Purgeapalooza: I donated 795 items
03/30/2010
It lacked the put-your-lighters-in-the-air vibe of a three-day music festival, but by the time my Purgeapalooza ended, anyone would have thought there was a mosh pit in my living room. As I ruthlessly deemed everything from a toaster oven, water socks, velvet pumps and Sponge Bob popcorn tin to a martini shaker, Minnie Mouse doll and inflatable pillow unworthy of occupying space in my life, the rug disappeared.
Shrapnel flew in every direction. Sweat dripped from my brow.
It was the best feeling in the world.
The urge to purge started, simply enough, with my semi-annual wardrobe transition – the fall/winter to spring/summer clothing switcheroo. As I pulled out my trusty under-the-bed bags stuffed with clothing for every occasion conceivable, I stopped dead in my tracks. I had more professional and casual outfit combinations than warm days ahead of me, and I live in the desert. Halters and sundresses and capris, oh my. Formal wear and club clothes and wrinkle-free items appropriate for international travel, oh god.
Why was I about to transfer all of it to my closet? Some items I hadn’t worn in three years. Club wear? I’ve never been clubbin’ and don’t plan to go, so did I have just-in-case club clothes simply because I live in Vegas? In my subconscious, did I feel this was a prerequisite for holding a Nevada driver’s license?
Someone call a shrink. Someone else get me Hefty Cinch Saks.
If this is what lurked under the bed, would my “new eyes” find similar madness in the kitchen cabinets? Hall closet? Garage? Every place I stuff random accessories, mementoes and décor?
I could either breathe into a paper bag or make green tea. I went with tea. It seemed like the Zen thing to do. Next, I Googled. I furiously read everything I could get my eyes on related to simplifying, minimizing, cleaning out and moving on. Armed with some simple tips, I entered a trance-like state that I assume a whirling dervish experiences prior to…whirling…and I ripped through my house. I touched every single item and asked myself the questions that my newfound minimalist heroes suggest:
- Do I use it?
- Do I use it enough to need it?
- Do I have more than one, or something that performs a similar function?
- Would life be just as good if I didn’t have it?
- Would life be less stressful if I didn’t have to think about storing/dusting/organizing/dry cleaning/managing it?
- Do I own this “just in case?”
- Is this a sentimental item I could snap a digital photo of and lighten my load?
795 items didn’t pass the test. That doesn’t include stuff that went right in the trash. Three bags in total.
It was a big day for Goodwill, and me.
Rock on.
Simple Pleasures Sunday
03/28/2010
Sunday is a day for rest, contemplation, watching sports and let’s admit it…wearing sweat pants. In keeping with the theme, I’m taking an easy, breezy approach to Sundays on this blog.
Here’s this Sunday’s simple pleasure, my view of Earth Hour from the top of the Rio. The neon went dark on the Las Vegas Strip Saturday night from 8:30 to 9:30 p.m. in observance of Earth Hour. Las Vegas flicked the switch along with more than 4,000 cities around the world in support of the World Wildlife Fund’s global event. Seeing less was fabulous, and I got to witness it with two good friends. (And a $15 martini, which would have tasted better had it cost less!)
The view to the north, Wynn and Encore dark for Earth Hour
Give It Away Saturday
03/27/2010
How many loads have you donated to Goodwill or a charity in your area in the last five years? I’m approaching 25. That means I average five trips a year. That means I have too much stuff. Period.
My “loads” hardly consist of a few plastic bags with no-longer-needed shoes and shorts. They are trunk-busting trips that sometimes require my husband’s truck. Imagine, a caravan of random stuff rolling down the Las Vegas Strip, destined for the back of a Goodwill semi. (Kidding, we don’t take the Strip, but it’s a great visual, don’t you think?)
Lately, as I’ve been ruthlessly weeding through every single room, drawer, nook and cranny, my Goodwill runs have reached epic proportions. My last run, the nice gentleman attendant said, “Lady, you forgot the kitchen sink!”
I’ve forgotten more than that. In fact, I can barely recall most of the items I’ve donated. (Insert lightbulb.) Eureka! That tells me two things: the stuff wasn’t that important and maybe I can live without it. Wait a minute, I am living without it!
Each Give It Away Saturday, I’ll look back at my Goodwill lists and share three items I forgot I ever donated. I hope this inspires you to pack it up, move it out and feel great all weekend.
Gave It Away. Glad It’s Gone.
