HOT MESS // Junk Mail

According to Story of Stuff, the average American receives 41 pounds of promotional mail each year.  Obviously that represents a huge toll on our environment, in terms of trees, water, and fossil fuels involved in producing and distributing that much mail. But these mailings can clutter up our home environment, too.

Mail is a sneaky form of procrasticlutter, considering it has to be dealt with anew practically every day. A pile of a few catalogs and envelopes from Monday will soon attract another day’s worth of mail, and another, and another, making the task of processing that mail an unpleasant enough prospect that we’re tempted to procrastinate it some more.

And worse, much of that mail is advertising, exposing us to products we wouldn’t have otherwise coveted, to coupons for products we wouldn’t have otherwise purchased, and brands we wouldn’t have otherwise patronized. Promotional mail is a one-two punch for mess, because it becomes clutter and begets clutter in the form of impulse-driven purchases.

So what’s a girl to do? CatalogChoice to the rescue. This non-profit makes it simple to opt out of catalogs, and provides guidance on how to stop the flow of other junk mail, too, like pesky credit card offers.

Add “Sign up for CatalogChoice” to your next power hour task list, and make processing your mail a daily routine. It only takes one minute to recycle the junk, and one minute more to open and read anything else that arrived.

And if you’re particularly rushed and can’t read through the non-junk mail right away, then at least put it in a tray or desk organizer instead of on a table or counter. Then you’ll at least look organized!

HOT MESS // Rigid Rules

At the risk of sounding hypocritical given my own rules (e.g. thou shall not have a whole drawer dedicated to junk), I want to poke holes in some oft-cited rules for home organizing. Here are the three I hear most often.

Rule: If you haven’t worn it in a year, donate it.

I have a dress that’s appropriate for formal occasions in cold weather. I didn’t have any truly formal occasions last winter. Should I chuck the dress? Of course not. It’s useful, beautiful, and stored properly so it’s ready to come out of dormancy for the winter wedding I have coming up.

Instead, when evaluating an infrequently worn item, I ask myself: Do I avoid wearing this item in favor of something comparable? Does this item of clothing give me a feeling of doubt, hesitation, discomfort, or embarrassment when I think about wearing it?

Rule: If it’s damaged, toss it.

A strap tore off a pair of shoes I’ve had for years. I brought them to Canton Shoe Repair and had the broken strap repaired and the other strap reinforced. It cost me $18, bringing the total lifetime cost of the shoes to about $100, which still is a very low cost-per-use. What I saved is time shopping for a new pair, and the resources that would have gone in to making that new pair. Plus I supported a local, independent business instead of a DSW.

Youtube has thousands of tutorials. Replacement parts are available for purchase. A sewing kit is under $15 bucks.  A great tailor can repair damage that is outside my wheelhouse, at a fraction of the cost of replacing the item. My objects are not inherently disposable. I shouldn’t treat them as such.

Instead, I ask myself: Can I spend a reasonable amount of time and money repairing this item? Would I use/need/want the item after it’s been repaired?

Rule: One thing in, one thing out.

I was gifted a book last week, and I’m enjoying it. Did I immediately head to my one bookshelf and evict another title? No, of course not. I love all the books on my shelf, and this gifted book may join their ranks one day, or I may pass it on to a friend or Little Free Library when I’m done. I’ll need to finish reading it first, and then decide.

At a certain point in the decluttering process, you love/use/need/want/treasure all the things in your home. And you shouldn’t have to discard one of those curated possessions because you just so happened to get another useful, beautiful, needful thing.

The dark side of this rule is that some folks use it as justification to purchase new things all the time because they are also donating and discarding things all the time. It’s financially and environmentally reckless to bring in a sack of new clothing every Black Friday just because you plan to a haul a trash bag of clothes to the trunk of your car on Saturday.  

I’m comfortable with my gut assessments of what should head out of my house. Instead, I focus on ruthlessly critiquing what comes in to my home. I ask: Do I need to be bringing anything in to my home right now? Is it on my shopping list? Does it fit within the container I have for this category of things? Do I already have something suitable?

