I married a man who is a self-proclaimed minimalist. Packing Matt’s things takes no time. He likes simple clothing and owns as little of it as I will allow. He doesn’t like a lot of decoration, and the majority of what he owns is books. Everything else just falls in the ‘have to have’ category. If you take a quick look around our house, though, you’d never believe any of that. That’s because Matt married me, a self-proclaimed maximalist. I like things! I like decorations and pretties and knickknacks. And I love clothes and shoes. And I own hundreds upon hundreds of books. This week, I started to ask myself, “Why?”
I’ve spent the past few days trying to rationalize my habits, trying to, at least, understand why I like things and buying them so much so that, hopefully, I can break those habits. Two years ago, I gave up shopping for excess goods for Lent. I made a few exceptions; I would allow myself to purchase new work pants and a new comforter for my bed. But guess what? I went the whole forty days, feast days included, without buying anything frivolous. No new work pants or comforter, even!
My motivation that year was a simple one found in the book of Matthew, chapter six. “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in our steal, for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
Lent 2012 showed me that yes, I could break that habit. But when Lent ended, I slowly picked it back up. Shopping, even just walking around a store and looking (But lets be honest, it was a rare day when I left without purchasing something.), has always comforted me. I know now that it was, of course, only a temporary mood lifter. I think my consumerism came to a head last fall. Matthew and I had just moved to Austin, and within a month, he was working in Tulsa, which left me home alone in Austin with no job, no friends, and a fixed income. Also, I had a new home with my soon-to-be husband that I really wanted to decorate and an embarrassment that all of my Louisiana clothes didn’t allow me to fit in to the hip Austin scene. (I know, am I in junior high again?) Despite my fixed income (I had saved a lot over the past year living with my parents), I managed to do a good bit of shopping. And by a good bit, I mean way too much.
So money got tighter the closer we got to the wedding and Christmas, and for a while, I was genuinely worried about making ends meet. Fast forward a few months, I’m in a long-term sub position that ends in a few weeks and looking for a full-time teaching position next fall and something to pay the bills this summer. I keep looking around our house, full of all the things that I’ve amassed (some I love, most I just sort of like), and I want to kick myself for all the money I feel like I wasted on all the stuff that we could have easily done without.
Enter Jules at Pancakes and French Fries. Via a serious of links that started as a search for kitchen organization on Pinterest, I stumbled upon Jules’ blog post from September 2011, Unstyled Life, in which she discusses the sobering effect of going through the belongings of a recently deceased loved one, analyzing the life of people we love based on all the things they left behind. Immediately, I began to ask myself, what would my life look like based on the boxes of things I leave behind when I die? What will my husband or family think when I am not there to explain why I have four pairs of Converse tennis shoes that I haven’t worn in months or years? What does my accumulation of things say about my life on earth? “Old tubes of mascara. Eyeshadows. Almost empty bottles of aspirin. Expired lotions. Moth eaten sweaters. Uncomfortable sofas. Bills, paid and unpaid. Unread book. Shirts that don’t fit, are no longer in style, or you never really liked. Someone will one day run their hands over your possessions and make an assumption you won’t be there to refute.” It was like Jules had looked into my life.
I want my accumulation of things to speak the truth of me. I want it to proclaim my love of God, my husband, my family, and my friends. I want my boxed life to reflect my desire to help others and lesson their burdens. I want my boxed life to reflect a life I was proud to have lived.
My boxed life, right now, doesn’t reflect that. And when that incredibly humbling statement dawned on me, I knew I needed a change.
Jules seems to have made a similar assertion of her life. And she did something about it. She started the William Morris Project, named for Mr. Morris’ thought on design, “Do not have anything in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” She collected a list of things about her home that did not fall into Mr. Morris’ philosophy, and she began a thirty-one day challenge to do something about those things.
It is an understatement to say that I was inspired. I began to craft my own list of things to alter. But I got a bit discouraged. I knew that I wouldn’t have the time to do one project a day, not when some of my projects were large and I worked and tutored. Our upcoming move also seemed daunting. How was I supposed to better organize my shoes when I didn’t know what my future closet would hold? And then I realized I was just looking for an excuse.
The Butler Family William Morris Project:
-purge and organize photographs
-purge and paint picture frames to be either white, silver, or black
-purge and organize the bathroom and beauty supplies
-purge living room décor
-purge shoes and research new shoe storage for new house
-implement new shoe storage after move
-organize top short dresser drawer
-purge and organize socks (no kidding, this is one of my biggest issues)
-create and implement family file system
-create and implement mail system with ‘action’ and ‘file’ sections
-create coupon system
-purge my closet
-create receipt box
-purge kitchen utensils after move
-print, hang, and organize in albums engagement, bridal, and wedding photos
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