*Amanda clambers out from beneath the rock she’s been living under for 2.5 weeks*
Today, for the first time in months, I purchased something for myself. A real, actual, tangible, physical thing.
It has been almost two years since I started my decluttering journey and aspired to live a simpler life with less stuff.
Ironically, I’ve probably thought more about my belongings in the past two years than I ever had before—once you become aware of the clutter, it’s impossible to ignore. But the way I was thinking about my stuff had shifted; instead of wanting more, I was taking a hard look at whether the things I owned were helping me lead the life I wanted to live.
Anyone who’s ever stared down an overstuffed closet or disorganized storage room knows decluttering fatigue is a real thing.
Just like a distance runner is more exhausted at mile twenty-five than he is at mile two, we can only go through so many of our childrens’ broken Barbie dolls or old books before we’re ready to collapse in the middle of the floor and never get up again.
Earlier this week, I received two inquiries from two different friends within about 20 minutes of each other asking the same thing: how do you get rid of books?
Over the weekend, I helped my boyfriend move from Kansas City, Missouri, to his new home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, where he’ll be starting grad school this fall. I use the term “help” generously, because he moved all of his necessary belongings in four boxes, two carry-ons and a laptop bag with almost no assistance from me. And for about $1,000.
How’d he do it? The answer is simple.
A few weeks ago, I spent an entire weekend cleaning.
From Saturday morning to Sunday night, I waged war against the dust bunnies in my bedroom—vacuuming, dusting, tidying, doing laundry, wiping counters, and aggressively scrubbing my toilet. By the end of my cleaning marathon, I was lying exhausted on freshly laundered sheets in my pristine bedroom, proud of the progress I had made. But when all was said and done, there was one thought nagging at the back of my mind: Was there something better I could have done with that time?