Column: Clutter
A few months back, I decided to start minimizing. The more clutter I had in my life, I figured, the longer my friends would have to endure my increasingly weary ruminations on stress and work and the complexities of life and love and other junk.
“Simplify, simplify,” one famous author said (it was Tom Clancy, I believe), and I figured this would be the best plan of attack for my particular situation.
I believe in baby steps, so I started by cleaning my desk. When that was done (two hours later), I began rifling through drawers and closets.
I’m not sure if it’s the journalist in me or what, but historically I’ve kept my memories close by keeping my seemingly endless supply of paper documents closer. These paper documents could be found stacked inside boxes and folders and spilling from kitchen cabinets. That’s right — kitchen cabinets.
“Thank God I still have the syllabus from Statistics for Non-majors,” I thought, holding up the stapled packet. I then folded it and dropped it into an industrial-sized garbage bag.
Some things, of course, I could never toss. Like, I’ll never throw away my first cover story issue of The Times of Acadiana. Or the issue of this very newspaper featuring my first 1A centerpiece photo and story. Or, to a lesser extent, my college diploma.
But why, I wondered, was I still holding on to an old, scribbled napkin from an already memorable night on the town with friends? Why did I have a Converse shoe box filled with fortune cookie slips and movie stubs? And perhaps most curiously, why was my utility bill from last month still sitting on the coffee table?
Then my apartment’s power went out.
Just kidding.
But in all seriousness, the amount of documents I had accumulated was startling. Did I really need this literal paper trail of my life? Sure, each leaflet would trigger a fond memory or two, but there was just so much of it to take in at once. And when would it end? Would I keep accumulating? When I’m 70, will I have to buy a home with a three-car garage just to store my old birthday cards and funny band fliers?
In situations like these, I always think of my parents. Not because they aren’t particularly sentimental (there are seven photos of my father in existence), but because they have a large, empty house in my hometown. It’s reached a point where I don’t consider that place a home so much as I do a free storage facility. Often, my mother will ask if I need anything stored in my old room. Usually, I’ll grab an armful of old notebooks and say “Sure, take this.” As a result, my room back home is a startlingly mundane museum of Tim Landry. Luckily, there are posters of early ’90s rock bands to add some (arguably) historical relevance on a slightly larger scale.
The real cleaning out session began close to a month ago when I moved. I’m going to go on the record right now and state that I don’t believe anyone has ever moved without at least once uttering the phrase: “Jeez, I have so much darn stuff!” Only the “darn stuff” part is interchangeable with varying degrees of expletives, depending on how much time you spend in bars.
I moved to maximize my paycheck’s significance. I did this by minimizing everything else. I don’t have cable TV, anymore. I don’t have nearly as many documents and I got a roommate.
It feels good to hit the reset button once in a while. It feels good to have a new, clean slate. Now, my only challenge is to keep it free from post-it notes.
Comments
One Response to “Column: Clutter”
Leave a Reply
I keep all MY movie stubs. And limb stubs.