Coming Out of the Closet, Bag & Box #3
Week #3 as a client navigates the streamlining process.
Reality
Has anyone noticed how late this post is? It’s my fault, of course. Miriam
couldn’t be more patient. I, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a
procrastinator.
I also couldn’t be more of an optimist, carrying within me the constant
belief that come tomorrow each minute of the day will carry within it more
seconds during which I’ll accomplish the world. Miriam, on the other hand,
doesn’t put a lot of stock in what we can do tomorrow. She’s more dedicated,
in a slightly cynical fashion, to what we can do right now. Optimistic
sentiment, and sentimental attachments have nothing to do with Miriam’s
agenda. According to my husband, if Miriam were in charge of the
Smithsonian, all they would have on display is last week’s cell phones.
But I jump ahead of myself… Another sign of a disorganized, overly
optimistic procrastinator whose time management skills come in slightly
below her ability to follow routines.
My third session with Miriam: I was home, and we’re still focused on the
same room. Just as I’d thought I’d be able to move forward by myself I found
myself terrified at the thought of messing up all the work we’d done. I
realize now that my goal, looking forward, is to reach a point where I carry
Miriam’s attitudes and voice within me, and I can access it at will. Like
learning how to play an instrument, I need to practice with my teacher until
the right attitude and technique is internalized the thinking and do it on
my own.
But it’s easier said than done. And it takes longer than you might think.
Regarding my own progress, I’m not even close: I’m only just coming to terms
with what I’m dealing with. I suspect it’s more than clutter.
The task at hand is a lot like being on a personal archaeological dig. I’m
unearthing layer after chronological layer of my life: old jobs, parenthood,
marriage, broken hearts, learning what I’m good at (and not so good at),
college, life at home, childhood… Sifting through it takes time and
fortitude, conviction and guidance.
If Miriam had a cattle prod, she would have used it on me throughout our
session. I kept on getting bogged down in the details, stuck, as a I pored
over twenty year’s worth of creative writing that — even after all this
time — was pretty darn good. Three boxes of old correspondence. Notes
stuffed in pockets of jackets I’d last worn as a student in NYC. Performance
reviews. Daycare accident reports and snack menus. The list goes on. And on.
And on. Things that I, for many years, believed held tremendous documentary
significance. And now, now… I still want to hold on to it… I want these
moments of reading a note I’d forgotten about and being transported to
different times, different “me”s.
Miriam: Are you keeping it because it’s proof you were somebody, or because
it jazzes you up?
Me: uh, uh… that’s kinda harsh? Like, there are things with true sentimental
value, things I actually cherish.
Miriam: Those are the things that jazz you up. Like your old writing. But
other stuff? Instead of being yourself now you’re weighing yourself down
with literal baggage of who you used to be.
And, again, we go from trying to get organized to facing some tough
likelihoods. Like, the stuff in this room isn’t here because I wanted to
keep it. It’s here because I couldn’t bear to get rid of it. Stuff here
wasn’t stored. It was abandoned. Stuff here holds clues to who I am and who
I might have been, and who I could maybe be in the future but I haven’t the
time or bandwidth to listen to it or learn from it. Instead it just gets
buried. And instead of inspiring and pushing me and my family forward, it
nags at me and keeps me in this stuck limbo of misplaced allegiance.
As I write this I realize that I’ve not quite figured it out. There’s
something here, though, between Miriam’s cavalier and slightly cynical
ability to simply toss everything in site into the ginormous garbage bags
we’ve been using to collect both donations and trash, to my final plea of “I
can’t deal with this now,” as I referenced a box of letters to and from
friends and family that correlated to a very difficult, transitional point
in my life.
That box of letters is still sitting in the middle of the room, untouched.
It reminds me of the scene in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark,
when they opened up the Ark and everyone’s faces melted.
Session three, then, had me dealing with fear and anxiety and a sneaking
suspicion that the behavior that created this room is more self-destructive
than I originally thought.
It finds me asked now, about all things: Is that a reflection of a past life
that serves me well or just drags me down?
Miriam: Did you stop doing certain things and behaving in certain ways
because you didn’t like it and chose to stop, or was it circumstantial? And
if you can answer that, can you see your way to the next step of who you
want to be?
I don’t know. I’m hoping the answer is “yes” but I’m not sure. And I’m
praying that, regardless, part of the answer is “better late than never.”
But I don’t know. Yet.
Tags: behavior, clutter, moving forward, organizing, reflection, sentimentality, Simplifying
I didn’t realize I come across as that cynical. I see it more as helping people reach their full potential without the weight of stuff and unrealistic expectation.
-Miriam
Not sure if “cynical” is the word I would use, but perhaps the phrase, “heavy dose of reality that [she] needs to knock into us, and for which you are paying her.” Miriam is so attuned to human nature when it comes to hanging onto and avoiding clutter. She only wants what is best for us, and sometimes the approach and choice of words are probably harder to digest than we would like to think. Miriam has a no-nonsense approach that, I would agree, is cavalier. But her approach cuts to the chase, and that is so important for people with clutter.
That is the beauty of hiring a professional organizer–they are a disinterested third party, who can, hopefully, knock some sense into us.
I am enjoying this series of articles. I really liked the comment on the Smithsonian. Laughed my head off.