muninnhuginn (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
muninnhuginn) wrote2015-03-31 02:38 pm
muninnhuginn) wrote2015-03-31 02:38 pm
Entry tags:
Thoughts on Gently Decluttering
Not intended as advice to anyone but myself (tho' if they offer some encouragement, all the better) and not the practical instructions, but the emotional ones, the things I've been doing that have made getting rid of stuff, even stuff with emotional resonances, easy, a pleasure even.
Some things are easy. The Gordian knots of cables that belong to gadgets that are themselves dead and already gone, go easily. Most are obsolete. Outdated paperwork (not done yet, because then I might have to tackle the more recent not-yet-filed paperwork) should be simple too. And a good filler for the hen house when we're out of straw.
Other things are hard. So hard. Sets of books with black spines (I used to shelve all of these together: Asimov, beside Donaldson, beside Norse sagas,...).
These are the ways I've found to make disposal less painful.
-Do it because you have decided to do it.
Having someone else, or an external situation, dictate that you have to get rid of personal belongings adds pressure, stress, and resentment. (I think, parenthetically, this is why I cannot get Looby Loo to tidy her bleeding bedroom.) Having the luxury of choosing to dispose of precious items or choosing not to makes all the difference here. Whilst it's true we are cluttered and untidy, this has been true for a very long time, and we haven't suffered unduly, so deciding to tidy up a bit isn't forced on me.
-Make the time to declutter slowly.
Enjoying the memories of when I bought a particular item of clothing, or when I wore it; finding the marginal notations (too many and the book gets binned or retained: yes some are so annotated as to be illegible) that tell me something about what I was thinking when I studied a book or improvised bookmarks that bring back memories; all these need to be savoured. I've even put some "bookmarks" back: if someone picks up the volume in the Oxfam or Amnesty bookshop, they might be amused.
-Don't remove too much stuff at once.
Practically, mistakes will be made, the wrong items discarded, or too much retained.
-Dispose of things you could replace.
My rather philistine culling of eighteenth and nineteenth century literature is fine: I can read these books via Project Gutenburg or get them free on Amazon. (If I can't access PG and Amazon long-term, I suspect there'll be more immediate concerns to worry about than a few missing books.)
-Give yourself a cooling off period.
The books go into boxes, the boxes sit in the living room for a week or so, the books go into the car boot. Only then do they go. I've not yet grabbed any back, but I could do.
-Keep a record of what's going.
I'm ensuring books are in LibraryThing, even if it means adding them for the first time now in order to immediately place them in the "gone but not forgotten" category.
I've photographed particularly important pieces of clothing: the infamous black raincoat, all stripy lining in the sleeves, deep v in the double-breasted front, huge shoulders pads, essence of late '80s.
I intend to photograph all the birthday and seasonal greetings cards before they go. Immensely kitsch, maybe; hugely sentimental; great fun, maybe, someday.
-Spread the joy.
If there are people you know who might like these cast-offs, or causes that you care about, it hurts less to give treasures to them.
I'm not yet, even though they clutter the wardrobe, disposing of my mother's dresses, made for her by her mother, even though I couldn't wear them some of them when I was in my teens and certainly not now. They're unique. I need to find somewhere that will care for them and the paper patterns they were cut from. Same with the old knitting patterns.
-Accept the sorrow.
Yes, it sometimes hurts to dispose of possessions. Recognising the sorrow of the farewell is part of the process. The careful, measured ritual helps with this.
-Emerge lighter, and changed a little (hopefully for the better).
There is something to be said for acknowledging what you are not going to become or be again--serious academic, maker of patchwork quilts, size 6, musician (no, I've not faced that one, yet)--and moving on. There's space for the other parts to flourish.
-Reward yourself.
Toast the disappearing possessions with good wine, or a strong cup of tea.
Decide that that newly-cleared space might need filling with some different, carefully chosen books. The gap in the wardrobe might mean new clothes. The reorganisation might mean it's possible to redecorate or consider different furniture. (We might, finally, stop sleeping on futon mattresses on a folded-down sofa bed and buy ourselves a proper bed.)
