Editing Your Style
With millions shuttered at home due to the Covid-19 pandemic, many people are finally getting around to those little organization projects they have been putting off for the last few presidential administrations, such as cleaning out the hall closet. When the country does reopen, every thrift store, charitable organization, and consignment shop is going to be bursting at the seams with fresh donations.
There several ways to sort through stuff. Some people keep only what “sparks joy.” Other people give away anything they haven’t used in more than one year. Still others edit by size or color palette. Some people remove anything with imperfections such as snags, pills, or stains; they are ruthless, decisive.
But some of us struggle: “I loved that back when it fit right.” “This will be perfect once I just get it tailored.” “Oh, I have so many happy memories with this.” And the biggest one of all, “Oh, but I paid so much for that.” We remember how hard we worked. We regret not using it to its full potential and hope we can recoup part of our effort. The twin links of hope and regret can chain us to a prison of stuff as surely as any jail fortress.
As an example, I was helping a friend sort through her closet a while back. She unearthed a buttery suede designer miniskirt that looked awfully small. She explained that she had bought it on sale and worn it once, but the next time she went to wear it, it no longer fit. She had been keeping it for years in case she ever returned to her former size. She decided to try it on to see how it was now. She stepped into the bathroom and I heard shuffling and soft grunts. “Well, how is it?”, I asked. “I got it up over my thigh with room to spare!”, she excitedly called out. Then she opened the door, laughing. The skirt was gently skimming one thigh. That laugh uncoupled her from the hope and regret she had attached to that skirt, and she confidently sent it on to a new home.
Two thoughts have been helpful to me. One is the idea sometimes we buy things for the person we aspire to be, not the person we actually are. We wish our style was this, we want to start doing that, we hope we can become… something other than exactly what we are right now. Of course, we change and grow. But if I bought the item or signed up for the membership or stocked up on all the supplies, yet never used them, and now they are encroaching on my space or finances or mental ease, maybe it’s time to let them go.
I am relentlessly optimistic and detest defeat or waste of any kind. In many cases this outlook is positive, but sometimes it holds me back. In third grade, I began embroidering a dresser scarf for my teacher. I planned to give it to her on the last day of school. I selected my threads in a palate of blues and eagerly started with the easy straight stitches. But I got discouraged by the difficult French knots. The school year ended. I thought I would finish it over the summer and give it to her on the first day of school. But I didn’t. I eventually moved the project off my dresser into my craft bin, and later banished it to a box under my bed. But I couldn’t bear to part with it. I finally finished it and gave it to my grandma as a Christmas present in eighth grade.
My perseverance was admirable. But I felt like a loser every time I moved the box or saw the skeins of embroidery thread. I would have been much better off to grieve the missed the opportunity and then move on a new, more suitable project.
The well- known mantra “I release what no longer serves me at this time” has recently become my inspiration. This phrase helps me acknowledge the benefit the item previously provided while also reminding me that it is actually a hindrance at this time. It urges me to value my time, my space, and my peace of mind. It whispers than I can give up something good, to get something better. It encourages me to take the best care of myself.
If you tackle a cleaning project, I wish you much success. Use it to refine your style, create more space for active projects. Move forward lighter, freer, and re-invigorated. And I hope every skirt you keep goes up over both your thighs.
Best,
Bethany Reeves
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© Bethany Reeves, 5/24/2020. All rights reserved.