I had been at it non-stop for three days when my oldest sister, Lauren, called and said, “What’s the matter? You sound exhausted.” I replied that I was purging my life of unused clothing, books, household goods and paper, paper, paper . . . and had barely made a dent after three days even though I had purged my life at the beginning of every year for the past several decades.
But had I really purged? No. I. Had. Not. Sure, I had given away a lot stuff, but for the most part, I had only gathered stuff in bags and boxes and stored them away all very neatly in closets or drawers or the attic. This “cosmetic” purge typically took just a weekend. This year, I was going to go all out and undertake a “marathon” purge that I mentally prepared would consume my life for an entire week. Fueling my determination was the fact that four towers of poetry books were balanced on top of my writing desk — 62 of them. I had to gingerly move books to retrieve the one I wanted to read. Further, I had to move books to find a space to write. The final insult was that my cat, Jem, was spending most of his day in the cat bed in the living room downstairs rather than in the cat bed next to me on top of my writing desk.
The marathon purge starting gun sounded at 4 a.m. on Tuesday, January 2.
I opened every closet and cabinet door, every drawer, every filing cabinet, every box, every folder, every letter, every card . . . and began to examine and read every item. When Lauren called, I was near tears. She said, “You know what you’re doing, don’t you? You are doing ‘Swedish death cleaning’. When you’re our age, you get rid of all the stuff you’ve accumulated that you don’t need anymore — so that no one else has to do it for you after you die. It will make life easier for them and more pleasant for you.”
Three weeks, six huge garbage bags full of paper and two car loads of boxes to the Salvation Army later, I’m almost done. One large filing cabinet in my office is now completely empty and will be picked up at the end of the week (the ugly one on the right in the photo below).
A friend emailed me on Monday and asked for advice on how to “start strong” in the New Year. For me, starting strong began with starting small. “I really wish I could see the top of my desk,” I said to myself. “I should clear off those poetry books. Furthermore, I should get rid of other books to make room for my 1,200 volumes of poetry AND I should alphabetize them.”
So it began with poetry and ends with poetry alphabetized. Below are two of a dozen shelves of poetry.
It also ends with a clean desk. Adrienne gave me the paper weight on the left (below) for Christmas. Other friends gave me the female bust candle which was made by their dog-sitter.
And last, but not least, it ends with Jem, who, like me, now has space to breathe, room to move and inspiration to create.
And the moral of this story? To start strong, start small.
The Great Purge produced fodder for several more posts. So stay tuned.
Also, my psychiatrist said that organizing and purging one’s life to this detailed extent was a sign that I was “fully embracing who you are because you are making room for yourself.” Not to mention poetry and a cat.
A lovely comment emailed to me from Mary, a high school friend: “I have always maintained seeking balance is a good thing. So you are on the right track. A little purge, and a walk to goose pond for beautiful photos and Gods nature. Love you.”
You are an inspiration. Determination wins over inertia. The goal is space and room to breathe. Bravo. I don’t know that I will be so single minded and yet I have a similar urge. How are you feeling now?
Thanks for the affirmation and the question, Charlotte. I am still feeling a bit physically tired. It was very hard and tedious work that drove me to tears on a couple of days. At the same time, the mental spaciousness has helped me to focus on my “real work” which is observing and writing.
I have on a postcard in every room, this poem by Wendell Berry entitled, “Our Real Work”:
It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work,
and that when we no longer know which way to go
we have come to our real journey.
The mind that is not baffled is not employed.
The impeded stream is the one that sings.
The irony here is that the “singing” of my “impeded stream” told me to un-impede it. You really do get to the crossroads of determination and inertia. You really do have to choose one and not look back.
Charlotte, I have been pondering what my “real work” really is since I posted my previous reply to you. My real work has always started with “spark and spitfire” and then having the discipline to follow the spark by creating something — a story?, a photo? the urge to exercise? walk in farmland?
My work in corporate America fueled and nurtured my creativity, but my work now feels different — clearly more urgent.
My sister, Lauren — who in many ways inspired The Great Purge because she’s been ruthless about purging her life’s belongings — texted me this comment:
“This is inspiring! This is healthy for you–mentally and emotionally, and for me. Thank you! XO”
Happy to return the inspiration, Lauren.
Purging is so therapeutic. Thank you for sharing yourself with us. When you write, we listen.
“When you write, we listen.”
Wow. Just wow. xoxo
Awesome and Well Done, Friend! Seems to me that such cleansing of the home is also a cleansing of the soul, the spirit, the YOU!
Thank you for setting us all such a good example, and thank you for this Wendell Berry poem!
You are so welcome, Carol, who prays daily for my creative output. Thank you! xoxo
This is so inspirational! Well done, my friend. Such a purge really is both a physical and psychic cleanse. I always feel physically lighter after getting rid of a hundred pounds of stuff! I have sent you a lot of loot and correspondence through the years. I hope that you will never be burdened by it and will pass it on, throw it out or recycle it when it is time!
I so look forward to seeing what is to come, now that you have made space for it in your life!
Thank you for the encouragement., Beth.
And . . . eh . . . er . . . Beth . . . I confess, with head hanging low, that I did NOT purge ANY of your hundreds of letters and cards. No, not one. I tossed them into their own large (one of those Iron Mountain boxes) and told myself that I would go through them when I had ten spare years. The cards are so unique, inspiring, and just plain hysterical. You see that paper weight that Adrienne gave to me for Christmas? Two cards from you are underneath it. Yesterday I wondered aloud to Adrienne if the main reason I sent you so much poetry, etc. was because of the WONDERFUL thank-you notes I get in return. Seriously. Writing a good thank-you note requires a lot of skill and attention to detail. I always have to stop myself from sending you a thank-you note for your thank-you notes.
I received this text from my sister, Dawna:
“OMG! Heck, I bet your artwork can feel the new energy you brought back into the home! Nice job!”
I never thought about the artwork needing space for energy. Duh. Thanks for the reminder, Dawna!