Some things are easy. The Gordian knots of cables that belong to gadgets that are themselves dead and already gone, go easily. Most are obsolete. Outdated paperwork (not done yet, because then I might have to tackle the more recent not-yet-filed paperwork) should be simple too. And a good filler for the hen house when we're out of straw.
Other things are hard. So hard. Sets of books with black spines (I used to shelve all of these together: Asimov, beside Donaldson, beside Norse sagas,...).
These are the ways I've found to make disposal less painful.
-Do it because you have decided to do it.
Having someone else, or an external situation, dictate that you have to get rid of personal belongings adds pressure, stress, and resentment. (I think, parenthetically, this is why I cannot get Looby Loo to tidy her bleeding bedroom.) Having the luxury of choosing to dispose of precious items or choosing not to makes all the difference here. Whilst it's true we are cluttered and untidy, this has been true for a very long time, and we haven't suffered unduly, so deciding to tidy up a bit isn't forced on me.
-Make the time to declutter slowly.
Enjoying the memories of when I bought a particular item of clothing, or when I wore it; finding the marginal notations (too many and the book gets binned or retained: yes some are so annotated as to be illegible) that tell me something about what I was thinking when I studied a book or improvised bookmarks that bring back memories; all these need to be savoured. I've even put some "bookmarks" back: if someone picks up the volume in the Oxfam or Amnesty bookshop, they might be amused.
-Don't remove too much stuff at once.
Practically, mistakes will be made, the wrong items discarded, or too much retained.
-Dispose of things you could replace.
My rather philistine culling of eighteenth and nineteenth century literature is fine: I can read these books via Project Gutenburg or get them free on Amazon. (If I can't access PG and Amazon long-term, I suspect there'll be more immediate concerns to worry about than a few missing books.)
-Give yourself a cooling off period.
The books go into boxes, the boxes sit in the living room for a week or so, the books go into the car boot. Only then do they go. I've not yet grabbed any back, but I could do.
-Keep a record of what's going.
I'm ensuring books are in LibraryThing, even if it means adding them for the first time now in order to immediately place them in the "gone but not forgotten" category.
I've photographed particularly important pieces of clothing: the infamous black raincoat, all stripy lining in the sleeves, deep v in the double-breasted front, huge shoulders pads, essence of late '80s.
I intend to photograph all the birthday and seasonal greetings cards before they go. Immensely kitsch, maybe; hugely sentimental; great fun, maybe, someday.
-Spread the joy.
If there are people you know who might like these cast-offs, or causes that you care about, it hurts less to give treasures to them.
I'm not yet, even though they clutter the wardrobe, disposing of my mother's dresses, made for her by her mother, even though I couldn't wear them some of them when I was in my teens and certainly not now. They're unique. I need to find somewhere that will care for them and the paper patterns they were cut from. Same with the old knitting patterns.
-Accept the sorrow.
Yes, it sometimes hurts to dispose of possessions. Recognising the sorrow of the farewell is part of the process. The careful, measured ritual helps with this.
-Emerge lighter, and changed a little (hopefully for the better).
There is something to be said for acknowledging what you are not going to become or be again--serious academic, maker of patchwork quilts, size 6, musician (no, I've not faced that one, yet)--and moving on. There's space for the other parts to flourish.
-Reward yourself.
Toast the disappearing possessions with good wine, or a strong cup of tea.
Decide that that newly-cleared space might need filling with some different, carefully chosen books. The gap in the wardrobe might mean new clothes. The reorganisation might mean it's possible to redecorate or consider different furniture. (We might, finally, stop sleeping on futon mattresses on a folded-down sofa bed and buy ourselves a proper bed.)
no subject
Photographs are really useful. I did a final parade of all my toy soldiers before disposing of them. I've just brought up the photo to remind me of the blue cowboys and purple arabs, much easier than finding the box.
no subject
I rather like the idea of lots of folk having their own digital archives.
I've never got round to cataloguing the not-owned but read works, but I'm trying quite hard to log short fiction, generally read online, along with novels. The picture's not complete without it.