It started with deleting the dating app from my phone.
Snapping out of the dating trance I had mindlessly gotten sucked into that had me endlessly swiping on possible future fantasy husbands on Hinge, there I stood squinting, looking around at the surroundings I call home, when it dawned on me, I needed to be sweeping not swiping. And not just sweeping. Purging.
Now mind you, you wouldn’t know it right away if you came to my home that I live on the edge of what might qualify as hoarding. I mean my place presents as clean and neat with space and light. Apparently, that is all an illusion. Open a closet, a dresser drawer, or the convenient storage space outside my front door. Then it is Whoa, Nelly!
It had gotten to the point where there is no room to stuff one more thing. At one point I recall giving myself a rule, if something new comes in, something old must leave. Unfortunately, that did not last long.
And so, that is how these last few weeks I went from no longer living on the verge to the time has come to clean and purge.
Overwhelmed by where to start and not taking heed from the experts on eliminating clothing first, paper last, I decided to start by going through hundreds if not thousands of photographs packed into 14 shoe boxes, going through real printed out photographs (remember those?) …the original swiping.
Well, let me tell you, hours upon hours, evening upon evening, I sat sifting through the paper version of visual memories of a life that brought me to this moment. And as always, it was inevitable, I got sidetracked.
In the throes of it all I stopped and began looking up online if half the people in these photos still existed, and if they did, where they might be now. Then the thought occurred, wouldn’t it be fun to surprise contact them after 30 years and send them a photo of themselves they probably never knew existed. So, yes, that’s what I did. I must admit, it was a trip, at least from my end.
Most people were more than happy to hear from me and see their younger pre gray self, though I didn’t dare ask if my ex-husband’s wife felt the same surge of fun as I sent her now husband photo upon photo of the life he left behind. I did though ask his permission before bombarding him with an avalanche of photos he never bothered to take in his excitement to leave me for her.
Once I finished that task, which ultimately ended getting it down to nine shoeboxes from the original 14, I started to feel I was somewhat getting the hang of letting go.
That is until I opened the hall closet doors, kitchen cabinets, and then, holy moly, my clothes closet. At that point I realized I was literally in over my head and needed to enlist the help of a non-partial friend whose taste I admire and who happens to be a minimalist. A good match since I would most probably land somewhere in the middle.
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As we waded through object upon object, shelf upon shelf, it dawned on me how much money I have spent over the course of the last thirty-two years since the day I moved to Nashville with hardly anything more than a futon, my guitar, a bag of clothes, music equipment and a computer.
Granted, while I pride myself on having the uncanny ability to hunt down a great yard sale, thrift store, and or sales in general, when I started doing the basic calculations in my head of all the, what now seems like unnecessary purchases, all this clutter started to feel like a hundred pound weight on my spirit and it became way too apparent how it happened that I never saved the million dollars my accountant said I would have saved by this point if I started investing in my twenties. Regret is 20 20 hindsight.
However, now was no time for regret. And seriously, what good would it do me anyway.
Right now, all I wanted to see is the back wall of an open closet.
I must say, I give my helpful friend a lot of credit. Not only is she a good listener hearing me go on and on with story upon story of each object being tossed into the save, keep or toss bin, she carries no judgement, and has way more patience than I’d ever have in her shoes…which, by the way, I’ve gotten rid of several pairs, though none of the kitten heels. Some things are sacrilegious.
I can truly say I’ve learned a lot about myself in this process. First off, I have pretty good taste with a hint of the weird and eclectic thrown in for good measure. I love marble and things made from wood…as my old yard sale friend reminded me, as one who has witnessed me practically jumping out of cars screaming, “Wood!” when I’d spot something half a block away while driving with her on yard sale Saturday mornings.
I’ve also come to realize how much I’ve grown. As much as I love beautiful things, I’ve come to realize, how little of them I now need to experience joy. It seems I may have collected a lot of fun but unnecessary objects to bring me a sense of comfort and security. Maybe to take my mind off certain hardships at the time.
I’ve grown to appreciate a calm space. Free from clutter, inside and out.
And so, while I’ve put dating on hold for a time, I have a feeling, when I meet someone down the line, I can feel confident there’s going to be a lot more space. More closet space for their things, and a whole lot more space inside me.
