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For some time, the least-used part of our house, the basement, had been the cause of the most stress. Strewn about and packed into the sectioned spaces--a finished playroom with two storage rooms on either side with exposed cinderblock walls--were baby furniture and toys, car safety seats, obsolete electronics, boxes of books, cans of paint, camping and sports equipment, bags of jumble, and three boxes containing the written and photographic archives of a deceased wing of my mother’s family.
I was all for eBay and turning old stuff into cash, but we couldn't work up the enthusiasm to act on it, and the cluttered space was becoming something of a battleground. We are of a mind about most things, my wife and I, yet we differ on stuff. I hoard, she stockpiles. The difference is, I don’t let things go, sensing either sentimental or still-potential value in items that are no longer obviously of use. I have postcards people sent me in the 1980s. I keep computer cables, just in case, and God forbid I should throw one out and later have to go out and buy another.
As a stockpiler, my wife buys more than we need, or even more than we might need, and she justifies it in economic terms. She buys in bulk, and buying extra saves her from having to make multiple trips to Costco and Trader Joe's, which are out of the way. I can buy the argument when it comes to paper towels, toilet paper, and light bulbs, but it doesn't explain the half-dozen bottles of chocolate sauce--a lifetime supply, for any healthy person. The reason for that, she says, is that she bought a second (and possibly a third) time having forgotten it was already stockpiled.
Consider the types, though. They are in conflict. One is focused on what's past; the other on the future. So the basement became subdivided between things that symbolized a personality difference, with my junk on one side and her supplies on the other. ("Not my supplies," she would say, "our supplies," since I too will use the stocks, including, naturally, the chocolate sauce.)
We agreed we needed to address it, but since it was out of sight, we just let it grow. At a glance, it might have seemed as if we were nurturing an indoor junkyard.
The anti-clutterer
This Spring, I got into conversation with Richard Lyntton, a friend I know from my local café, the Gryphon, whose job, when he's not acting on TV shows like Law & Order, is helping people deal with their clutter. "Just get rid of it," Lyntton advised me. "It's all dead energy. You'll feel great once it's gone." He suggested loading a rented truck and dropping it all at a local thrift store, without delay.
Lyntton is part of a growing field of anti-clutter consultants, many of whom undertake feng shui training, though there is actually a course for space clearing practitioners. Lyntton sees clutter as more than a matter of just, well, matter.
"Most people think of it purely on a physical level," he says, "but clearing physical clutter is a good place to start clearing your whole mental and spiritual deck. We know from science that every single thing, material or otherwise, is vibrating energy. Every item you pick up produces a certain feeling. What matters ultimately isn't the thing itself but that you have a feeling of peace."
Lyntton developed his multiple-step clutter-clearing program from five years of sharing space with fellow soldiers in Her Majesty's tank corp. "When you're in such a confined space, it forces you to consider what you truly need," he says. Now, clients pony up $100/hour for his insight and advice because they realize that clearing clutter is more than just throwing things out. It becomes a relationship of deep trust. "You’re going through drawers with intimate garments," he says. "You find pictures of old boyfriends." It can also involve a crushing load. With his last client, Lyntton culled 100 trash sacks--three commercial dumpsters.
Addressing the mess
And so I determined to address the mess, and taking Lyntton's advice not to procrastinate, I went to the basement without so much as a pit stop at the fridge.
There were photos, letters from an old girlfriend, schoolwork, and stories and diaries I'd written that I felt a tinge of embarrassment seeing now. Objects, too, cued remembrances of things past, telescoping events to make them appear closer than they were in years. An old typewriter took me back to my first ambitious if grandiose days blazing away in the basement of my parents' old house. Old five-inch floppies were like archeological finds from an earlier technological epoch. The act of disposing became by turns emotional, sentimental, and cathartic. I was reminded of the true meaning of nostalgia--the pain of remembering.
All the stuff wasn't just stuff. It was memory. Events and relationships had run a course, with a beginning, middle, and end. People had married, had children, divorced, and died, though fortunately most of those who died had at least managed to get old first. "If I knew things would no longer be," says the narrator at the end of the Barry Levinson film Avalon, "I would have tried to remember better."
For myself, I could see my own progress, even a few achievements, but I wasn't quite as delighted to note that the scattered photos of myself were like time-lapse shots that could have been gathered for a PowerPoint presentation on how people age. This was not purely a matter of vanity, because it also pushed me into another line of thinking. Where have all the years, my years, gone?
The fear of the future, the unknown, is common enough, but what spurred my fear of the future was the rapidity with which the past had, pardon the syntax, passed. If my life so far (which is, if you go by actuarial tables, about half over) has gone by this quickly, the rest will go at least as quickly. Nay, even quicker: your own childhood passes under the pressure of anticipation, slowly while it's in progress, but as a parent, at least for me, the years seem to float up and burst like bubbles.
