12 Unusual Things to Clean, Organize, and Sort — To Let Go of The Past & Prepare For the New

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A few months ago, I started cleaning out unusual things. One bright Saturday morning, I woke to spent the day obsessively cleaning. Not frantically, and not hyperactively. But I did move steadily from one thing to the next, surprising myself with how much I could clean and how much these small, little things were calling me to be organized.

Do the big cleaning moves first

Last Spring, I had a copy of Marie Kondo’s bestselling The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, and we tackled several key projects over a couple of weekends. First were the clothes and closets, since those were easiest for me. We probably removed about half of our clothes and useless items that we weren’t actually using.

Next were the books (before | after), a tangible project that involved getting rid of about a third of our books. The result was surprising: everything on our bookshelves was something we loved, not something we thought we should be reading. Having a bookshelf of cherished collections instead of a bookshelf of admonitions about who you ought to be is surprisingly lightening. Your heart feels excited and eager, not weighty and oppressed. If each book were personified and the author came to life, shouting at you to read and reading quotes from the books to you, what would your space feel like? I want to be surrounded in warm quotes and delicious stories, in a way that feels like a pile of quilts, a cozy winter fire, and hot chocolate chip cookies.

Cleaning is best begun with big items first, big moves that feel concrete and tangible. We tackled the books over a weekend and felt a huge lift by the end. Some of the principles of Marie Kondo’s theory are:

  1. Discard first. First, throw things away. Get rid of things that don’t call to you. You can’t get clean and organized when you have too much stuff, and it’s stuff you don’t even want.
  2. Tidy by category. Pick a category to work on (clothes, books, papers, tools, kitchen) and work only on that. If you try to tackle everything, it’s overwhelming.
  3. Organize with care. When we store and organize things, it should be with pride. We should celebrate what we have and store it carefully.

Then we paused. We didn’t move directly to the next project. We enjoyed the summer, we got pregnant, we focused on our jobs and the work we were building.

When you’re not ready to start something new yet, sometimes you need to sort out the old. Sometimes it takes some reorganization and un-cluttering to freshen up your mind again.

More recently I’ve been cleaning, sorting, and organizing in small projects. It occurs to me that some people call this “nesting,” — but my desire to unpack, let go, and refresh has hit me in a way I haven’t seen before. Usually my cleaning begins with the big things: books, clothes, tidying up the surfaces.

Delicate, intricate, and unusual things to clean: small projects for an open mind

What’s different right now is the delicacy and intricacy of these cleaning projects — and how much they are re-organizing my mind as a result. Nothing seems to change on the outside (the house looks the same), but the refresh button in my brain lights up. I thought I’d share a few of these strange projects for your curiosity and inspiration.

The key here, however, is that this wasn’t rushed. Each of these projects took from an hour to a few hours, and I’ve been doing them as a way to start the day, or a weekend project. I take ten days off, then I dig into the next closet. They’re short and non-intensive. If the project starts to feel too large or burdensome, I’ve taken on too much.

Here are a few things to inspire you on your cleaning quest:

Radio stations

I spent an early morning hour walking through all of my Pandora stations and deleting everything I didn’t use. I had at least 60 or 70 stations and didn’t use most of them. The game involved playing a station, seeing if I liked the first song that came up, and deleting it if not. (In the case of a “meh,” I skipped ahead to the second song to verify.) Did I love the station? Did the name make sense? Delete, rename.

Socks

Over time, my socks pile up and crappy songs mingle with my favorite socks. I dumped the entire drawer onto a bed and ruthlessly got rid of everything that wasn’t a joyous favorite. Yes, joyous favorite! Did I LOVE putting them on? Alright, gone.

My sock drawer sings to me in the morning.

Underwear

Ditto: clean out all your crappy underwear. Chuck them. Get rid of things with holes, loose threads, or more. Chuck ’em. Buy new ones. Tingle. :)

All the crappy fridge bottles you never use

Open up your fridge. Look in the door. That weird maple-lemon marinade sauce you never use? The old soy sauce that’s crunchy on the edges? Chuck them all. Wipe it down. (Just the door! Not the entire fridge.)

Put all the loose books around your house back in their homes

Over a month or two the books wander off the shelves and take place on my nightshelf, my desk, my counter, the fireplace mantle, and other little bits and places. One morning I woke up and walked around the house and picked up all the books and placed them by the bookshelf. Back they go. Books have a home now.

Any old drafts in WordPress you’re not actively working on

Your makeup or medicine cabinet

The silverware drawer

We have lots of loose odds and ends. Go through and get rid of all those forks and spoons that don’t feel right. Unless you have a matching set already and you love it (we don’t), paring down can feel uplifting.

Tupperware

You know when you can’t find the lid to the tupperware? Chuck the unmatched pieces. Get rid of a stack of 16 little containers if you know you’ll only every use 1 or 2 at max.

Jewelry

I had so much fun laying out all of my jewlery across the bar counter and getting rid of half of it. I barely wear much at all, and all I need is a good pearly necklace and a few earring options. I made a pile to donate.

Your day bag or backpack

When was the last time you emptied your pack thoroughly? Marie Kondo says that your bag likes to be emptied every single day, because it gives it a chance to rest and breathe. I do it about once a week and I’m always surprised to find what stowaways are hiding out in there — bonus kleenex packs, nut bars, and other nick-nacks. Give it a good clean-out and feel lighter (literally) tomorrow.

Your card collections or pen collections

Ever stash away too many pens? Have a collection of notecards that you’re constantly rifling through to find a good one? Go through them now and pick out only the ones you love. Donate or recycle the ones that make you feel “meh.”

