Plain and Cluttered: How much stuff is too much stuff?

A few weeks ago I visited a new friend's home. I got to see her bedroom, and what a lovely bedroom it was. Everything was white, save the blue, black, or gray accents that dotted the room. I felt I could breathe easy in that room. Then I took a look at her bookcase only to be struck with jealousy. "Oh," I thought, "She only owns the books that mean something to her." Immediately inspired I decided that it was about time I get rid of my clutter.

The very next day I attacked my bedroom. Well, actually. I wasn't attacking it. I was...healing it. The days and weeks before I'd been attacking it with my carelessness so...

The very next day I brushed away my bedroom's dusty wounds. I refolded clean clothes that had become a new rug over the rug I already had. I couldn't make my bed because it had to serve as a filing cabinet. There's a lot of stuff I have that may or may not be needed! Hey. Getting rid of things takes time. I mean, what if I accidentally throw out my social security card because it's stuffed in an old journal I didn't check?! HORROR!

Before I could touch my books I had to file away important documents, including sentimental trinkets, cards, etc. I picked out more clothes to donate. Then it was time to tackle the bookshelves and their books. And the floor's books. And the closet's books. Books, books, books. Everywhere. I don't even know why I own all these. Some of these books deserve to be burned.

I know. I'm a heathen. But seriously.

I was able to get rid of three trash bags worth of clothes, and four boxes worth of books. (I donated most of my children's literature and ESL textbooks to an English teacher I know.)

I looked at my books and clothes and was disgusted. Ah! I have so much crap.

Not that Anna Karenina is crap. It isn't! I love all things Tolstoy, but really, I haven't touched that book since I bought it. I would've been much better off borrowing it from the library or a friend. I don't need to own all the books recommended to me.

Yeah, I still want to have a personal library, but as of now, I've neither the space nor income to merit starting a library now.

All my donation bags are still sitting in the back of my trunk, waiting to be donated. My bedroom still isn't entirely clean.

I told my friend (with the inspirational bedroom) about my cleaning adventure. She thought it was a great idea. How she'd done that a couple years back. Then she asked this: "How is it that I still have to buy new [things, like clothing]? How is it that I still have to get rid of stuff after already getting rid of stuff?"

I immediately thought of third world countries, well, not just third world countries. Just as every third world country may entertain first world conditions, every first world country ignores its third world citizens.

How much stuff is too much stuff?

In spite of third world conditions some of those families are much happier with little to nothing than people who live in penthouses. They don't seem to have to hashtag their first world problems.

Now, I'm a bit of a pack rat. As much as I admired my new friend's simple, plain bedroom I also admire my old friend's thrift shop bedroom. When I walk into my old friend's bedroom I feel as though I find new treasures every time. I'm a lot like my old friend: sentiment overwhelms us. But I'm a lot like my new friend: clutter is still clutter.What sentiments do I still want? Besides, some sentiments were set on fire (by those with whom I share the sentiment) before I could even decide whether or not I should maintain sentimental feelings.

Sentiment has no practical value. But practicality without sentiment is still cold enough to burn.

There are still things I want to buy that I'll probably donate again, so...why do I want to buy them?

"How is it that I still have to get rid of stuff after already getting rid of stuff?"

I am in constant excess. I cannot possibly have so much attachment to so much material that I couldn't remember owning anyway.

No, I'm not entering survival mode. I am aware that I should be grateful I don't have to survive; I should be grateful I can thrive. But I must also live as though I am aware of others.

I ain't keepin' up wit' no Joneses...or Kardashians for that matter.

I don't know how much stuff is too much stuff, but I think it's a telltale sign to get rid of it if I haven't used it in a while. Two years of uselessness is a telltale sign.

Okay. I'm going to finish cleaning out my room now! It'll be Pinterest worthy, I think :D

When it rains,

I have a feeling that I'm today is not going to be productive. It can't be, what with the heavens crying!- they need my sympathy. I need to hear their every little moan. I need to make sure the thunder giants don't step so heavily on them (although, I am all about thunder and lightning, so, thunder giants, stomp as loudly as you want).

There's the lightning.





Do you hear that, earth?
The heavens try to speak to you.
Earth, have you nothing to say? But listen to all these complaints and questions and statements and joys!
Say something in return!
Oh, I can't speak for you.
I don't know how to!
But these heavy downpours water your parched ground.
Perhaps, earth, your thank yous are whispers
like wind which toss clouds to and fro.
Your thank yous might be plants eating from the sun.

My thanks you?
I think my admiration might suffice.
But if I stare for too long, you let me know.
Let me know when I've fallen asleep to the sound of your conversations.
I don't mean to be rude,
but I don't understand you.
Make a clap of thunder!
Splatter me with water!
I will awake, I promise you.
I'll thank you for waking me.

Do you hear that, heavens?
I can understand how it rains.
Maybe even why it rains.
But I'll never know how or why what's beyond your clouds.

Yes, I am small.
Thanks for reminding me,
but thanks for including me.