The past was contained in finite objects, and they reminded me of the finitude of time. "The cradle rocks above an abyss," Vladimir Nabokov wrote in his memoir, Speak, Memory, "and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness."
In the end, it's all still a mess
If the objects, which are associated with a certain moment or period and produce snapshots of memory, are meant to help retrieve memory, they can't give shape or order to anything. By any objective, external measure, they do exactly the opposite. They accumulate, time stuffed into a space. A brave few pay $100 an hour to get walked and talked through it. Some people are forced to deal with it at certain times, such as when they move, or when the spirit moves them, but it's usually left to the people who bury the dead to toss out their junk as well, and wonder among themselves why the heck anyone kept thus-and-such.
The afternoon itself passed quickly. The garage filled. My wife came home. "Wow," she said, "you really did some job. You look tired."
It had been like a psychological colonic. "I feel all cleaned out," I said.
She surveyed the room, the cause if not the scene of a few battles. Enough space had been reclaimed that we could find a meeting place somewhere in the middle of the room to start armistice talks. She considered the open space. "I'd say it looks like we’re about half-way there," she said. To which I replied, "I was just thinking the same thing."
Todd Pitock, a regular Juggle contributor, has discovered that his house actually contains expansive spaces.
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Reactions to "A Long Day's Journey into Junk"
I do my best to participate in the bi-annual neighborhood garage sale. This helps me find things to get rid of. I have also started a fun project with the kids which we call Search Day. They get ten cents for every item they get rid of. Strangely I always end up paying them about fourteen or fifteen dollars each.
What is all that stuff, I wonder.
Even so I looked at my neat garage this weekend and realized it is only neat because the cabinets hide everything. Time to do some sincere purging.
I think often of how I once lived in my VW bus ... life was simpler then. Stuff is not just stuff. It makes us respond by buying larger houses to put it into or buy shelves to store it on.
I long for the tie-dyed days of yesterday.
Montana Skyes
IT Consultant, Jupiter II Solutions
I'm sorry, I need my stuff to build barriers and booby-traps to keep the family from borrowing the stuff and tools they know they can find in my area, as they have already lost their own.
My wife is a charter member of the Flat Surface Society.
Any area that is reasonably level and cleared becomes a prime target for any item that she is playing "hide and seek" with. The items usually win.
The clutter can be defensive.
If my spouse sees a clear room, she will go put money down on more furniture.
As a writer and a cartoonist, I use reference works.
These are piles of clippings, file cabinets of old notes, and shelves full of books.
As a compulsive shopper, my wife has as many clothes as I have books, and many of the clothes no longer fit her, as she has lost weight. Dare I suggest that clothing she no longer needs find a new home?
Only if I let her suggest that I do not need to buy any more books until I've read all the ones I already have. Never mind that I really have read most of them. Then she suggests that I have no need of them once I've read them. She has no concept of footnotes, but she has more footwear at the moment than I've owned in my entire life.
Joel D. Burns
writer, artist , Quprit Suvwix
The issue of "junk" is an interesting one because with the exception (perhaps) of ultra-minimalists, we all have it, accumlate it, or deal with ridding ourselves of it.
I absolutely agree: The accumulation of objects are representative of moments, experiences, or people that have touched our lives- however briefly or meaningfully. I think as human beings, we're constantly building upon and referencing to our past, and many times, most people need or desire some sort of physical token to validate a certain experience- hence diaries, scrapbooks, objects- in short, "junk" or stuff. For some people, if they lack in objects, it's almost like they lack in identity. I think it's a rare person who ONLY deals with and has the necessities- and no more than that. Even then, I think it's pretty near impossible to find someone- however minimalist- who doesn't have at least ONE object that references to an important moment, person, or event in their lives.
I think we all accumulate "things" at certain "junk-tures" in our lives because there's a security in knowing that "yes, this happened", or "i knew this person" though they may have died or moved away. As humans, we're conditioned from birth that objects can have a weight more than physical- hold a certain significance- that it can even give unquestionable validation to something: the exchanging of rings when 2 people marry, the giving of gifts for a wedding or baby shower, a symbolic rose to a loved one. It's interesting how the importance we ascribe to an object can transition to "junk"- with the softening or fading of the memory associated with it. Also interesting how some sentimental objects never become relegated to that lowly status, and retain the same significance 50 years (or however) later. Personally, if some THING(s) is/are perceived as important to someone, for whatever reason, I don't see it as "junk", I just see it as someone else's memory. It deserves (at least) some respect for that reason alone.