Reinvent your wardrobe (a la capsule wardrobe)

I moved everything that no longer fits into two big bins under our bed. I can’t wear most of my clothes right now as it is, and tugging down a shirt that’s too-short in the winter makes me feel miserable and cold. Instead, I moved everything out of the closet and my dresser and put only the things that I will wear currently (cold-weather pregnancy wear) into my closet. It’s about 16 hangers: 4 dresses, 4 blouses, 4 long-sleeve shirts, and 4 warm wrap sweaters. I only have one coat that fits right now, and it’s actually very freeing. To see these few hangers slim in my closet and know that I don’t have many decisions about what to wear — and that what I pick will feel great — makes me feel relieved, not worn out, when the day begins.

It’s all about how you feel

Holding onto a bunch of stuff that makes you feel lackluster, weighed down, or indifferent is heavy. When you let go, you lighten up. Tackling small projects can achieve the same effect as tackling big projects. Each time, I’ve found more space cognitively, and I notice that my energy no longer leaks out towards these unfinished and burdensome collections of things.

May this give you inspiration for the new year.

How about you? How does cleaning make you feel? What projects are you working on this year?

Why quitting is perfectly okay.

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It’s always the same story for me: I start a project, a class, an idea, or a story. I eagerly rush in, align my pencils, lay out my notebooks, and make delirious plans in my calendar. That first day, ideas and dreams pour out of me.

Then four days pass. I waver, tired. My calendar seems oppressive. The new habit loses its stickiness against the watery pulse of time and circumstance.

I lose another day, a week, and slip behind.

Last Spring, I started Hannah Marcotti’s beautiful Spirits of Joy and did ten days of paper crafting, collage making, glue bending. The drawing ignited in me a new set of doodles; the ripped paper and tacky glue nudged the sleepy muse inside of me.

And I ran from the class to my journals, getting lost inside of my own writing project. The crafts lay quietly on my desk for the next three weeks.

I used to beat myself up for not finishing things. Like the fits that “Crazy Eyes” has in Orange is the New Black, I’d cringe and mentally beat myself up each time I found another project laying around the house, paused or half-done.

It was a pattern so familiar, I started to observe it.

What was happening? Why was I quitting?

Life happened.

Things got hard, they got rough: deadlines built up. Real work pulled me in. The need to take a run and take care of my body surfaced. The competing pulls of attention and focus and deadlines wrapped me in their compelling arms.

But something else was happening, too. Ten days of paper-crafting with a beautiful spirit course led me to building an entirely new online program of my own.

Skimming the lessons in a business-building mastermind opened up a new way of creating sales pages. Reading half of a book propelled me into my next project.

And then it hit me: what if I was getting exactly what I needed?

What if I was getting exactly what I needed? These courses and events served as inspiration for my soul, and my soul nudged me when it was time to begin working.

Like a creative coach blowing the whistle, she stood on the sidelines while I soaked in knowledge until they stepped in and said, “Okay, Sarah, go make that thing. You heard the whisper. Now make.”

What if my ego was the only part of me that really cared about finishing?

You don’t have to do everything to get something out of it.

Twelve half-finished books is still reading six full books. (Many books are inflated lengths anyways and should be shorter). Some things are meant to be finished. And some things don’t need to be finished.

You don’t have to finish your meal. (In fact, not finishing might be better for you). Or your art project. Or the class you signed up for after you get exactly what you need out of it.

We think we know what we need in advance.

The more I plan in advance and then later watch my life take shape completely differently than my plans, the more I realize that planning ahead can be a flimsy wish at best.

It gets our foot in the door. We often underestimate how much time things take, or assume we know all the steps we’ll take before we get started.

You can pause. You can wait. You can enjoy the space.

You can quit.

You are allowed to leave things half-finished and undone. You can walk away.

Writers who join my programs always fall down. This is life, it happens: we get sick, we get tired, we have late nights. Instead of beating yourself up, I remind them to build in “life” days.

Want to blog? Make a plan to do it weekly, with a free pass to skip one week a month for when life gets a bit frenetic.

No one said you have to get 100% done and be perfect to enjoy the fruits of your progress. In fact, if you write two essays, that’s more than zero.

Somewhere in the quest for perfect, we forget to acknowledge that something is better than nothing.

An apple is better than no apple. A walk is better than sitting. Sometimes, some days, I say to myself, just walk around the block. Just write a little story. Just make a couple of lists.

And here’s the secret grace: when you let go, you make space to return.

When I feel the pull again, I get that half-finished notebook of Hannah’s off my shelf. I collect magazines and glue, snippets and scraps, words and graphite. I work into the late evening, wine by my side, lost in messy piles.

My book, a 30-day project, might take me 180 days. I may never finish. What I need is not a 30-day check mark of completion, but the grace to return to crafting whenever my soul calls for it.

And what if, instead of a routine, you let yourself come back in?

I always hear new writers tell me stories about giving up after failing to stick to a routine (the same is true for people beginning a new exercise routine).

But what if, instead of betting yourself against a routine, failing, and then quitting — instead you took a breath on the off days and let yourself come back in?

Like writing morning pages to warm up for writing, the little movements are what bring us back in to our greater works. The biggest dreams are sometimes the hardest to start.

It’s hard to feel progress in the tiniest of moments, but it’s not about the goal. We can’t fathom the experience in its entirety. The peak is a representation of the work, a moment.

By letting go of the deadline, the need for perfection, my ego’s need to complete everything I’ve started, I allow myself the space to come back in.

