I want to live an uncluttered life.
Physically Emotionally Spiritually
It is a lot harder than it sounds. I don't really understand why making and keeping things simple is so complicated and challenging. Simple should just be that: simple.
One thing I have realized about myself, an organized person who is schedule- and routine-resistant, is that an uncluttered life comes from having a plan, setting some boundaries, making some lists, having some accountability. Although life with a fly-by-the-seater may be interesting; and I dare say, far more fun, sometimes I just have to re-group, slow down, and clean out the junk drawer.
I want to be surrounded by things I love, things that make me smile, things that serve a purpose, whether functional or emotional.
I am drawn to and long for the blank canvas of white.
If I took the time to analyze that, perhaps I would come to the conclusion that I am entering the winter stage of my life. Or, much more preferably, perhaps I am just starting a new chapter in which I can acknowledge the past without having it determine or set the course for the future.
Perhaps my love of all things white and its message of pure and clean and simple just confirms that I need to sift through all the stuff to see what truly serves me functionally or emotionally.
At this stage of my life, a lot of my story has already been written, and it has not been neat and tidy. It has been punctuated with bold pops of color and woven with textures and patterns. Lots of colors and textures and patterns. It's been messy at times and not at all uncluttered.
There were kids and pets and moves and projects--oh, so many projects--oh, so many kids. There were heartaches and heartbreaks and times of defeat. And there were celebrations and laughter and times of success. And all of those things that make up what we call memories are either tied to our stuff or hidden behind our stuff.
The truth of the matter is though that the stuff is not the memory. The memory is the memory. And at my age, I want to spend time with the memories and not the stuff.
But the creative rebel in me cannot be put in a neat little white box as much as a part of me craves it. I don't care if I am getting older, I still want to live life in color.
I don't want to have to throw it all away to declutter my life. I still need those supplies and collections and even the junk in my shed; because when my friend, Inspiration, shows up, challenging me to put on my clever, I have to have something to work with.
Giving up my creative stuff would be like asking my brother, the chef, to give up his spices. Oh, may it never be.
Since I am not ready to retire from living life creatively, I am not ready to live in a white world. I will have to strike a deal, to come up with a compromise. And so I will make my list. I will spend some time organizing the stuff I need.
And I will evaluate what truly makes me smile. And I will make a conscious decision about just how many sea shells one needs to keep--just in case.