Less is More

I was born in Phoenix, Arizona. I lived there (off and on) for the first nine years of my life. As a child, I didn’t pay much attention to the weather. Obviously, I knew it was hot. The few times that I tried to make the trek from our apartment to the laundry room barefoot, the heat was so intense I could feel it crawl up my body until it nearly closed my throat. I have nieces and nephews who seldom wear shoes. They run barefoot on their farm, allowing the cool grass to tickle their toes. That was never an option for me, both because of the heat and the absence of both cool and grass. I have gone back to Phoenix over the years – to visit family, or for weddings or funerals – and when I have, I always pay attention to the weather. I absolutely love the feel of a summer rain, and more than that I love the way it smells after the rain. Unless you have lived in a desert, you have no idea what I mean. The few summer rains I have experienced in Northern California, where I have lived for nearly thirty years, don’t produce the same earthy smell that the August rain in Phoenix does. As the rain cools the scorching pavement and soaks into the thirsty earth there is a scent that fills the atmosphere, and that scent, to me, smells like home.

Weather in Northern California over the past few weeks has reminded me of the summer rains of Phoenix. I was concerned for the garden we planted last month when I read that we were expecting several inches of rain. All of the time and effort we put into planting the seeds, the joy we felt when some of them sprouted, the looks on the faces of my children when their fingers plunged into the fertilized soil to place their plant into its new home, all of those joyful moments seemed to be threatened by the impending rain. But after just two days of rain, yellow flowers blossomed beneath the leaves of the squash plants – whose leaves nearly doubled in size. What I thought would harm my garden caused growth and beauty.

Much like that garden, the things that I thought would harm me – whether it be physically, emotionally, mentally, or even spiritually – have often produced growth and beauty. Two years ago, I picked up a book at the library on a whim. Year of No Clutter by Eve O. Schaub had a photo of an overstuffed closet on the cover, and that photo reminded me of corners of my home. I knew that I often kept things that were sentimental, and my husband complained that I had too much stuff, but I chalked it up the the fact that I had once lost everything, and keeping things was my way of coping with that loss. Besides, it wasn’t like I was collecting junk. My closets were filled with my kids’ paintings, trinkets, notes, cards, letters, old report cards, and awards (both mine and my children’s), gifts that I would never use but couldn’t throw away (because that would be rude), and a lot of other really important things. Important, perhaps, only to me, but important nevertheless. When I picked up that book that afternoon, I had no clue that my life would be changed. As I flipped through the pages and read stories of boxes of treasured memories being donated to charity, it felt like a brick fell on my chest. How could she just throw away memories, treasures? My heart raced, and I wanted to crawl through the page and put the boxes back into her “Hell Room”. I nearly closed the book right there, telling myself that I couldn’t relate to her, that I was not the type of person who just threw things away. Things had value that went beyond money or appearance. Things held memories. Things were a reflection of who I was and where I had been. I didn’t want to forget, and therefore I could not let go. I overrode the voice in my head telling me to put the book down, I took the imaginary brick off of my chest and I forged ahead.

“Clutter is the physical manifestation of unmade decisions fueled by procrastination”

Christina Scalise

About three months after I read that book, my husband and I bought a home. We had been living for nearly a year in a temporary home while we paid off debt and saved some money in preparation for a home purchase. Because we had moved from five bedrooms and two living rooms down to three bedrooms and a kitchen the size of my old walk-in closet, we had a lot of stuff in storage. After reading Year of No Clutter, I knew that I didn’t want to take all of those boxes with me, but I couldn’t blindly throw them all away. I was going to have to look in each box, maybe even hold each item in my hands before I could let them go. It was a long process, but in the end I ended up donating two truckloads of memories and treasures to charity. As I recall that memory, even now my chest tightens with anxiety. The boxes flash through my mind, and I try to see each item that is gone. If you were looking for hope that getting rid of stuff would be easy, I can not attest to that reality. In my reality, it hurt and continues to hurt for a long time after it is gone. Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines grief as deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement. Maybe that is what I experienced – on top of anxiety and fear. That is the truth, now here is the hope.

In spite of the way it made me feel to get rid of so many things, it was absolutely freeing. Hebrews 12:1 says “…let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us.” I always find it helpful to define words when I want to grasp the meaning of a scripture or a quote. Weight there can mean a heavy burden, a hindrance. I feel like that is what my clutter (ahem…I mean treasure) was – a weight, a heavy burden. What I thought was priceless was actually extremely costly to my well-being. Once those boxes were gone my home felt cleaner, lighter – I felt lighter. There was more room for board games and laughter. We bought a piano and began lessons for both kids. The music that filled the now empty corners of my living room brought me joy (unspeakable) and soothed my soul. I know, in the last paragraph you were ready to close your browser and turn me off because you couldn’t relate. There is no way you are going to put years of your life (if you are like me you have treasures from other peoples lives to get rid of as well) in a box and send it off to be sold on thrift store shelves for pennies. I wasn’t going to either. But I promise you, if you can find the strength to start the journey to less, your future self will thank you. She will tell you that less (stuff) is more (joy), and that the things you that have stored in boxes in your garage are going to be better off on someone else’s shelf, where they can breathe and be seen. And the things on your shelf or on your wall that you thought brought you joy, will cause you to feel liberated and free once they are gone. Somehow, when you get rid of physical things, you feel lighter and you have more room to experience life and the fullness of joy that is available. Try it, I dare you. #oneboxatatime

“Out of clutter, find simplicity. From discord, find harmony. In the middle of difficulty lies opportunity.” – Albert Einstein.

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