Because it’s always about making.

Come back in.

Come back in. Whenever you want.

Packing light: how we traveled for 3 weeks across Europe (and got on stage!) with only small backpacks.

Packing Light

If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s carrying an over-packed wheely suitcase through crowded subways and city streets up four flights of stairs after a long day of traveling.

Between being cramped in an overnight flight across the Atlantic, negotiating the limited quarters of overhead bin space, and standing sleepy-eyed at the baggage claim carousel, I’m shaking my head no, no, no to anything roller-bag related. By the time I’m in my new room, I’m cursing the loads of stuff I brought—and wishing I had packed less.

Somehow it always seems easier in retrospect to leave stuff behind, but I often get stumped at the packing process. When we set off to Europe for our honeymoon in June, I knew I wanted to travel light. The problem? I also had an on-stage keynote, three cities to be in, and at least one or two lakes and oceans to swim in.

Luckily, my history of taking a few plane rides here and there helped me winnow it down, and my packing process is getting more and more seamless. So I thought I’d geek out and put together a complete list of everything we packed on this trip, including some bonus notes on my favorite tricks for traveling light (and traveling in general) at the end. 

Traveling light.

Heading off on our adventure together + a peek inside the closet once unpacked.

Equipment:

  • Two backpacks (see the first photo at the very top for our backpack sizes).
  • My favorite one-shoulder day-pack. This day pack fits inside the main backpack while traveling (I store my liquids and meds inside of it while traveling for easy finding, then repurpose the bag itself for my day bag after we’ve dropped stuff off at our hotel.) This bag is awesome because it’s a cross-body strap and has a double-zipper feature: zip-top closure, and another zippered enclosure inside. I use the inner zipper pocket to carry my passport and dollars, and wear the back with the pack on my front to thwart pick-pocketers. I bought my bag about ten years ago, but similar bags by Overland are the Isabella, Donner, and Auburn.
  • Two small and large foldable zip-bags by MUJI. I LOVE THESE BAGS. Light, airy, and they compress down to nearly nothing. Great for sorting underwear and dirty laundry — we used them as laundry bags throughout our trip.
  • Also — an airline pillow, but we left this behind at the airport for someone else to use as soon as we got to our destination. In the future, I want to get a blow-up pillow of sorts, but for now I don’t mind grabbing a $10 airline pillow in the airport and then donating it to someone at the end of my trip.

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My favorite bags and carrying cases.

The technology pile:

We were two people and we were both working for part of the trip, so we took an 11-inch Macbook Air. I love this size because it fits on airline seats so easily; other laptops are harder to open up fully to use. The downside is the storage space is small and the tiny screen can make it harder to do all the work you want. We experimented with an iPad and keyboard, but some of the computing functions and editing functions (like having to touch the screen each time you wanted to move the cursor) were a little cumbersome. We ended up sharing the MacBook Air for creation and using the ‘Pad for reading and email.

  • 11-inch Macbook Air + power cord.
  • iPad + keyboard case.
  • Headphone splitter — my husband and I like things at different volumes, and this lets you watch a movie together on an airplane. Confession: we might have watched the entire season of Orange is The New Black on our iPad while traveling.
  • 30-way power adaptor with 2 USB plugs. The Tripwell World Travel Adaptor is my favorite international travel plug; it covers almost all countries and you can charge three devices with it at a time (one plug and two USB inputs).
  • Power cords + cubes. We brought one kindle charger and one phone charger, plus an additional USB-to-plug cube.
  • Cell phones as cameras. We bought an international data plan for one of our phones to use as a back-up map, and then left our phones on airplane mode for the most part; instead, we used our phones as cameras while we traveled.
  • Kindle + kindle charger (only the cord; words with a square USB plug)
  • Iphone + charger (cleared of space-hogging apps and used the phone to take photos with throughout the trip).

Clothing: how do you dress for traveling, hiking, walking, stage-ing, and exploring?

For clothing options, I picked pieces that were versatile and easy to pack. Here’s a sampler of my favorite outfits and the things I wore every day for three weeks:

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Shoes:

The biggest problem for me is often shoes — ladies’ high heels do nothing for my feet. I narrowed it down to three pairs, and wore one set on the ride over and back.

  • One pair of Teva sandals (my favorite walking sandals of all time — extremely comfortable and very versatile);
  • A pair of walking keds (I use them for running even though the aren’t really running shoes — really, the idea that you have to have a certain outfit to run is a little silly — you can run in jeans and sandals if you want to).
  • The trick here was the stage shoes — I couldn’t afford to carry a pair of heels for a 3-week adventure, so I brought a second pair of walking shoes, my bright orange loafers. They looked nice enough on stage, and still let me go city walking in them later.
  • Optional: a pair of yoga-toes socks. In lieu of a travel yoga mat, I bring sticky gloves and socks, and use those to provide salamander-like-grip on the floor to bend, twist, and fold to my hearts’ content. (Vibrams are also a great shoe to do yoga poses in, I’ve found).

Pants:

Believe it or not, I actually had quite a few pants options — they roll up small and tight and don’t wrinkle, so I had two long options (for cold nights) and two short options, plus a pair of athletic stretchy shorts.

  • One pair of skinny, stretchy jeans. These were my “stage pants.” Nice enough to look good on stage, comfortable enough to wear anywhere. And do yoga in. Because, yoga.
  • A pair of yoga pants. Because, obviously. Wear these on the plane, wear ’em when it’s cold. Wear them ALL THE TIME BECAUSE I LOVE THEM.
  • A loose pair of “Aladdin” pants — breezy, comfortable, below-the-knee length loose pants. Perfect for hot days, the beach, and anything. Cover you up enough (I’m not a fan of shorts all the time — sticking to seats; feeling too naked; the like).
  • One pair of everyday shorts. For the beach and touristy days.
  • One pair of athletic shorts. First, for running in, and second, because I wear these under dresses to flip upside down in handstands! Safety first — I mean, handstands first.

