I recently enjoyed a bit of a afternoon, cuddled in my cozy comforter, reading The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up by Marie Kondo. And wishing that the magic included an instant cure for winter weeds.
My son had also recently heard of Marie’s signature style so talking with him in between paragraphs was one of those sweet connect-our-realities moments. I know, I’m sappy.
And speaking of reality, I promised to share a couple of adaptations I made to the magic (of tidying up, that is).
Adjusting the Magic to Meet Reality
Adjusting a plan of a pro to the realities of, well, people like us is kind of like knowing a magician who can make an elephant disappear.
Don’t ask us to replicate his style. We can’t make an elephant appear in our living room, no less disappear!
Althoooough … my daughter does have mad elephant skills! She made this pachyderm appear out of an oatmeal container and duct tape at Ronald McDonald House in Colorado Springs.
His name is Sparkles.
And he went to Denver with her for medical treatments.
We have to start where we are, or we’ll never get anywhere.
The First Adaptation: No More Fell Swooping
Although my love of de-cluttering called strongly in response to Marie’s premise that each category of Too Much (ex. clothes or books) should be sorted in one fell swoop, the reality is my Fell Swooping Days are over, it seems.
We need to adapt the magic to fit the elephant that is in the room.
I made the first adaptation because:
So, instead of tackling all of my clothes at once, I tackled a drawer at a time.
I know it’s not Marie’s style, but it is my reality.
But I did follow her directions about how to choose what to keep and what to toss. Boy! Has that been helpful!
I won’t share her sorting details as I’m sure she’d rather you read her book. Check the public library, if you too are on a book budget.
The Second Adaptation
The second adaptation is a little less concrete, but just as important.
I must part ways with Miss Kondo concerning personal beliefs of animating unanimated objects.
My turtleneck doesn’t hear my praise of its being. It’s just a turtleneck.
Max, Eva and Skyfall
Although my vacuum cleaner has been named Max for a over a decade and my rice cooker’s name is Eva and our car is Skyfall, naming an inanimate object isn’t a belief in sentience; it’s a creative mind at work and play. And playing while at work.
It’s much more fun to vacuum with My Friend Max, than it is to guide an unnamed object around the floor sucking up last month’s yarn fuzz.
But I Still Want to Thank
I do find myself, after reading Marie’s book, wanting to thank, however.
So I direct my thankfulness to He Who Does Hear.
The Practical Application
While we’re folding clothes, one drawer at a time with plans to tackle the rest of the cottage one figurative drawer at a time, we can thank God for His provision. For His care.
As far as my vacuum is concerned:
I appreciate Max, but I am thankful to God for providing him, uh it.
What We’re Really After
Maybe it’s thankfulness we’re really after when we pare down our belongings to what we truly love.
Maybe those are the items we are truly thankful for.
And shouldn’t that be enough?