Having that physical reminder is confirmation of something- or someone- that matters to us. So we go through life, collecting physical specimens of intangible memory, until one day (or periodically) we look around and find that we're overburdened with the physical remnants, and realize that all we need IS the insubstantial "feeling" or "memory", and we're comforted. Knowing that, we can finally "absolve" our space of "the stuff" or "baggage" acquired, and either empty our home environment for future physical mementos, or transition into a less "junk-filled" life altogether.
tZG
Oh my gosh when did you meet my entire family? 2 years ago I helped my parents move from the family home of 45 yeaars to a retirement apartment and you are right cleaning out is an experience full of memories. Maybe that's why we keep the things that we do I'm going to send this story to my family of hoarders and stockpliers.
Rene lawrence
After reading all the responses to this story, as well as the story itself, of course, I find that the issue with "stuff" is more than just complicated. It's pathological. It's endemic to our society. The fact that most people use quotation marks around "stuff" and "junk" indicates that many of us are not at all sure how to define these things that we carry with us from home to home, place to place. Are the piles and boxes metaphors? Idioms? Waste? Placekeepers? What?
They are most certainly indicators of the wasteful culture to which we all contribute some measure of maintenance. In societies where people depend upon the immediate physical world for their survival, we would not expect to find excessive collection or hoarding behavior. There would be no need for it. In fact, it would hinder day to day activity for at least two reasons. First, simple movement and mobility would be hampered by the accumulation of many things (thus wasting energy), as would be the number of tasks that need to be performed simply to maintain the stash. Second, the acquisition of unneeded things reduces the availability of those same things in the future, especially if they are perishable, in short supply, or diffficult to obtain in the first place.
But this mindset is so far from our consciousness that we must struggle even to find psychological and spiritual reasons to clean house. When it isn't made clear to us that ANY of the resources we wantonly consume are endangered, why should we be concerned about whether the things we already own have any use value, let alone psychological or spiritual ones. Just buy new stuff if you really need it. Perhaps this is why the hoarders, pack rats, collectors and stockpilers are often held in such broad social contempt, sometimes even by the offenders themselves. We are covertly taught that to hold onto things is to stagnate, to regress, to be quirky, unnatural, and maybe retro. Life, like fashion, keeps moving forward. Dont get left behind.
And while it is probably true that much of our stuff acts as an emotional battery, storing the old feelings and naive ideas of youth until we open boxes, closing the circuit once again, we should all be asking ourselves what our relationship is to "stuff" as a society. When we purge the closets and garages and feel lightened, enriched, empowered and renewed, we need to remember the binge that got us here in the first place. Not to mention that we rarely think about where it goes once it leaves our basement.
What is the "matter" with our relationships today? Are they comprised more of things than of relations? What exactly does the person who dies with the most toys win? That cliche has always bothered me because no one feels comfortable specifying the prize. It might now be clear, though, that to win means both that the deceased is absolved of the responsibility of stewardship of all that accumulated "stuff," and that the material, psychic, and spritual inheritance of our skewed system of resource consumption shall be passed to, and perpetuated by the winner's heirs.
Ezra Hozinsky
Architect
It's funny how, when things pile up, as mine do so well, how full of anxiety our spirits get. We don't actually miss the things we've gotten rid of, (better to give it, or sell it, if someone might find use in it) instead, in their place, without us even realizing it, arise new memories. The trick is knowing at the time one oogles and aahs at that neon beer sign, that it's really not necessary. Less is really more to begin with.
If we (or I guess maybe I mean myself) would not want so much...If we could somehow be less vain....If we didn't need to feel we are being judged on what we HAVE instead of ARE, spring cleaning would be more like sweeping leaves off of the porch instead of moving mountains.
Ingo Schweitzer
Digitial Systems Specialist
I wish I had seen this six months ago. We just had to buy a new house to cope with my wife's unending collection of 'anything', which filled an entire basement. And we still needed to trim stuff in order to move into a 3000 sq. ft. house.
Steve
My husband keeps almost everything, but even worse, once filed or "put someplace, he NEVER returns to it again, unless it's bill. I must admit, he pays all the bills, but barely on time. He could teach the "just-in-time" business people a thing or two, although they'd have no fingernails left.
The problem arises when "stuff" from years past has occupied space needed for contemporary items. The battle ensues when I must become the bad person push, pulling and tugging (and by thus time, screaming) to get the project started. I highly resent that I must get it started, then do most of the work to see that it reaches a conclusion. Once, about 3 years after his retirement, I removed some items he'd brought home, took them to work with me and discarded them. He's never missed them.
I thought I'd found a solution by allocating time each December to review and clear files, paper and computer, but nothing happens until I say, "Today we will..." and actually start the work.
This is our 37th year of marriage and I despair of ever resolving the problem or the clutter.
But I haven't learned to live (quietly) with it.