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Boat neck black shirt works for nights out; the alleyways of Barcelona, one of the cities we got to stay in.

Tops:

  • 3/4 boat neck black rayon-cotton t-shirt. (Long sleeves and high neck make me feel modest and keeps the sun off my skin and back.) Great for anything from a date night out to a day travel to a shirt to cover-up at the beach. Rayon/cotton blend dries overnight. Black hides stains and sweat.
  • Long-sleeve Quick-Dry Gray Athletic shirt by Gap body. This layered underneath a jacket keeps me nice and warm; the long-sleeve by itself is small enough to stuff in my daypack and warm enough for anything 45 degrees and higher.
  • One fancy blouse that’s crumple-free from Ann Taylor. (See photo, above). This wrap shirt was my stage shirt + going out fancy at night shirt; it was wrinkle-free and easy to wash and wear.
  • A red billowy top. Pairs well with leggings, looks great going out. Halter-style.
  • A tiny tank top for sleeping in and going to the beach.
  • An exercise top that’s quick-dry for running and casual wear with jeans.
  • One dress, which doubled as a cover-up and a second top — in a bright color, of course, to make me happy. (See: purple dress, in photos).

Orange shoes in stage action!

Other things:

  • Bandana — I like to have a bandana on hand and I often use it as a way to wrap up my underwear so I don’t yank out my computer from my packpack and have a pair of undies come flying out on the train and hit a passenger.
  • Hat — I carry a baseball cap for days when showers are too far between, or sunshine
  • Sunglasses. Because, well, sun.

Rain gear + jackets:

  • The jacket du jour: my favorite jacket of all time, a light black lululemon zip-up jacket with zip-up pockets on both sides (the better to hold my keys and wallet with). When it’s paired with a long-sleeve shirt, it’s super warm. Great for over-air conditioned airplanes and busses, unexpected late nights, and days that drop into the 40’s and 50’s.
  • Rain gear: it rained upon landing in Berlin, and the backwards airports meant we walked from plane to bus, and then bus to terminal. We bought two ponchos, but I think I may buy a real lightweight rain jacket in the near future because the rain jackets made us look like hunchbacks and total tourists. (Looking like tourists was not the goal — next time, we’ll leave them behind).

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We look like dorky druids in our ponchos; while traveling I love my stretch-jeans and a kindle to practice my squats while catching up on my reading. (You can’t take my yoga love outta me when I travel.)

Planning for warmth + some notes on the magical properties of a scarf for all-season traveling:

We traveled in temperatures from low 40’s to high 90’s (Fahrenheit), so we had to plan well enough to stay warm — and also cool. My favorite travel item might be a scarf. A long, wool-based scarf can transform into a hundred things. Scarfs double as pillows, blankets, and head-wraps: a blanket when you’re cold; a head wrap when you want to bury yourself in darkness while on an overnight flight. They also can be knotted and tied to create a quick second handbag if you buy something — all you do is wrap the scarf around your object, tie it in a knot, and then bring the two ends up and tie in another knot to create a carrying satchel to transport whatever object you’ve acquired.

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The magical properties of a scarf. 

For the warmest days (when it hit 90F) — I wore shorts and a small shirt or tank-top. On the coldest days (it was 40F and raining when we arrived in Berlin), I wore a combination of my long-sleeved tech shirt, my black jacket, a scarf, and, at times, the rain poncho.

I also love to travel with wool socks because keeping your head + feet warm makes your entire body temperature rise. So, for warmth:

  • One pair of slim wool socks.
  • My favorite scarf.
  • Layers (jacket, long-sleeved t-shirt).

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Toiletries, medicines, make up + other lady stuff: 

Traveling and incorporating full makeup on stage can add an entire extra travel compartment — and a lot of unnecessary weight — for the road. I knew I wanted to backpack for two weeks and only needed makeup for one day. I use a clean contact lens case (they are GREAT travel tools, see my bonus tips at the end for my favorite tricks) and I put a little bit of the makeup I need (foundation, concealer, smudge blush) in the micro-compartments for travel. I also carried an eyebrow pencil, a compact, mascara, and some red lipstick. The entire bag compressed down to a small ziplock.

When packing makeup and toiletries, I try to take all of the big bottles and make them as small as possible. The smaller the bottle, the smaller the pack. Other things I love:

  • MUJI also has a very small one-ounce spritzer, which you can use for super-mini hairspray and perfume doses if you want. Most hotels carry this kind of stuff, so It’s not necessary if you just want to borrow some.
  • The “feminine bag.” Ladies, when you travel for three weeks, you know it’s likely going to happen. I pack a reusable carry-case that has “first aid” on the outside of it, and I keep a stash of all the feminine goods I’ll need in there + any other essentials for an emergency kit. Not every country has the feminine products you’re used to, so bring ’em so you’re not surprised. 

Let’s talk drugs: sometimes while traveling, countries don’t have things that might help (anti-nausea, etc). I always travel with a few bonus tablets of each of the following in a tiny ziplock bag, as an emergency stash.

