‘The best way to choose what to keep and what to throw away is to take each item in one’s hand and ask: “Does this spark joy?”’ – Marie Kondo
I’m a bit late to this particular party, but read pretty much all of Ms Kondo’s fascinating book during a pleasant, somnolent afternoon in the African bush not so long ago. It led me to a number of conclusions:
- As a child of the ‘make do and mend’ generation, hoarding has been an inevitable and unfortunate default of mine for my entire life. I am way behind the Kondo curve here. Dang!
- Things that do not ‘spark joy’ currently include: the electricity bill, morning traffic, something sinister stewing in it’s own juice in the bottom drawer of the fridge, Brexit and the continuing white noise of political parties tearing each other to shreds while perpetuating bare-faced lies and nonsense. Can we ditch the lot please? (I fear only the third comes within the borders of my responsibility today.)
- Things which do spark joy include old family photographs, cheese of most varieties, the mute button, green fields and Big Band jazz. All of these are welcome in increasing proportions.
- More specifically, how in the world did this Queen of de-cluttering manage to write a whopping 250 pages on the (surely) straightforward topic of tidying…??!!! I mean, really; how hard can it be?
- Even more mind-boggling, how in the big, wide, crazy world did she then make an $8 million (yes, you read that correctly) business out of helping other people throw away their junk/clutter? I am fairly certain that I could offer significantly better rates. Feel free to get in touch…
- As an inveterate room re-arranger in my youth – my poor parents never did know where my bed might have been moved to in the course of a weekend, and consequently cringed every time they heard the wardrobe being dragged protestingly yet again across the floor overhead – why did no one ever tip me off that this could be the door to making my own fortune?
It’s no secret that it’s always easier to navigate the accumulated detritus of others than it is your own. Just recently I have had the unenviable task of reducing the contents of my old childhood home, on behalf of my Mum, by blasting through everything my Dad left behind since he went to party with the angels last year. With characteristic foresight, and in a somewhat misguided effort to make this task easier for us, he had dedicated a great many hours to ‘filtering’ it himself. However, it appears that rather than lob, chuck, donate, burn, recycle or gift any of this, he had carefully separated and, with infinite care, bagged it all up before attaching (sometimes quite complex) labels, describing the content. Thus I came across several pairs of lamb’s wool socks complete with receipts from 1981, proclaiming the softness and durability thereof. Elsewhere various articles of bedding (some brand new) were adorned with sticky note instructions for which bed and which season they were most suited. Ever the scientist, his attention to detail and the multiplicity of potential outcomes for use of each item was evident throughout, leaving me torn between laughter and tears. I quailed at the discovery of notes he had made from a thousand sermons or from talks he had prepared for students and the like, dating back to the 1950’s. They may not have ‘sparked joy’ for me but I couldn’t bring myself to throw those away anyway and so left it to my bolder and older sister to bite the bullet on that one.
But, I comforted myself, it could have been worse. I once saw a television programme in which some unfortunate presenter was sent to the home of an inveterate hoarder and recluse. She had to, literally, climb over huge piles of black bin bags, newspapers dating from 1937, a collection of prehistoric condiments, batteries, jam jars, crotchet hooks and a host of other junk before making contact with the petrified owner. That is next level mayhem from anything I dealt with in Surrey, or that Ms Kondo seems to tackle; although perhaps even the prospect of getting to grips with it all would ‘spark joy’ for her. I imagine it probably would be enormously gratifying to clear it all and discover whether the carpet had (possibly) survived its years of darkness beneath the debris of a rather peculiar life. On the other hand, now I come to think of it, sparking a match might be an even more gratifying solution and save a considerable amount of time…
‘Sparking joy’ is a strange concept for me in this context. I have, however, often speculated on the difference between happiness and joy. The former seems to me to be dependent mostly on circumstance, and so could be tracked on a graph as a series of highs and lows aligning with moods, red bills, celebrations, purchases of bargains, discoveries of vermin (it’s happened), Fridays, get togethers, punctures, fresh scones, Instagram ‘likes’ etc, as well as being inversely proportional to the pile of ironing.
Joy however, is made of sterner stuff I think. It undergirds those changing circumstances serving as a deep and solid foundation which doesn’t alter. Unlike Ms Kondo, I don’t associate it with material things; ‘stuff’. Indeed, ‘stuff’ seems to be a flimsy basis for an emotion which can be so quietly reassuring and all-encompassing; besides, this definition instantly relegates most of the developing world into an eternally joyless existence. That can’t be right. No, I believe that true joy is a deep, solid, foundational thing that either does or doesn’t undergird all of life, and which won’t alter despite ever-changing circumstances. I associate it more with the certainties I find in places such as the unconditional love of my husband and family. I realise that this in itself makes me incredibly fortunate; it’s precious, and all too rare. I draw joy from the solace and regularity inherent in the rhythmic passing of the seasons; the unchangeable nature of something far bigger than myself. And even in the undeniable face of evidence that our poor, once pristine planet is struggling, the One who made it is not. Ancient words of lament written by someone who had known ‘affliction’ say:
‘In the beginning you laid the foundations of the earth,
and the heavens are the work of your hands.
They will perish, but you remain;
they will all wear out like a garment.
Like clothing you will change them
and they will be discarded.
But you remain the same,
and your years will never end.‘
This reminds me that whatever mayhem lies beyond my door – and let’s face it, that exists in increasingly epic proportions for all of us – some things are certain. The sun rises and sets; politicians come and go; fads and fancies ebb and flow, but the Creator is knowable and unchanging. There is strength to be found in such certainties which, I guarantee, will spark far more joy than simply turning out your cupboards ever will.
dancingthroughchaos 