Archives for December 2014

So, minus the cold-from-hell that had me down a few days, I’m progressing well through the Move Toward Minimalism. So well, in fact, that Lala has asked me a few times if I’m  leaving her. She pointed out that would be incredibly embarrassing to trick her that way. “Well, yeah," she would have to say to incredulous friends. "Sure, she packed everything she owned in boxes and got rid of mountains of stuff, but she said she was becoming a minimalist.” Shrug. “Why wouldn’t I believe her?” 

But I’m not leaving. Emphatically, no. I'm still focusing on how I want my reading/writing space to look (and I have to point out that sick time is very good Pinterest time. I’ve never really been into it before, but when you’re daydreaming about a space while on cold medicine, there is little more satisfying. My dream office board is here, if you want to check it out). 

First, let me tell you what I did. 

I got rid of a full (huge) station wagon of stuff.

I took most to the Depot for Creative Reuse (there should be some hella fine yarn there, Bay Area knitters) and the rest to Out of the Closet. (Oh! I gave up the idea of the garage sale. I wouldn't have ever recouped my loss, and I'd already enough time, energy, money, and storage space to these things. It felt good to let go.) I gave away a ton of books in a frantic culling of author copies on Facebook and Twitter. I boxed everything I have to keep, but I bet not all of it will find its back way in from the boxes on the porch. 

See, I got rid of the storage. I got rid of four large Billy bookcases and two small ones, bookcases that had been storing my crap for twelve YEARS. I shoved yarn, sweaters, photo albums, knitting patterns, books, memorabilia into those shelves like the boss of storage I was. I got rid of 20 Sterilite drawers and boxes that were holding things. 

My whole office looked like this. Then I got rid of all the storage. 

I don’t have anything to store things in. The closet is lovely and empty. I challenged myself with the "I have one of those already" statement. (Is your heart beating faster, reading that? Mine did. "I have one bag." ARE YOU SERIOUS I NEED EVERY ONE OF THESE THIRTY BAGS FOR DIFFERENT REASONS. I took a box and labeled it ONE. I put the extra things in there, just to think about themselves. I promised myself I wouldn't get rid of the box. Then I did. And it felt good. (I still have about five bags because that's impossible, yo. This one is my travel bag, this one is my knitting bag, THIS IS MY MOOP, this is my cute-night-out bag.)

The room I’m sitting in right now will have four pieces of furniture.

• My beloved desk that my friends bought me when I got my agent will stay, holding my printer and a lamp.
• My new (used) rolltop desk will hold everything writing related: pens, ink, Post-its, the all-important Thinking Gum). (Augh, the delirious joy of this desk. I’ve wanted one my whole life. Hasn’t every writer?)
• A chair. Will use the one I have till I find the right one. I hate this old ripped Ikea chair that I've always had to use a back bolster with, but it's my lowest priority. 
• A reading couch. I’d prefer something antique and Victorian and old. Basically, I want my office to feel like Juliet Blackwell’s house, you know? But comfortable is the highest priority for the couch. I want to be able to read till the book falls out of my hand. I want room for all the animals to pile of top of me. I want to be able to stretch out. I’m taking my time. I’ll find my couch when it’s time. 

I have a guy coming in tomorrow to quote how much it would be to pull up the carpeting and build a good, sturdy bookshelf (not a Billy! No!) because even though I got rid of shelving, a girl still needs a few shelves for books and the really beloved things that should be seen and treasured, not hidden. I'm going to paint, also — a darker color. Most of the things I love on Pinterest are dark, cozy, and inimate. Curated, not cluttered. 

Right now, the office is almost empty. It echoes. Music sounds amazing.

It makes me a little nervous, too. I’m reading Marie Kondo’s The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and she says: If you can’t feel relaxed in a clean and tidy room, try confronting your feeling of anxiety. It may shed light on what is really bothering you. When your room is clean and uncluttered, you have no choice but to examine your inner state. 

Well, yeah. I know exactly why I’m doing this. I’m almost done with a first draft of a book, and this is the hardest part of writing for me. At this point, I’m always convinced that what I’m writing is the worst thing ever written in the history of the world. It’s so hard, in fact, that I took the last week of the year off from writing entirely, to let myself… Well, okay. I just let myself off the hook, which was good since I worked a couple of killer weeks at the day job followed by this sick thing. But mostly, I’m avoiding going back into the book. 

The book is cluttered. The book is noisy and messy. The book needs to be edited, and it can’t be until it’s done. 

So I’m attracted to thinking about quiet, about simplicity, about minimalism. Every time I look that right in the eyes, stare into the truth of it, I feel calmer. I’m getting back to the book one week from today. I’m ahead of schedule, not behind it. Lying creatively  fallow for a couple of weeks feels right. 