  • Benadryl.
  • Vic’s Vapor Rub — smear a little into one of those contact lens cases. (Bonus: get a six-pack with six different colored lids so you can keep everything identified).
  • Some Advil, Vitamin C and Vitamin B, and a couple of cough drops.
  • Small nailclippers. Two weeks without nail clippers and I’m picking at my hands like a hen at a feed.
  • Bug-spray. Mosquitos love me. My nickname in the woods (and in warm, muggy, urban areas) is “Juicy Blood” to all those terrible nats, critters and skeeters that like to chomp on me. For me, it’s a necessity.
  • Small bottle of hand lotion. Hotels usually have this, but I’m Vata-based in my constitution and dry skin happens as quick as I can say good morning. Dry airplanes suck the moisture out of me, so I drink water and lotion up + stay hydrated.

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Other favorite travel tricks I love: 

  • Vicks Vapor Rub is great for clearing out the sinuses and opening up the air passageways — and it’s also great when you’re stuck on a smelly bus with a bathroom-gone-foul. If you’ve ever taken a 4-hour bus ride with a nasty bathroom port-o smell, you know what I’m talking about. My favorite trick? Rub a swipe of Vicks or another scent (lavender and lemon grass are favorites) across the bottom of your nose. This blocks the offending smell and lets you breathe in peace for the rest of your trip.
  • Earplugs. I love earplugs — I keep a pair in almost every pocket that I travel with. Stick ’em in to avoid the overly-chatty pilot; stick ’em in to fall asleep; stick ’em in to drown out obnoxious chatterers and enjoy some stillness and quiet. I used to live next to a hospital, and these were lifesavers for dealing with the constant drown of wailing sirens.
  • Bring a facemask and socks on the airplane in your carry-on luggage. Some airlines give them to you, others don’t. I love covering up my face (or wrap that scarf around your head), and socks keep me warm enough to doze off to sleep.
  • Contact Lens cases are brilliant carrying devices. Use ’em to put a bit of lotion, vaseline, or wash if you only need a few drops of stuff. I put my concealer and makeup in ’em because I only really put on my face for the stage days; after that I was back to the hippy-dippy freedom of sandals and yoga pants.

I also like to pre-pack some food when I travel.

I also like to bring a few non-produce based food items on my trips. I’m mildly hypoglycemic and I don’t love eating gluten, so I buy 10 (or 20) of my favorite food bars, stick ’em in a bag, and carry them around. (I prefer the nut based KIND bars as a travel treat). I also like to bring about a pound of almonds.

While traveling, I’ll stick a bite in my bag so I can go on a bike ride and not have to wait in tourist lines (or spend $20-$30 unnecessarily) on lunch—and I’ll eat a bar or two and have a bottle of water. $1 lunch? Yes, please. A handful of nuts, a banana at a local market or bodega, and I can last until dinner — and then I splurge and get my main meal of the day. (This is also how I like to keep food budgets cheap during the day while still enjoying and savoring the local cuisine over decadent, lengthy evening meals).

Other international travel reminders:

This list isn’t comprehensive, but a couple of things to remember before you travel internationally: Photocopy your passport and email it to yourself so you have a digital copy. Also, you might have someone at home base have a copy for you. Know how much money you have in cash, and accessible through ATM.

Bring a small phrasebook of language notes for the country you’re traveling to. (You can download Lonely Planet books to your kindle, or rip out your language pages from the books to take just a few sheets with you).

In retrospect, however, I would have brought one more thing.

I love traveling light: all of my clothes fit on two hangers and in one stack on the shelves, and it’s both strange and delightful to have my clothing take up so little space.

Each time I travel, however, I learn one more item that I either overlooked or could have left behind.

One late night, nearly two weeks into our trip, I was sitting on the couch after a long day with my husband. Somehow after close examination — perhaps a few flights seated inches from each other did the trick — I realized that this man can grow an impressive unibrow when it’s left unattended. While laying in bed in our hostel, we decided that I might usefully help hand-pluck each of the offenders one by one.

I looked up and realized that I was in Barcelona, grooming my man’s face, and decided we had one more item to add to the the packing list.

Next time I’ll bring tweezers.

Why is moving so hard? The struggle to lighten up, give up, and let go.

Moving out — moving on

“Have nothing in your homes that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” — William Morris.

Everything changes.

I just emptied an apartment full of furniture, things, stories, and stuff. I carried couches, desks, and pieces of furniture up and down (and up and down) many flights of stairs across hilly San Francisco. I donated 600 books and gifted them to friends across the city.

Moving is so freeing and yet so hard.

And I wrapped up a life living in this beautiful home, this beautiful city, with so many good friends.

“We’re making space for new adventures,” my husband reminded me. “Don’t keep anything you don’t remember you had in the first place.”

But it’s so hard. The labor of moving everything. The memories.

Moving is exhausting. The energy of lifting, analyzing, purging, and letting go — it’s no small task. When I got overwhelmed recently in the pile of stuff that somehow accumulates around one’s home, I went online in a desperate plea to my minimalist friends — “Help!” I said, “How do I do this?”

Joshua wrote back a simple truth — and it made me laugh:

“You are not your dishtowel.” — Joshua Fields Millburn

Right. Right!

I am not my things.

I get to keep the stories, the memories, the transformation. My life is not a couch. My memories are not held inside of a sofa.

When I got back to New York this weekend, I decided to continue the cleansing: we piled up four more bags of books and clothes and cleaned out our home. More and more, I’m inspired by lightness, ease, minimalism, and letting go — letting go of past stories, details, habits, and junk.

Why do we each need to keep our own personal bookshelves? If I need a book in the future, I’ll borrow it or get a digital copy. I trust that the world will have this information, regardless of whether or not I house the words within my own tiny square-foot home. I do not need to own hundreds of books to continue to thirst for knowledge.

