Cleaning My Closet is Making Me Weep

 If you subscribe to the Marie Kondo method, or have read the many books on “Decluttering”, you know that the act of letting go of stuff is supposed to make us feel happier, somehow liberated. My husband and I are in the process of readying our house for sale.  We’ll be moving (eventually) into a new house that myhusband is building. Nothing about this process has been easy.  Like so many, we have a lifetime of accumulated stuff, of detritus.  We’ve set deadlines and are slowly, doggedly going through our belongings and unloading.  We have taken countless trips already to our local donation center.  We participated in “Thetford Free Day” last weekend when our whole town was invited to put stuff at the end of our driveways to give away for free.  We had some choice items that were snatched up quickly and the rest was driven to the donation center in town.
 

A particularly gnarly task was going through our linen closet and winnowing down our ridiculous collection of sheets and towels.  How could we possibly have accumulated so much stuff?  One answer to that question is that we have not been good at throwing things out. Perhaps this is a Vermont thing.  As an example, we’ve held onto the extra-long sheets that our kids needed for their dorm room at UVM. Don’t ask me why. 

 

I will admit that as we have removed clutter from our living spaces, I have felt some relief and a feeling of expansiveness.  But today’s project has really taken its toll.  While I do regularly weed out my closet and give clothes away, I have also held onto a lot of items “just in case”.  The “just in case” category includes mostly clothing that I just might need for a show or a concert.  Our lifestyle in Vermont does not allow for much getting “dolled up”.  The most we get dolled up is for weddings and/or funerals.  But I have used clothing from my closet in various plays and definitely have pulled things out when I was singing in the Gospel Choir at Dartmouth.  Each concert had a different color combination so it made sense to hold onto some colors that I don’t normally wear- think orange or pink. When I sang with my beloved acapella group, Custom Blend, we spent countless hours at rehearsal discussing our clothing choices for gigs. Many of those items are still in my closet. 

 

 Going through my shoe collection was particularly poignant for me.  I found a    pair of sandals that I had worn in a production of A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum.  I unearthed two pairs of tap shoes that I sported in a  production of Nunsense years ago. That was when I learned the basics of tap dancing. My elementary tap skills were disguised by the nun’s habits that we wore.  As long as we looked like we were tapping up top, what was happening to our feet could be a bit of a mystery. I found several pairs of character shoes, a staple for performing in musical theatre.  As I sat on the chair in my bedroom  surveying my pile of shoes, I stared down the hard truth.  After two brain surgeries, with ongoing issues with vision and balance, I will not likely be tap-dancing again soon.  Never say never.  But let’s be real.  I won’t be wearing those leather boots with a two-inch heel either. I’m a crocs and sneakers girl now.  I may not sing in a concert again either.  Now that I’m deaf in one ear, I have discovered that I have a much harder time staying in tune- at least in an acapella group.  How heartbreaking is that?  For me, it is truly heartbreaking.  

 

 It’s really hard to say goodbye to the things that have brought me such joy.    Marie Kondo tells us that before we throw them away, we must thank them for the way that they served us.  So here’s to my tap shoes and character shoes. Here’s to the dresses I wore in Our Town and in Working and in Five Lesbians Eating a Quiche. Each of these experiences brought me great joy indeed.  I think I’m going to hold onto the black sweatshirt I got after performing in the “booth” in CATS.  Sweatshirts fit my lifestyle today. 

 

Since our new house will not be ready for some months, I am reconciled to the fact that most of my belongings will be stored in our barn.  It may take years before I re-unite with them again.  But I can imagine my delight when the day comes and I open up my box of shoes and pull out the fabulous shoes I wore as the teacher in Working.  Some things are just too precious to unload.