And in the meantime, I’m enjoying paring down my life to only the things that bring me joy, which is Marie Kondo’s whole premise. Does the item thrill you? Give you joy? Keep. If not, release.  Why spend your life around things that don't thrill you? And oh my gosh, I LOVED reading her account of being a child obsessed with organizing. I thought I was the only kid who carefully read and saved ways to use toilet paper rolls to organize your makeup drawer, who memorized stain-lifting recipes, so impatient to try them I’d sometimes make a stain on purpose, just to see. I loved the penny-pinching tips in Ladies’ Home Journal and Mother Earth News. I was obsessed with making things neat and tidy and lovely. 

She also points out that “storage experts are hoarders.” Takes one to know one, I guess. That sure resonates with me. 

I’m enjoying this trip.

So I start the minimizing today. Appropriately, it’s Boxing Day and I’m about to go to U-Haul and buy boxes to pack up my stuff. 

I’ve been thinking about nothing else for about a week. GETTING RID OF THINGS. I’m watching every TED talk I can find on the topic. I’m reading Everything That Remains by Joshua Fields Millburn (I'm really enjoying it, by the way). I’m watching Tiny House Nation (which is, counter-intuitively, strangely focused on getting new stuff, new wingy-dingies that spin, hide, expand, contract, but that’s another conversation). 

Today I’m feeling like a startled cat; that fear is making me hiss and spit as I get closer to actually going to get the boxes and then, to start filling them. 

It’s hard for crafters, isn’t it?

Crafters Have Stuff. Lots of it. 

I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do it. I’ve gone through this room so many times before, getting rid of the things I could get rid of. I’ve already been ruthless. The things left in here are what I need to live. 

Except that’s not true. I need very few Things. I just WANT all this other stuff, and the thought of it—the look of it—makes me feel heavy, sluggish, and stressed. I’m tired of it.

So I’m going to tell you my plan, and maybe putting it here will remind me how much I really want to do this. Because it would be a lot easier to just stay in bed today, on this day off, and read all day. (The deliciousness of lying in bed reading about minimalism while not moving toward it can't be overstated.)

Starting

The place I’m really getting stuck, of course, is on keeping the things I really love, the things that add value to your life. How do you pick between them? I love everything in my office! I do! 

I found a great piece of advice on Courtney Carver’s site, on identifying treasures and finally letting go, and I’m using it. In my words: 

1. List the things you’d run into a fire to save. (The 911 fire dispatcher in me says, NEVER GO BACK INSIDE, the gasses are what take you down and kill you, not the fire itself, are you CRAZY?!) But let’s think about a metaphorical fire, shall we? 

In this metaphorical fire in my metaphorical house, I would save: 

Lala.

The animals.

These are the only answers that make sense. But say I had twenty extra seconds. What would I risk my own life to save? There aren’t many of them. I only came up with: 

Mom’s journals (I love to hear her voice)

My journals (not that I ever, ever reread them, but they’re important to me)

The afghan my capital-K New Zealand grandmother knitted for me 

Photos (which are going to be digitized and soon will all be on the cloud—let’s talk about this again soon because I have no idea how to approach this and will do a whole post on it soon – would love your ideas if you have some)

2. Keep the things you use everyday. This, also, presents a problem for me. I know, obviously, what I use a lot. My computer, Post-its, pencils, etc. But what about all those things I think I will use someday? Like the stapler? Good god, I haven’t stapled papers together in twenty years. Why do I stubbornly keep that thing, when I’m actually going entirely paperless? That’s it! The stapler goes! But you see what I mean. 

I got a great tip from Millburn's book (above). He uses the 20-20 rule. If you're torn about getting rid of something, and the item can be bought for less than 20 bucks in less than 20 minutes, then toss it. HELLO ALL THOSE LITTLE CORDS. They’re all going. I’ve never EVER had to find one of those, but I couldn't throw them out. Until today. 

3. Keep the things you love that bring you great joy. This could be art, or a book, or that plastic elephant you bought in the market in Marrakech right before you danced all night. Note: this means the things that DO bring you great joy. Not that you think COULD or SHOULD bring you great joy if you just got around to using them/looking at them. (Tea towels, anyone? Last night we went to a party and I used one of my favorite tea towels (a 1967 calendar spinning wheel towel!) that had been languishing in my office waiting for inspiration to strike — I wrapped it around the bottle, tied it with yarn, and there you go. It did bring me joy, in fact, to give it away, to a spinner.) 

This doesn’t mean keeping the things that you think you should keep, that you think SHOULD make you joyful, but that actually make you uncomfortable when you think of them. Read Getting Rid of Things that Make you Feel Bad. I’d kept old love letters for a long time, thinking I would like reading them when I was old. Know what? Even when I’m 97, I’m still going to feel a little foolish for staying in those relationships for so long. I got rid of the letters years ago and haven’t regretted it once. 

This step, though, I think will give me trouble, so I’m going to box everything I can’t immediately say I would ache not to see everyday, things that aren't as important as the Things I Will Keep, like my signed Elizabeth Zimmerman that Janine gave me. That’s something I love seeing every single day. That won't be boxed. 

