One Project to Rule Them All
Honestly, the majority of my time back in California was consumed by one project: cleaning my room. It might seem pathetic to devote so much time to cleaning and sorting and instead of doing the amount of spontaneous adventures or crafting that I wanted to do, but I've decided that it was worth it.
Until this winter, I had not lived in my room at my parents house for more than a few days at a time since I moved away for college almost seven years ago. Over the course of those years, I've managed to move about 12 times. During this process, my room back home turned into a glamorous storage unit with an unbeatable price. By the time I moved back for a few months at the end of December, the unit contained just about everything I've chosen to keep throughout the 25 years of my life.
I could hardly walk to my bed let alone access anything else in my room. For about a week I slept on the couch because it was just easier.
I got to work quickly, but the work didn't go quickly. First, I went through my clothes, cutting down about 60% of my wardrobe. Then I went through all the rest of my stuff, removing most things I hadn't used in the past six months and didn't have significant sentimental value. Box after box, shelf after shelf, drawer after drawer.
Once I could even remotely move freely, I rearranged the furniture. Eventually I could see the surfaces of everything in the room, and then I cleaned them, washing or polishing the floor, dresser, nightstands, shelves, walls, windows, everything. My sister and I even repaired a damaged piece of sheet rock in my ceiling.
At the end of it all, I had a yard sale with my sister at her house, which was really more like a giveaway. Everything we didn't get rid of then and there was donated to a local thrift store. Now when I'm in my room, even though I no longer see all of the things I once owned, I know that they still exist and have only been displaced. I'm halfway convinced the whole thing was actually a long and painful experiment to prove the law of conservation of mass or something.
Granted interruptions, I took about a month to complete all of the work, but the time spent gave me the chance to identify several of my reactions to the project. At times I had a mild struggle with the idea of purpose as I defined inanimate objects as useful or useless in the context of my life. Occasionally, there was a sense of disgust with myself for consuming and hoarding more eagerly than I had ever imagined. This was quite an interesting way to make me recognize my gratitude for my apparent privilege and the ability to take responsibility for my concessions. Mostly, I feel extremely mindful of my own presence, the things in which I invest, and ultimately what I choose as the evidence of my existence.
Until this winter, I had not lived in my room at my parents house for more than a few days at a time since I moved away for college almost seven years ago. Over the course of those years, I've managed to move about 12 times. During this process, my room back home turned into a glamorous storage unit with an unbeatable price. By the time I moved back for a few months at the end of December, the unit contained just about everything I've chosen to keep throughout the 25 years of my life.
I could hardly walk to my bed let alone access anything else in my room. For about a week I slept on the couch because it was just easier.
I got to work quickly, but the work didn't go quickly. First, I went through my clothes, cutting down about 60% of my wardrobe. Then I went through all the rest of my stuff, removing most things I hadn't used in the past six months and didn't have significant sentimental value. Box after box, shelf after shelf, drawer after drawer.
Once I could even remotely move freely, I rearranged the furniture. Eventually I could see the surfaces of everything in the room, and then I cleaned them, washing or polishing the floor, dresser, nightstands, shelves, walls, windows, everything. My sister and I even repaired a damaged piece of sheet rock in my ceiling.
At the end of it all, I had a yard sale with my sister at her house, which was really more like a giveaway. Everything we didn't get rid of then and there was donated to a local thrift store. Now when I'm in my room, even though I no longer see all of the things I once owned, I know that they still exist and have only been displaced. I'm halfway convinced the whole thing was actually a long and painful experiment to prove the law of conservation of mass or something.
Granted interruptions, I took about a month to complete all of the work, but the time spent gave me the chance to identify several of my reactions to the project. At times I had a mild struggle with the idea of purpose as I defined inanimate objects as useful or useless in the context of my life. Occasionally, there was a sense of disgust with myself for consuming and hoarding more eagerly than I had ever imagined. This was quite an interesting way to make me recognize my gratitude for my apparent privilege and the ability to take responsibility for my concessions. Mostly, I feel extremely mindful of my own presence, the things in which I invest, and ultimately what I choose as the evidence of my existence.
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