If these rules help you dig out of an unbearable pile of clutter, then great. But if you’ve advanced from hemorrhaging clutter to curating possessions, then it makes more sense to tune into your own feelings about the merits of individual objects rather than follow a rigid rule.

HOT TIP// One Minute, One Hour

While they’re not perfectly analogous, I find it quite helpful to think of my time in much the same way I think about my belongings.

For example, I can think of the increments of time as “containers” for activities and tasks the same way I think of a shelf or a closet as containers for stuff.

Matching an object to the right container and assigning it a specific home in my house prevents it from a) taking over a space and/or b) being lost or unused. Similarly, matching a task with the right time “container,” and assigning that task a specific home on my schedule, prevents it from a) taking over my whole day and/or b) never, ever getting accomplished.

The time “containers” I find the most useful are one minute and one hour. I’ve borrowed these strategies from happiness researcher Gretchen Rubin, whose writing clearly connects a well-ordered home to a sense of well-being (and a disordered home to stress, and in some cases, anxiety and depression.)

1. The one-minute “container”

Rubin popularized the one-minute rule, or the idea of doing a task immediately if it takes about one minute rather than kicking the task down the road to future you. She recognizes that we get a small sense of accomplishment from completing a task, no matter how small, and the small ways we keep our house in order accumulate quickly. (And the small ways we slack off also accumulate quickly.)

I find this rule most useful in leaving and returning to my home. It takes less than a minute to bring breakfast dishes to the sink, a bit more than a minute to make up the bed, and not even 30 seconds to toss my pajamas in the laundry basket. These steps make returning home more peaceful.

Once home, I take less than 10 seconds to hang up my coat and keys, a minute to sort the mail, a minute to clean out my bag, and a minute to stash my shoes.

These steps make being home more enjoyable and productive, not to mention making the next morning more streamlined.

Curfew can also take about a minute per room or area, especially if I’ve been following the one-minute rule throughout the day.

The one-minute rule plus nightly curfew is particularly useful for tackling procrasticlutter to keep it from encroaching.

2. The one-hour container

Even when a task will take longer than one minute, I can still constrain to give myself the sense of urgency and efficiency that deadlines can bring about. Here I opt for the one hour container. Rubin calls this a “power hour” and keeps a running list of nagging tasks and then dedicates an hour a week to running through one or more of them. This is particularly useful for accomplishing things that feel complicated, bothersome, or boring. I don’t always protect an hour a week for these tasks, but I know it’s about time for me to go ahead and schedule that hour when I’ve rewritten the same to-do list item 10 different times without making any progress.

My next power hours will tackle replacing batteries and filters around the house, formatting a spreadsheet I really should have already created, and reorganizing our camping kit. None of these are truly urgent, and all of these are a little annoying, so I would put them off forever and ever if not spurred to action by the constraints of a power hour. Future me will be very glad to have them off my plate.

Now here is where I would write a witty conclusion to this blog post that really ties this whole thing together, but my power hour for updating my blog has come to an end and I’m going to have to hit publish and move on. And just like with my stuff, it’s important for me to know when to just let go and be done with a task that has been taking up space in the home of my mind.

-FIN-

HOT MESS // Promotional Clutter

If I had to choose between clutter I paid for and clutter I got for free, I’d choose the paid variety. You might be thinking that doesn’t make any sense, because “free” is exciting and “paying for things,”  not so much.

But at least the clutter I paid for represents a series of decisions that once made sense to me. I chose to go to that store, and to pick up that item, and to carry it over to the register, and to swipe my card. It probably served a purpose at one time, provided I didn’t get it at the Target Dollar Spot.

With the promotional pen/mug/stress ball/ whatever, I was totally passive. I was handed an object that someone else picked out, and I just accepted it without a thought.  Then that thing took up space in my house until I came to my senses trying to write with an underinked pen instead of the lovely Pilot G2 I purchased for myself.