“There are two ways to be rich: One is by acquiring much, and the other is by desiring little.” — Jackie French Koller.

“Simplicity involves unburdening your life, and living more lightly with fewer distractions that interfere with a high quality life, as defined uniquely by each individual.” — Linda Breen Pierce

What is the weight of holding on to all these “things”?

Plus: what is the weight of carrying around a hundred books I haven’t read yet? The oppressive weight of “should” on my shelf must hold substantial weight in my mind, pinning me down to past wishes, thoughts, and dreams.

What if I free up that shelf space — mental, physical, karmic? Send those books to places they will be loved and cherished, rather than collecting dust in my own life? Root to rise, my yoga mantra. My roots come from my community, my connections, my spirit. My rise comes from weightlessness, expansiveness, ease. If I hold on to unread books, I hold on to unfinished committments. A bookcase full of shoulds and one-days and look at what you haven’t done staring down at me in my morning meditation.

“Any half-awake materialist well knows – that which you hold holds you.” — Tom Robbins.

The sadness of leaving + the freedom of space.

As I prepared to leave San Francisco, my home — my only permanent residence for most of my waking life — I kept tearing up about the friends and the people I would miss. Would giving up my home and apartment mean I could never come back? And then my friend Leah reminded me that I’ll always be back. The cool whispers of San Francisco’s foggy oceans will also be one of my homes.

“You’re family here. We’ll have space for you whenever you return. It’s not about the couch. Just come, whenever you want. It can be easy.” 

And I remember that I get to keep all the stories, all the memories. I so grateful to this beautiful coastal city and to the rich community of people I have met over the years. I love it here.

And I love what’s next, even if I have no idea what it is.

Let go of what’s not serving you, even if it’s as innocuous as books. Make space for your future self. 

To adventure, creative living, the sharing economy, and change.

And as Carol Pearson writes, to a new story, to a new narrative:

“Most of us are slaves of the stories we unconsciously tell ourselves about our lives. Freedom begins the moment we become conscious of the plot line we are living and, with this insight, recognize that we can step into another story altogether.” —Carol S. Pearson, The Hero Within

To an adventure. To freedom.

For more quotes on simplicity and minimalism, check out Joshua Becker’s list of inspiring quotes on minimalism — many of which I used as part of this essay. 

The masks we wear–how we hide who we are.

We all wear masks from time to time: in our words, our habits, and our practices. We have an arsenal of crutches and shortcuts that slowly but surely hide who we are. They are things that prop us up and help us hide. We hide from our feelings and our desires. We hide from who we might become.

We drink coffee as a mask for how tired we are, or to replace what is really a lack of motivation for a certain project we’re involved in.

It masks how tired you are of caring for a newborn infant, or how miserable your boss’s cutting remarks make you.

The alcohol that you drink at night masks the fear and the stress feel from not having control during your day. Perhaps it helps to cover up the loneliness of your cubicle or help you get  through another night.

We project false smiles of protection to hide our fears, to be desirable. We wear high heels and new clothes and carry certain bags and advertisements to show a sense of self, a projection, an idea. We use extroversion to be well liked. We chase busy to mask our fear of not leaving an impact.

We cover a lot of things up. Scars we carry, stories we hold, work we’re afraid of doing.

Our selves, deep inside.

It’s not always bad to have a mask…

It’s not terrible to have masks, but they can’t be our only way of dealing with the world. If we spend the entire time warding off the world and hiding from ourselves, we’ll miss the best parts. By hiding from the world, we hide ourselves, and we lose a piece of our souls.

Many of us have lost touch with ourselves, our souls, with the tender, tired, scared part of itself.

Here’s the catch…

Releasing a mask requires feeling. It requires having a real, honest, scary, less-than-desirable feeling. Letting go of your mask means you might need to say,

By golly, I’m tired.

And no, I don’t want to do this.

Or, I’m scared. I’m scared of messing up. I’m scared of doing a bad job. I’m worried that I won’t be liked. I’m worried that I might try and I won’t be good at it.

Letting the barrier down requires Guts. Honesty. Softness.

Looking at the impulse before we rush to snatch a cover, and breathing in recognition:

Your feelings are clues.

These feelings inside? They aren’t enemies. They are clues. Feelings are way points in an uncertain world, direction markers that guide us back into the brilliance of ourselves, if we’ll allow it. The trouble is it can be uncomfortable and downright painful. Feelings you haven’t had in years might surface to remind you of areas of internal work you still have to do.

And your masks were protection, once.

The masks aren’t all bad. Sometimes pulling down the mask and showing your face requires gentleness and slowness. Your mask might have served you at some point. A therapist in my yoga training reminded me that these coping mechanisms shouldn’t always be disarmed quickly. Children of abuse who learned how to harden and deaden their senses built masks in order to survive those times. These mechanisms and masks were useful–they helped you survive. They got you here. They protected. Unlocking them too quickly without new ways of being can also be damaging.

But at some point, perhaps you might notice you’re still wearing one.

What masks are you wearing?

What masks do you carry?

What do you hide?

Can you lower it for a bit?

With love,

sarah signature

 

 

Looking for a place of love and kindness? Join our upcoming Grace & Gratitude micro-workshop, a two-week journey to cultivate grace and gratitude in your life. Two weeks of daily stories and exercises designed to bring light, love, and joy into your life–one photograph, project, and quote at a time. Sign up here (or give as a gift this holiday). We begin December 1. 

