I haven’t edited a single thing, and yet have had multiple moments of angst about this whole idea of minimalism and one heated discussion with my husband about the importance of refrigerator magnets and visual texture. Maybe I don’t need to get rid of my stuff. Maybe my stuff is charming and tells a story about my life in a way that I can’t articulate and maybe this will lead to endless fighting and maybe we should hire a therapist, our own Niecy Nash or Peter Walsh to come over and walk us through our “foolishness.” Then I took these pictures and thought, if this is the story that I’m telling, that I am so attached to, there is a serious problem with my brains.
Do I need to save my mattress waranttee if the company has gone out of business? Do I need to save my social security statements? How about the other sentimental stuff, like my expired teaching license? Gifts from dead people? Sentimental books?
This is a quest of making order from chaos. Do I need these objects that I’ve assigned artificial meaning to? That’s not very orderly. Amd its not very minimalist. So, with the exception of a book from my Grandfather, everything else goes:
- The script from When Harry Met Sally
- My teaching license
- The poster advertising our dinner at Barrette
- The lava lights
- ALL the magazines
- Lots of books
- Bric-a-brac (Did I seriously just use that word to describe my stuff?)
- And more
I’d like to say I feel lighter already, except that I didn’t realize that the Kettle Chip boxes I got from the liquor store for their perfect packing proportions were actually perforated and actually split, thus making the mess worse, not better, for now. But we are on the way. And I have the some of my garage sale advertising copy already written.