Not to mention that those things are free because I’m paying for them with my attention. They’re promotional objects after all. I don’t want to surround myself with tiny advertisements, particularly for goods and services I don’t actually use.

Now, items offered to me for free now only make it home with me if I would have purchased them at a store, i.e. they actually satisfy a need.

Can coozies had been on my shopping list when the weather got warm enough for stoop sitting, and then I ended up getting some fun free ones at Artscape. They’re good quality and a pleasant blue and had they been on offer at the store if I had gone with my list, I would have purchased them.

Would I have purchased the neon pink slap bracelet offered to me by some bank at the Lantern Parade? Not a chance.

Next time someone offers you a tiny advertisement in the form of future clutter, you can graciously and firmly decline.

HOT TIP //Bon de Revenir

If I want to feel well-rested after some time away, I must unpack my things as soon as I get home.

I empty my entire suitcase, throw laundry in the hamper, return to clothes and shoes and bags and toiletries and passports and outlet adapters and all the other odds and ends travel requires to their assigned homes, and put my suitcase back in deep storage. I do all of this immediately, not just the day I get back but the moment I walk through the door.

And I encourage you to do the same. I can practically hear the protests and groans at this suggestion, and truly, I get it. Travel can be tiring, and gearing up for the return to work can be daunting. It’s so very tempting to leave a suitcase untouched in a dump zone after returning home, opting instead to relax in front of the TV, or to respond to all of those work emails you’ve been neglecting.

That said, lingering luggage is a form of what Dana K. White calls procrasticlutter. It can cause a tiny sting of stress every time you see it, or stub your toe on it, or search for your contact solution or your phone charger or whatever other object is still zipped inside. And it can attract more clutter to that space, because clean areas tend to stay clean and messy areas tend to get even messier.

Unpacking typically takes me about 15 minutes. (Admittedly, I have fewer belongings and zero children, so your results may vary.)

Unpacking is just physically demanding enough that I feel better after a long, cramped trip in a plane, train, or car. Unpacking is just mindless enough that tasks and reminders I’ve ignored while away resurface in my brain as I go, allowing me to jot them down and move on knowing I won’t forget something important.

Once I’m unpacked, I can get the mail, water the plants, cook a healthy meal (cough cough frozen pizza), start a load of laundry, etc. And then I can collapse onto the couch with relief and satisfaction.

I feel more at ease in on-ramping for the week ahead because the act of unpacking has let my mind transition from vacation-mode to typical-routine mode. I feel better about being home because my home feels organized and restful rather than disorderly and stressful.

So, Bon Voyage!! AND Bon de Revenir!!

HOT MESS // Procrasticlutter

Typically, clutter is the result from objects being without a use or without a home. And that is where S.P.A.C.E. comes in to help eliminate things we don’t need and to assign a home to the things that we do.

But sometimes what appears to be clutter in a home isn’t actually, truly clutter at all. It’s mess. It’s the result of things we love, use, and/or need being somewhere other than their assigned home.

Waystations for objects often make sense: a damp sweater needs to dry on a clothing rack, a dirty dish spends some time in the sink until the dishwasher is ready to be reloaded, a baking dish that needs to be returned to a friend temporarily lives on the kitchen counter.

But before we know it, we get distracted, or we get busy, or we get avoidant, and those objects-in-transit become semi-permanent fixtures, affecting the way our home looks, feels, and functions. A self-professed slob, Dana K. White calls this mess “procrasticlutter,” since it’s only clutter because we’re procrastinating.

Procrasticlutter is insidious because when a few surfaces of our homes are cluttered by these messes, other areas seem to follow suit-- a pile of clean clothes remains unfolded in a basket on the floor, a stack of mail remain unread on the counter, a straggle of shoes remain in a heap by the door, a suitcase from a trip last month remains at the foot of the bed. At what point do we just start closing the door on that overwhelming mess, literally or figuratively, letting it grow and multiply in the shadows?

The upside of procrasticlutter is that moment we handle it, it ceases to be clutter. We don’t need to make decisions, plans, or arrangements. We just need to put our things where they belong.