Are you minimalist enough? An experiment in giving up clothes for a year.

Leaning houses San Francisco

A little over a year ago, I wrote a post on Joshua Becker’s Becoming Minimalist site about giving up clothes for a year–and my experiments with minimalism, living with less, and what felt like too much pressure to whittle down my life to a certain number of items. Here’s how the experiment played out: 

Minimalist enough? Giving up (new) clothes for a year.


“We live in a world of scarcity. Which means we feel like we never have enough.” – Brené Brown


Living in a world of scarcity means that we’re constantly searching for the next thing to fill us up, the next destination or achievement to make us whole. Our world is filled with messages that tell us we don’t have enough space, enough stuff, enough clothes, enough fitness. We’re never skinny enough or pretty enough or good enough or rich enough.

This scarcity model drives consumption and accumulation; it spurs us to want more, to buy things because we think it will fill the void. We press to work harder, to get fitter, to buy more clothes, to acquire more things in the name of filling the hole.

The problem with scarcity, however, is that you can’t fill it or fix it with things.

The answer to scarcity, ironically, isn’t more. It is enough.

What you have is enough. Who you are is enough. As Danielle LaPorte says in her Fire Starter Sessions: “You already have everything you need.”

What about Minimalist Enough?

This cuts both ways, however. As a person with lots of things, and an apartment with hundreds of books, I sometimes feel like my efforts to de-clutter and reduce the number of things that surround me aren’t enough. In my efforts to reduce clutter and consider minimalist–or simplicity–as a strategy, I begin to doubt my efforts in being minimalist. And the thought begins to creep in: I’m not minimalist enough. I see someone who is minimalist and only has 100 things and the internal voice begins again, “I guess I’m not minimalist… enough.”

These attitudes are pervasive and can race around in my head. I can quickly become overwhelmed with the desire to eliminate stuff, lose weight, be better, do more, achieve….more.

But the idea of minimalism isn’t about reaching a goal, or checking off a box, or reaching a certain destination. To me, minimalism is realizing that what I already have is enough, and that adding clutter to the pile won’t make it any better. And chasing a dream of more minimalism is, ironically, not what I’m after either.

To me, as I breathe out and sigh into the life that I’m living, and find gentler ways to tweak, edit, and refine; I find that recognizing what is important and what is not is the most critical exercise.

Stripping away the excess lets us get to the bones of what really matters. Get to the heart space. Get to the pieces that are important. And that level can be different for different people.

For me, minimalism is about having exactly what you need–and the things you love–without having stuff and clutter that overwhelms your life. It’s filling up your time and space with love, not excess.

My Modest Minimalist Journey.

I spent 2011 conducting an experiment in which I decided to stop buying new clothes for the entire year. (There were two exceptions: shoes and underwear, but only as needed). For an entire year, I lived without buying anything new, on purpose. As a female in a clothes-and-image-centric society, I wanted to see what it was like to live without shopping for a while.

I was always dismayed by the number of female friends that were readily going into debt to maintain their image in public. When I thought about it, $400 outfits (the average price on any feature shopping magazine page) can add up to a lot of money if one were to wear a new outfit every day for a year. (Think about it: $400 a day for clothes is $150,000 a year just on clothes—who are we kidding?). You might think I’m joking—but to be perfectly honest, I know people who are $20,000 and $30,000 in credit card debt from clothes shopping alone. The image pressures on females (and males!) can be increasingly intense. As someone with immense graduate school debt to overcome setting off into my twenties, the thought of doubling that debt felt paralyzing. I wanted freedom, not debt.

Yet over the year, as I experimented in my journey of wearing and re-wearing the same outfits hundreds of times, I also found there were times when I got discouraged—especially when I looked around online and saw things like the Versalette by revolution apparel. I inadvertently compared myself to other people who were doing a better job at buying nothing than I was.

But then I realized: I don’t have to be the best or the most minimalist. I can be minimalist enough. Minimalism isn’t about winning, and it isn’t about a particular achievement. It’s about finding out what matters to you, and getting rid of the peripheral.

Over the course of the year, I thinned out my closet and pared down to a few favorite items. I made over twenty trips to charity with bags of clothes and gently worn shoes that I no longer needed. At one point, I had socks and underwear with holes in them, and I got out my sewing machine and fixed them up. Making old things new again was surprisingly satisfying. Getting rid of all of my extra socks—and just having a few pairs to use each day—actually made my life simpler. The process of getting rid of things reminded me of what I liked and what mattered.

Over time, I started to become acutely aware of everything that crossed the physical threshold of my front door. The amount of stuff that piled up around me on a daily basis crept into my consciousness, and I’m still surprised by the amount of clutter we let into our lives each day. Every time I brought something new in—mail, letters, books, ideas, shopping bags—I tried to make a conscious effort that the stuff I was bringing with me was valuable, and that I was also taking enough stuff out of the apartment each day to keep my space maintainable.

Untethering from the need to consume was surprisingly easy. It was the attitude change that made the most difference: looking through my things and realizing I already had enough—that I didn’t have to rush out and buy something new to fill a hole or a need—let me breathe again. It was relaxing and reassuring to know what I had was okay. What you are is already good enough.

I learned, slowly, that having excess stuff was giving me a headache, wasting my time and energy, and wasting a lot of money I wanted to focus on eliminating debt.

Even though the experiment is over, I still carry several of the themes into my current shopping habits: I buy new things that are disgusting to buy used (exercise clothes, underwear, socks, and shoes are typically new purchases); and I buy things new that are very difficult to find used (long-enough pants and long-enough jackets are two of my indulgences); but my favorite place to shop is at a thrift store with a bag of donations in hand–I’ll exchange three old things for a few new things. The smaller my closet, ironically, the happier I have been.