Georgia Burnette
Georgia Burnette
Retired Registered Nurse Administrator/Educator,now freelance writer, none
You don't need an actor/specialist to help you... for those who are 'ready' find your nearby Professional Organizer to assist you at www.napo.net. and remember, your favorite music in the background and a luxurious reward are great motivators!
Susan Sabo
Consultant
Makes me wonder how and if I could dump a trunk full of photographs and journals dating back to mid 60s when I moved to NYC? How does purging now in an attempt to reclaim space stand against wanting to preserve the span of your life?
Gail Rodgers
As a starting Industrial Designer, working for a HM Dealer, I have battled my way through my old college projects, memories, and the like, which to discard, which to save. Still, I am very fond of saving things in hope that they'll be used someday. So is my family.
We must be very conscious to distinguish garbage from memories. Memories are valuable, and help us achieve transcendence. On the other hand, garbage will always be garbage! So forget about saving old stuff and, if possible, allow others to benefit from it, by organizing garage sales (even though they aren't that common down here in Mexico), or the like.
This is my advice: the best day to clean things up is the day in which you are tired of looking at all that space you need, invaded by garbage and memories. Be ruthless, and throw away all you can, even some memories (especially those which do not allow us to move on).
And remember: do this out of the sight of others, or your efforts will be useless, since they will try to convince you to keep as much garbage as possible, closing the non-desired cycle of cleaning up / keeping it for a little while.
Regards,
Aldo.
Aldo
The Ultimate Solution, Pavilion M&A
This is the second time your articles have hit home so hard. The first one was the article about moving closer to family members. Needless to say, I have just moved (near family members) and I am going to clear out what I have hoarded for so many years.
Can't wait for the next article.
Gloria
The excesses are more a symptom rather than the problem. Until time and self are looked at in more than the ordinary way, the shadows will just change form. Reading the piece about getting rid of baggage as a metaphor, it becomes tempting to build on.....perhaps the new spaces created will echo deeper inside.
Steve
Steve Lamberg
Great article! People often think that clearing out "old junk" is just a matter of effort, and don't realize the psychological effect. This is often why we put it off, because we know it will drain us physically and mentally. I have been putting off going through my Mother's things (she died three years ago) because I can only give it about two hours before I am emotionally spent. Now I realize that the longer I keep putting it off, the longer I will prolong the closure process. Thanks for the wake-up call!
Kate Migliaro
Project Coordinator, The Turnage Company
My husband, the man of my dreams, is a pack-rat. I could fill one suitcase and our dog and move on without looking back. It is our only area of contention.
I thought I was making progress. My husband had finally gotten rid of the 70+ old computer monitors stacked like a sculpture against one basement wall. Then my father-in-law, another nefarious pack-ratter passed away. In visiting his old home, 250 miles away from ours, I found the sculpture had simply been relocated.
I have been told that the one one who has the most stuff wins. I think my revenge may be to die first but then the "stuff" will all fall to the children. Perhaps this is their punishment for not cleaning their rooms. Oh how harsh a punishment it will be!
Mary Wood
retired
My mother keeps everything. She's pushing 80. I am 35. When I return home, I can barely keep myself from cleaning house, literally. She gets upset when I start doing this, so I try to reason with her, usually to no avail, then convince her at least to dispose of the 25 year old Kentuck Fried Chicken buckets that are neatly stacked in the basement closet. "Oh, I might use those," she says. "Mom, they've been there for twenty-five YEARS." I'm going to send her this story. She's pretty cheap though, and would never in a million years actually PAY for someone to remove the clutter.
James McWethy
This is exactly how I've been feeling--especially the part about the passage of time at this mid-point in my life (and with my children nearly grown) providing intimations of mortality. Sobering--which I didn't expect--and well-said. My mother's theory is that time seems to speed up because each year a year is a proportionately smaller part of your life: When you're four, a year is a quarter of your life--if not a lifetime, a hefty chunk! Compared to a year as 1/45th of your life, for example. . . . I take issue, though, with the notion that a mere 6 jars of chocolate sauce comes close to a lifetime supply. . . .
Edith Pierce
This was so well written. Perhaps I will feel less guilt when I take on my closets and try to live a sparer life. After all, less is more.
Kathleen Webber
freelance writer, The Philadelphia Inquirer Home and Design
Hilarious! And painfully true. Even though the inside of my home doesn’t look like a photo out of a DWR catalog, it is pretty minimal. I have to credit this to moving every 3-4 years and taking “inventory”. I’ve been lucky to have practiced an annual pitch, toss and give-a-way. On the opposite end, I was recently at a party, when someone mentioned they were planning to move, they said: “I wish I could just close the door and leave all of those piles of stuff behind!”
~barbara
Designer
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