I tried decluttering and realized I love everything I own

This piece was originally published on Feb. 21, 2019.

Around me lies a wasteland of triangular shrapnel. To my chest I clutch a T-shirt emblazoned with "Broke is the new Black." Somewhere deep down I feel something, in the very centre of my being. A flicker. A spark. I close my eyes and mouth the word "joy."

I, like many others, have been bamboozled into tidying up. It is not going well.

I should have seen this coming. When I binged the Netflix series Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, I knew in order to see a benefit even remotely similar to the show's participants I would have to overcome of my history of maximalism. I love stuff unabashedly.

Still, I dreamt of myself dressed all in white, my home an expanse of open space with a small, curated collection of possessions.

But it was exactly that: a dream; one I don't think will come true.

The theory behind the show (and preceding book) is simple: divide your home into five categories and systematically hold each item you own and ask yourself, "Does this spark joy?" You discard what doesn't and let the magic begin.

My problem? Everything is sparking joy.

I began as Kondo instructed. Like the zen minimal sorceress that she is, Kondo asks you to thank your home for the protection it offers.

"Hey girl!" I said to my house (using my home's preferred gender). "Thanks for keeping me so warm and safe." Then I added, "Sorry for messing up your insides so bad."

Clothing

Sowhat if I haven't worn this velvet blazer since that Christmas party in 2007. The last time I did I was drunk and texted a guy I definitely shouldn't have. It's a daily reminder hanging in my closet of bad decisions. If I condemn it to the landfill, will I be condemned to repeat my mistakes? Better not try it.

Paper

I simply do not have a head for numbers and since oftentimes numbers are printed on paper I do my best to avoid them entirely. Still, I have a system. I bundle. I know the papers to renew my health card are in the pile with the red wine stains. My (unopened) credit card statements for this year are in the box with the Golden Girls wrapping paper. If the system isn't broken, I am not about to fix it.

Books

Sacrilege is throwing out any book no matter how terrible. I keep the romance novel my childhood neighbour wrote alongside Wuthering Heights. That's next to Agatha Christie, which is next to my Richard Simmons tapes. Each brings me joy in different ways. Am I just to part with these because I will never read them or watch them? If I throw out everything that serves no purpose, I'm afraid I'll find myself out on the street waiting for the trash collector.

Miscellaneous

Kondorefers to this category as Komono. It's the word to describe the catch-alls for clutter like kitchens, bathroomsand all the in-between places. Stuff piles up on my coffee table. Since everything there seems useful, instead of tossing stuff I employ the organizational trick Kondosuggests: using larger containers to collect and store smaller items. So, into a glass bowl I place: a length of rope, a clown doll, a jade face roller, two novelty watches, and a pair of handcuffs.

Mementos

If there is one area of this entire endeavour that made me squeamish it was addressing this category. I have a heritage of hoarders. My ancestors have used out-buildings to store their collections of mementos. Things flock to me. I receive things as gifts. Significance is sprinkled on them by their giver. How will I assess my self-worth if I cannot point to a physical object and say, "They love me this much!"I won't give up on receiving things, so I simply organize my tchotchkes in a pleasing manner.

With five categories down, hundreds of items hugged and placed back somewhat more haphazardly than they were in the first place, my home is the antithesis of zen. But what I have opened my eyes to is the life changing magic of loving your stuff.