The other day, I went into retail: I threw a yard sale with three neighbors. Woohoo, I thought as I tagged my merchandise ahead of time, I’m finally going to unload the crap that’s weighing me down (not to mention cluttering up my attic and teeny tiny closets). Those two Pottery Barn lamps that turned out to be too large for my nightstands. The unreturnable Ted Baker dress I bought at a sample sale years ago without trying on (note to self: I’m not a perfect Ted Baker sample size). Bookshelves tossed aside when my 14-year-old reimagined his room with less furniture and more keyboards and amps.
As far as money-making schemes go, selling your junk is not a get-rich-quick scheme. More like a get-Starbucks-money-slow scheme. Grand total: $27. But you want to know what the bigger problem was? I came home with even.more.stuff. Yep, Mary, Mary, Tracey and I snapped up each other’s castoffs, completely missing the point that we had planned this sale to CLEAR OUR CLOSETS.
Next time, we decided, let’s just get a bottle of wine and swap our treasures without having to do any math.
Turns out, we’re all sick of our stuff. Whole industries have popped up to help people rid themselves of clutter. When Marie Kondo wrote her bestselling book The Lifechanging Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing everyone went crazy. The idea of asking about each belonging, “Does it bring me joy?” was a revelation (even if it is pretty similar to the age-old tenet that you should only have things in your home that you find beautiful or know to be useful).
But asking about joy is such a direct way to gauge whether things are making you happy or sucking the life out of you. When I put my stuff to that test, I realized the only things in my home that bring me joy are my family (do they count as things?) and my coffee pot. Oh the joy that Cuisinart automatic programmable gadget brings! I could write a poem to it! It’s there for me every day, giving me a warm and french roasty hug.
The rest of it, I could live without. Maybe it’s because I have a 1750 SF home so there’s actually no room for any of it. We’re tripping over cleats and baseball bags and backpacks and hockey sticks. Clutter actually makes me feel trapped in a very real and immediate way, and I guess it makes sense. When there’s excess stuff, you can’t find your way out the door. (I should point out here that we’re not hoarder-messy just normal two-boy-family-messy.)
I know I’m not the only one. I remember talking to a friend years ago when our kids were young and she confessed that she got so frustrated about all the Barbies strewn around her living room, she started snapping their heads off. Does her outburst sound crazy to you? It made perfect sense to me. Back then I definitely would have murdered Legos in a fit of rage if I could figure out how.
As I’ve gotten older, I find it’s harder to free myself from the big things: the furniture decisions made when first feathering my nest. I have chairs and armoires I no longer want but I spent money on them. It would be crazy to just haul them to the curb, right? But think like that, and you stay stuck.
Things are especially tense with my dresser, which used to belong to my grandparents so it has sentimental value. It’s wide. And it’s low. And the drawers are made of concrete, I swear. I can barely open them with my bad back and frozen shoulder (oh the joys of getting older!). Every time I bend to pull it open (you got this, scapula!), I wonder how my grandmother did it into her 80s and I can’t. Must.Strength.Train.More.
Maybe they didn’t know about easy-glide drawers then? Of course they didn’t. I curse this dresser daily without doing anything about it—up until last week. That’s when I said, just like that, enough.
Decision made. I was getting a new one. Almost instantly, I could breathe easier.
I realized I had been waiting for permission to let the furniture go, but from who? Surprise, it was me all along. Sure, money is always limited and I don’t need to invest in expensive bedroom furniture, with college tuition looming. But at the same time, you need drawers you can open. Why keep something that makes you miserable morning and night?
So I went on Ikea.com and ordered myself the exact same dresser my two sons have. It’s decent quality and better looking than it should be for that price. Most importantly the drawers fly open, so I know I won’t need to dislocate my shoulder to get a pair of socks.
There are so many heavy things we have to face in life. Furniture shouldn’t be one of them. But it’s largely guilt you have to fight when trying to shed items from your world. You think, how could I possibly….
Get rid of my grandmother’s furniture?
Donate my kids’ first onesies?
Admit to myself that I now hate this thing I once had to have?
Switching out your furniture is also tough because it rattles your sense of identity. We express who we are through our belongings, after all. Giving away or chucking something you once chose means you’re rejecting a part of yourself. Shedding your skin, like a snake, so you can grow a new one. It feels a little scary. You wonder what others will think. It is almost alienating. But I always loved big heavy old things! Why am I suddenly craving a clean modern sectional? Have I lost my mind?
Probably not. In mid-life, so many of the big decisions have been decided. I’ve chosen my husband, my line of work, the community where we’re raising our kids. I’m Mets not Yankees (even this miserable season, sigh).
Maybe that’s why changing up my space feels so freeing. It says I’m not stuck being the exact same person year after year after year. That’s a good thing, right?
As long as I don’t suddenly decide I’m a morning tea drinker. That would be more change than me or my Cuisinart could handle.