Over time, I will continue to whittle away at the things I don’t need in order to make space for the things I love. It turns out, all those unnecessary clothes were crowding out the space of the things I loved. I got rid of several boxes and cleared off a space for all of my books—one of my loves. Clearing out, to me, is about reducing the unnecessary clutter in your life to make space for what matters, and finding a balance that lets your soul breathe. It’s about stripping away the things you don’t need so you can focus on what’s important.

Sometimes a subtle attitude shift or a small sacrifice can make a big difference. Like taking the time to appreciate that what you already have is enough. And your effort? It’s enough.

Because stuff isn’t what matters.

What you have is enough. YOU are enough. 

To read more about minimalism and check out one of my favorite blogs, see Joshua Becker’s site, Becoming Minimalist.

“You can have everything you want.” But also: “You will never be enough.” Two cultural themes that need to be reconfigured.

Eagle and strength, mural, Brooklyn

You can have everything you want, and you will never be enough.

Ouch.

I keep running my head in into two cultural mindsets that I think have negative consequences in American culture (this is not necessarily true everywhere. The French, for example, don’t necessarily subscribe to the American parenting ideal of praising a kid for everything they do). But within this culture, there are a couple of paradigms that run fluidly through our consciousness and are worth paying attention to.These ideas pervade our mental space, our advertising space, our urgency, and our need for more–perhaps even our inability to say no. And I just think they are terribly wrong–and bad for us.

The first paradigm: “you can have anything you want.”

The idea that you can do whatever you want, become whoever you want, and have everything you want is an ambition and idea taught to Millennials and Generation Y from the moment they’re given matching sets of toddling shoes and oodles of fresh diapers and socks.

This idea that you can do, be or have anything you want. Do you agree? Is this true? Can you really be anything you want? Can you have everything?

But Sarah, you might gasp–don’t tell me that I won’t get what I want! That’s a terrible idea! How could you say such a thing?

It’s complicated. You can try and place your energy in however many spaces you can get your hands on. But for many people, they won’t reach their dreams. Their jobs won’t fulfill their passions. They’ll be taken on other journeys or life trajectories that are entirely different than what might be expected.

Regardless of the outcome on this debate–perhaps yes, you can have whatever you want–the corollary is what’s interesting to me right now. If you truly can have whatever you want (or so the cultural teaching goes), then it follows that we don’t have to make decisions because we can have it all, and we don’t have to learn how to say no, because it’s easier to say yes to things.

The consequence of the assumption that you can have everything you want is that you may be disappointed. Often.

Learning how to say no, how to decide, how to choose, and how to get to your own heart center is critical. Interestingly, if you really examine this assumption–I’m not sure that many people actually want to have everything. Happiness isn’t about things and ownership and millions of dollar bills. Wealth is about freedom and having enough or just exactly what you want. Regardless of the outcome of this debate, one consequence of this assumption is that we don’t get taught how to decide. How to say no.

Is the flip side of being taught you can have everything you want failing to teach us how to make decisions? Does this make prioritization and deciding impossible?

The second: “You will never be enough.”

Oof. Ouch, that doesn’t feel good either, does it?

Yet look for it. There seems to be a cultural construction or ideal that you will never be enough. This idea pervades–you will never have enough, and you will never be enough. This culture of scarcity–of not having enough–means that we’re always seeking something to fill us up or fill the void. Hence, we shop like crazy.

Brene Brown identifies this culture of scarcity in several common phrases that we say every single day. When you wake up in the morning, the first thought many people have is:

“I didn’t get enough sleep.”

Not enough. (Why?) Then, we start the work day:

“I don’t have enough time.”

Again, not enough. (Why?) And at the end of the day:

“I didn’t get enough done.”

And again, not enough. (Why?)

We see this from the way we talk about money (“I don’t have enough money”)–and in fact, that’s not a conversation we’re having because we’re too timid to even begin talking about money and scarcity–to our sleep, our time, our lives, and our work.

Why these cultural constructs fail us.

These two cultural constructions–a culture of scarcity (“you are not enough, you don’t have enough,”) and a culture of achievement (“you can be anything you want, you can have everything you want,”)–are they beneficial? How do they serve us, and how do they deceive us?

And worse, does the combination of these two cultural thoughts make us all slightly neurotic? (I can be anything! But shit! I’ll never be enough! But I can have everything! But shit! I’ll never be enough!)

What would a different mindset look like?

Out of curiosity, what if we had a different mantra? What would the opposite construct look like? Perhaps:

You are enough.

You already have everything you need.

There is nothing in this world that you need to own or acquire to make your life better.

You are enough.

This here, this is enough.

Hmmm…

Just One

What would just one of something look like?

Not a diversity of items, but a simplicity of things. A specificity, a selection, and a deliberate choice between several?

Not three workout programs, but just one workout program.
Not seven yoga mats or towels, but just one.
Not eight new dresses or blouses, but just one. Your favorite one.
Not two sets of bedding, but just one.
Not four new books, but just one.
Not three bedrooms, but just one bedroom.
Not two cars, but just one car.
Instead of two sets of tablewear, just one set.
Instead of eight dreams, just one dream to work on.

Sometimes I get caught in the trap of needing more. I have a brown pair of boots, but now I need a black one. I have a black pair, but now I need a tan one. And I need a pair of rain boots. Four pairs of boots? Do I need four pairs of boots?

What would just one look like?

[Or none at all?]