- Umbrella stand
- (tragic) Lime green capri pants
- Pineapple bookends
I don’t need toe socks
03/26/2010
For as far back as I can remember, my A#1 procrastination technique was, “I can’t (insert item to be put off) because I need to organize my sock drawer.” I’d then put off fulfilling parental requests, writing my thesis, grocery shopping, ironing, preparing receipts for tax time – you name it.
Trivial matters could wait. I had socks to organize.
The mindless task of re-rolling and lining up my socks according to color and/or function and/or whatever hierarchical system I felt worthy of the day brought order to my life. Sure, it sounds like classic OCD, and perhaps there was a bit of that, but it was a killer stall tactic. To make it last even longer and seem more monumental, I’d pull all of the dress socks, gym anklets, tights, assorted trouser socks and random novelty socks (striped socks with toes, anyone?!) out of the drawer, toss them on the floor and have a full-on folding and organizing sock party. Relishing in a job well done, I’d then head to bed and get up at the ungodly hour of 3 a.m. to handle whatever got trumped by my socks. Every time a paper was due in high school, college or grad school…out came the socks.
I used about 20 percent of that fine sock collection. Given Las Vegas’ warm weather, I could actually skip socks altogether, with the exception of athletic socks, which makes the need for a owning too many and doing inventory on a regular basis just plain absurd. I finally decided enough was enough. No longer would I spend my precious time managing my socks. Life was happening, and I was messing with socks!
I donated several dozen, and am now left with WHAT I NEED. What a concept! I’m talking a handful of gym socks, a few boot socks in black and brown, a couple thin ones to wear with dress shoes and three pairs of tights. For any of you reading this who plan to get me socks next Christmas, please don’t. I’m all set.
Living simply comes with shocking revelations. My biggest lessons come from unlikely places, like my sock drawer. Here’s what saying goodbye to candy cane socks and tie-dyed tights once worn for Halloween taught me.
- Most things we own and spend time organizing and managing, like socks, don’t matter and aren’t worth attention.
- There are people in this world who need socks, so why not spread the sock wealth!
- If I don’t use it, why do I own it?
- I’ll never need to spend another minute organizing my sock drawer, because it now contains just what I need.
Just what I need is fabulous.
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Milk? Or juice?
03/24/2010
Too many options stress me out.
It’s nothing new. My parents love to tell people how I’d get all flustered when presented with the “Milk? Or juice?” choice as a high-chair sittin’ sippy cup user. I’ve since overcome the problem by limiting my beverage options to three: coffee, water, wine. It’s easy, and social circumstances make my drink decisions for me.
In my post high-chair years, I’ve had time to analyze things. As it turns out, it’s too many options about little, insignificant things that bring on the panic attacks. As for who to marry, what career path to follow, what state to call home…those decisions have been no sweat. I go with my gut and never look back. My gut has served me well.
But back to milk or juice. When it’s not milk or juice, it’s gold or silver earrings? blue or green purse? straight or curly hair? lip gloss or lipstick? tortellini or ravioli? roll-a-board carry on or duffel pack? skinny jeans or high-waisted trouser jeans? dark or stone-washed? (Kidding! No stone-washed jeans here).
Maddening, I know.
The last time I visited my sister in St. Louis I was almost late for my flight because I couldn’t decide what earrings to wear. I stood in front of the mirror and debated between three silver options. Let me qualify that: three silver HOOPS. Sizes small, medium and touch-bigger-than medium. Did I mention it was a red-eye flight, the cabin lights would be off and I’d be wearing a winter hood upon arrival?
This problem even follows me to the grocery store. Forget Albertsons, Vons and Smiths. I shop exclusively at Fresh & Easy. Sure, I like the fresh food, but I love the easy part – easy as in the options are limited so I don’t find myself standing comatose in the pickle aisle weighing the merits of Polish spears against Kosher slices against dill chips against those oval ones that supposedly fit nicely in a hot dog bun.
Maddening, I know.
So what’s the common thread? All of my so-called “stressors” stem from stuff. Stuff, stuff, stuff! None of it really matters. None of my decisions about these items have any real consequences. If I wear my medium silver hoops with curly hair and carry my blue purse to match my dark skinny jeans to Fresh & Easy so I can look good in the pickle aisle…it’s even more ridiculous when I type it.
If I reduced my stuff, would my life be stress-free?
Could I experience the same sense of peace in my closet as I experience in the Fresh & Easy pickle aisle?
I spent a good part of January asking myself these questions. I knew the answers all along, but it took me two months to get up the courage to take action. When I did, well, look out. That’s a post for next time.
