It’s fall
now, but I’ve got that feeling in my bones that it’s time for a spring
cleaning. Time to purge, clear the old
stuff out, decide what to keep, wipe off the dusty surfaces, move things around.
Fall is my
spring. My favorite season. It’s a time for industrious activity before
the stillness, the hibernation, the settling in of winter.
So I begin
with my closet. I’ve decided to apply a
simple rule: If I haven’t worn it in two
years, it’s gone. Of course, there’s a
caveat for dresses. With fewer occasions
these days to wear a nice dress, the two-year rule isn’t quite right. For dresses, it’s five years. And…do I even like it anymore?
Interesting
how as I rifle through the T-shirts, blouses, shorts, skirts and sweaters I’m
thinking about why and when I acquired it.
What was going on in my life at the time? What impulse or insecurity or inspiration was
up for me when I adopted those jeans or that camisole as my own? Ah, there’s another rule. If the thought of “What was I thinking” comes
to mind, it’s destined for donation.
Cleaning can
be such good therapy. It’s a cheap,
feel-good way to lighten the load, spruce things up, make room for the new. Yet so often we put off and avoid the task
because it means reflection, making decisions, and yes, even taking a
risk. The risk that we might miss those
canvas wedgie shoes when they’re gone, even if they have been sitting on their
sides in the back floor of the closet collecting dust for ages.
Cleaning
requires our attention, demands our focus, invites hard assessment. Perhaps this is why there are so many pack
rats and hoarders in the world. They’re
just not up to the task. It’s too painful,
too huge, too overwhelming to let go and move on.
