Step into the White Room and Leave That S#%^ Behind
Look it in the eye, embrace it, then abandon it
step into the white room
abandon fear, anger, heartache
love will light the way
Wow, you landed on your feet,” a friend said recently regarding the abundance in my life despite a year dealing with an imploding marriage, Covid, employment drama, death, and housing insecurity. At times I don’t feel worthy of such contentment, but I remind myself that it’s a choice. A choice held up by a foundation of all the choices I’ve made in the past and the mystical organization of dreams I’ve thrown to the wind.
During a yoga class back early in January, 2020 while I lay on my mat breathing deep and loosening my stressed and achy joints, our young instructor suggested an intention for the evening that I’ve clung to all year:
“Imagine you are stepping into a white room. It’s bright and spotless and free of clutter. You get to come in but bring only what serves you. You can leave everything behind. What are you going to choose to bring with you, what will you walk away from?”
Today, a year later, I literally have a white room to step into. A few months ago my eighty-five-year-old dad announced “I don’t want to live alone anymore.” More importantly, he said, “Rocky (his dog) needs a fence and a yard and his buddy Willow (our adopted Covid puppy) to play with.” Within a few weeks both his house in Jackson, Wyoming and a brand new, spotless, never-lived-in-blank-slate of a house in Victor, Idaho was under contract. I’ve never lived in a brand new house, and I want to create a place for my family to be themselves but is also welcoming to friends and multi-generations of my family members to visit.
I found particular inspiration in Still: The Slow Home. Anyone who knows me well knows I aspire to all things slow but rarely slow myself down. This book addresses living life to the fullest and the chaos that comes with it while controlling what you can. Creating a vision, aka values, aka “the why” — all the things I know from a life of entrepreneurship — apply to the home. So what’s my vision? A home that prioritizes play and creativity while controlling clutter. I envision it simple, natural, clean and calm while still celebrating our personalities and quirkiness.
Ironically, it’s almost easier to leave fear, anger, and heartache behind than the mountains of stuff we’ve collected over the years. As I pack and move my things I’ve struggled over what to keep and what to sell and what to give away and what to throw in the dumpster (the 3 R’s can only go so far!). I’m determined to dig deep, discard the dross, and hold on to only what serves me and my family.
Thankfully before I went too far throwing stuff out, I came across this brilliant article that identified my unease The Empty Promises of Marie Kondo and the Craze for Minimalism by Kyle Chayka. Yeah, I’m not a minimalist and have no illusion that living in a mini house with a couple of books is what’s going to make me happy. I just want to jettison what’s weighing me down.
Should I stay or should I go now?
Que The Clash, circa 1982, Combat Rock.
Kid’s Art:
I tried the Marie Kondo approach (hold it in your hand — does it spark joy?) method and found myself feeling mostly confused and guilty and unable to reconcile what to do with piles of artwork on the walls and stored in dressers.
Then I read this ditty by Mary Townsend Throw Your Children’s Art Away: Childhood is short-lived. It’s okay if kids’ drawings are, too. Townsend convinced me that the best way to help our kids evolve and grow up is to appreciate the art for a short time, save only a few pieces, and let the rest go.
“If it’s the act of making the art that’s useful and good for children, then let this part of the art live, and then let its results die. Like its aesthetic quality, the output of children’s artistic efforts is incomplete. Throwing it away actually does everyone a favor. It completes the artistic life cycle, allowing ephemera to be just that: actually ephemeral. — Mary Townsend
Books:
Will I read it again (or for the first time) when I’m in a rocking chair? Yes to Catcher in the Rye, Dreams Die Hard, and My Life: Golda Mier. Will it really do someone else good who happens to pick it up? Yes to The Paradox of Choice, In Praise of Slowness, The Monkey Wrench Gang, Loving Che. Do they honor my ancestors, artists, cultures, or my culture? Do they inspire travel? Yes to all my mom’s folk art books and dad’s geology books, Teton Skiing, Cabin Porn, photo guides to places I’ll go again someday like the Grand Canyon, Italy, and Machu Picchu, and way, too many cookbooks.
As beautiful as they are, some of the antique children’s books I’ve held onto fare full of negative stereotypes and portrayals or flat-out racism? Think Tikki Tikki Tembo and Doctor Dolittle. I’m not a book-banner, quite the opposite, but for some books it’s time to retire. The Story About Ping finds its way on lists of racist children’s classics, but I’d rather read this all-time favorite and point that out to my grandchildren than retire it altogether.
Recreational Gear:
I don’t consider the “have I used it in the last year or two?” question for recreational items. If it’s going to be used in the next twenty years for play and fun, keep it. If it’s broken, fix it. If it’s too small, sell it or hand it down. Yep, the sand volleyball, old fishing poles, raft gear, ice skates, snowshoes all stay. If it’s not usable, maybe I’ll put it on the outside wall of the house or make a bench or table (think vintage skis and snowshoes).
Clothes:
I like the rule that if you haven’t worn it in a year pass it along, but I’d like to scale down more. I am inspired by Jane Fonda’s commitment to never buy another piece of clothing so I’m being pretty picky. I do actually wear anything in question (that scratchy expensive wool sweater) for a day just to make sure. At 57 it’s easy to jettison on to anything I MIGHT fit into again someday.
Gadgets:
If I’ve cooked with it in the last two years, I’ll keep it. Like the books I know I’ll read again when I’m 80, I know I’m going to have that garden again and enough time someday to use that food dehydrator, canning pot, and vacuum sealer.
On the other hand, the sushi-making kit, expensive fish poacher, and 3rd roasting pot went to the second-hand store. Hairdryers? Curling irons? I haven’t used them in years and never will again.
Knick Knacks:
Between my dad and I, we have a LOT of beautiful and meaningful items — gems and minerals, artifacts, antiques, art, photographs, and more. For these items, the most helpful thing is the suggestion that you may be throwing something away or passing it along, but you aren’t throwing out the memory (unless you want to!). “Does it spark joy TODAY?” comes in handy here. If a piece reminds me that my dreams of growing old with my husband have been decimated, I take a few seconds to express gratitude for the past, then enjoy the loud sound of shattering.
Somewhere between hoarding and minimalism lies a sweet spot for all of us. In the words of poet and sidereal astrologer Lyn Dalebout:
“In these Plutonian times, it is an absolute necessity to listen, think, intuit for yourself … You are the expert of living your life the way it works for you, and no one can tell you how that looks. This is one of the many gifts Pluto is offering us: to dig deep, to discard the dross, to claim our inner power which is always our truest compass.
I wish you the best and hope this helps illuminate your own white room as you step into the new year. Let me know how it goes!