EXTREME DECLUTTERING BEFORE AND AFTER HOW TO
A fraction of what was in that jumble: seven antique glass cake stands that belonged to my mother a dormitory’s worth of new sheet sets and blankets for a bed size that is not mine a set of Lenox china that my grandmother gave to my mother, who gave it to me, and was never used clothes galore a Viking stove grate that arrived cracked, and which I saved because I planned to weld it into a sculpture someday, after I learned how to weld several rolls of Trump toilet paper that I wrongly thought were amusing a few years ago. I gathered my unwanteds and piled them in the living room. In my apartment, it’s got so cluttered that sometimes, when I leave-usually to acquire more stuff-it crosses my mind that I should leave a “Dear Burglar” note, urging the intruder to help herself.Ī few months ago, I decided to deaccession an assortment of my things by whatever means feasible: selling, donating, recycling, giving them away, losing them on the subway, or reserving a spot for them on the next Mars Explorer. The son of a friend, when offered his pick of items from his grandfather’s estate-an antique clock? an Emmy?-took a toilet plunger. What to do with this First World surplus? Your children don’t want it.
They have to dust it.” A survey conducted by the storage marketplace Neighbor found that quasi-house arrest has made seventy-eight per cent of respondents realize that they have more possessions than they need. “People are stuck in their houses and sick of their stuff,” Randy Sabin, who runs estate and Internet sales, told me over the phone from Morris, Connecticut.
Lately, I, a maximalist, have been yearning to be a minimalist.
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