving space for the things that are important and learning to let go of the pieces of you that you do not need anymore so you can tell your story and change it when it is time to come to new chapters.
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