4. Let everything else go. Box it all. Sell it at the garage sale. This will include: 

All pattern books (when was the last time I used one? Years and years. Ravelry has solved this. I love that my patterns are kept on their server!)

All yarn that doesn’t have immediate plans for use, excluding favorite handspun and cashmere, of course. 

All sewing fabric without immediate plans for use (which is to say all of it)

All jewelry making supplies. Hahhahahahahaha. Remember the time I thought I’d make jewelry?

All half-finished projects. They’re half-finished for a reason. I’m going to keep on the needles one big project (sweater), one pair of socks, and one piece of lace. Everything else goes. 

All memorabilia. <—— Really. Mom’s journals and a few photos bring me happiness. Using her yellow bowl daily in the kitchen brings me joy. All the other stuff? I’ll see if the sisters want any of it and then let it go. There are a few tchotkes I’ve bought on trips that bring me happiness to look at, but the rest, the things hiding behind others things? They’ll go. 

5. When it doubt, box it. Leave for 60 days. If I haven’t been compelled to fish it out, then I’ll donate the boxes, unopened. 

Luckily, I just redid Project 333, so I don’t have to worry about clothes. Thank god. (If you haven’t tried that, TRY IT. It’s life-changing.) 

So this is the plan. Now I’m going to put on jeans and a favorite T-shirt (because all I have left are my favorite clothes) and go buy boxes. Then I’m going to box. Happy Boxing Day. 

***BOOK GIVEAWAY! *****

You should be on my mailing list, because soon I'll be able to give away TWO ADVANCE COPIES of Splinters of Light. 

So, I'm getting this itch. 

The minimalist urge. 

I always get this. There must be a word in German for a person like me, someone who clutters things up easily, naturally, yet yearns for simplicity. 

I remember when a friend's daughter entered our house once. She was about four, and her mom loved clean lines and simplicity. That's what she was used to. She walked into our house and immediately yelled, "Mama, it's CRAZY in here!" 

Lala and I have a deal. She leaves her office the way she likes, and I don't bother her about it. My office is mine. We try to keep our crafts/hobbies inside our own offices, and keep the living areas as spare as possible (not spare by any stretch, but not crazy-making, usually). We keep our clothes in our office closets–the tiny bedroom is for us to sleep in (this helps a lot when I sleep weird hours, too). 

But I keep dreaming about tiny homes. I'd have one if I were single. I know I would. I've lived in 200 sq foot spaces, and nothing pleases my mind more than thinking about how to save space. I love downsizing, getting rid of stuff. A tiny home would be so FUN. The thing is, I love being married to Lala way more than I would ever enjoy the idea of a tiny home. I love our life together, and our big dumb cats and our sweet, sweet dogs. I love our house, too. It's perfect for us, just the right size (1100 sq feet, three tiny bedrooms, one bath, big living/dining room, big kitchen). 

Tonight, while avoiding writing and watching TED talks (as you do), I realized: I have a whole office. To myself. And it's full of Stuff I Don't Need. It's AMAZING what I've packed into that room. 

So my plan is this: 

• Box everything in my office as if we were moving. 
• Keep out only what I'll use that week. 
• Decide what the space should look like and how to make it be that, prioritizing what's important: writing and reading (it's hard to read in there now. I have a tiny wee sofa, but the space doesn't lend itself to reading–you must be able to fully recline to read, don't you think?). 
• Decide what few mementos are necessary for me to keep to feel grounded. (I don't need to keep all the things I grabbed after my mother died to remember her. Owning all her old fabric isn't necessary to me. It doesn't make me remember her more–it only serves to make me feel guilty that it's all sitting hidden in the closet.)
• Hold on to your hats: Yarn isn't very important. I've culled, over the last few years, so that I'm down to just a few projects' worth of yarn. The problem is I also have bags and bags of unfinished projects. I've let go of a few, and I think it's time to let the rest go, too. One sweater, one shawl, and one pair of socks on the needles. Do I ever need more than that? 
• Hold a garage sale, sell everything that's left (Bay Area peeps, I'll let you know when it is — there will be yarn UFOs and lots of craft books), and toss the money raised at the student loan (now down to 33k from 50k). 
• Digitize things like old pictures and old writing. I'm using this method, I think, even though it means making friends with Evernote, which, along with espresso machines, I've dedicated my life to avoiding learning how to use.

And now, in the quiet middle of the night, I'm going to look at Pinterest images of perfect people's perfect reading nooks. I don't want perfect. But I want clear, and spare, and me. And I'm so over white Billy bookcases I could just DIE, you know? 

Watch this space. 

(Oh! And don't forget to join the Goodreads giveaway of Spinters of Light – my publisher is giving away 20 copies!! (Only for US residents, I'm so sorry to say).)

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Splinters of Light

by Rachael Herron

Giveaway ends January 10, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

 

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