So if I’m ever overwhelmed with the state of my home,  I’ll tackle the procrasticlutter first. Admittedly, I have to deal with this a lot less frequently since I started respecting stuff curfew. But when I do need to address procrasticlutter, it gives me a sense of accomplishment and calm, which can propel me to tackle more involved decluttering, or move on with my life and do something else worth doing.

Alright, off to go to put away the laundry...

HOT TIP // First Cost vs. Life Cycle Cost

Amanda Sullivan’s unofficial motto is “less, but better.”

Less stuff, but stuff we like better.

Less stuff, but stuff that’s made better.

Less stuff, but stuff that is better for the planet.

“Less, but better” makes particular sense in our closets. Opt for seven well-made, classic, comfortable tees over seventeen cheap, trendy, ill-fitting ones. Opt for a few pairs of well-made, classic, comfortable shoes over a mountain of cheap, trendy, blister-inducing ones.

Critics of minimalism are quick to point out how “less, but better” smacks of privilege. And they’re not entirely wrong. That said, some critiques are almost exclusively about the privilege of having more money to pay the first cost of an item, i.e. the ticket price, without acknowledging the fact that many items that cost more upfront end up saving money over the life cycle of the item.

Let’s say I’m in the market for a new backpack. I can spend $20 on backpack A or $50 on backpack B. To the impulsive shopper, bag A seems like a great deal.

But what makes bag A so much cheaper? First and foremost, externalized costs. If something is too cheap to be true, somewhere a person or the planet was likely exploited to make it so.

But also, bag A is more likely to be poorly constructed from low-quality materials. After a few months of hauling my belongings, a strap tears off the bag. Not a huge deal, and I can get it repaired for about $10. Now the total cost of the bag rises to $30.

A few months later, a seam in the body of the bag tears. I can get it repaired for about $10 again, bringing the cost of the bag to $40. Or I could opt to replace the bag entirely, having sunk $30 into it and needing $20 more to buy a new version, bringing my expenditure on backpacks to $50.

Alternatively, I could just purchase backpack B the first time for $50. It has a higher initial price tag, sure, but it’s made in a nation with strict environmental and workers’ rights regulations. It’s made by a reputable brand that offers parental leave to its employees and gives money to progressive political candidates. It’s made of durable canvas, the fabric is joined with reinforced seams, and the zippers are flat and covered with a placket. It will last me ten years, all while my expenditure on backpacks remains at $50.

(Okay, maybe I spend $20 bucks to get it dry cleaned after reading some scary clickbait about the bacteria our backpacks can harbor.)

That’s the difference between a first cost and life cycle cost. Bag A was $20 at first cost, but then required money, time, and energy to repair or replace, perhaps even surpassing the cost of bag B when you take the long view of the product’s life cycle.

When I abide by the “less, but better” principle, my real privilege is not so much money as it is time. I can afford to go without an item altogether while saving up for the better version.

When I don’t abide by the “less, but better” principle, that smacks of another kind of privilege: the privilege of getting to turn my back on the externalized costs that made that first cost so cheap.

And if the plight of other humans and our planet isn’t enough to sway you, just think about how much more organized your  home filled with “less, but better” things will be.

HOT TIP // Color Me Minimal

I happen to love black, white, and gray. I mean, have you seen my website? So this tip might be a little ridiculous coming from me, but here it goes.

Instagram-minimalism has associated having less stuff with living in grayscale. An image with #minimalism will feature all-white coffee mugs on a shelf, or five identical black shirts hanging in an otherwise empty closet.

Many folks look at that and feel turned off by how stark and empty it seems. They want more! They crave a feeling of abundance and variety, and fear that being very intentional with their possessions will leave them feeling like they don’t have “enough,” so they don’t give S.P.A.C.E. a try.

Before I can move on, let me just rant again about how those images are a) not even real and b) not even minimalism. At best, they showcase asceticism, which is a morally defensible philosophical approach to the world. At worst, they showcase an advertisement for a branded product or person, which is irksome.

Okay, back to the topic at hand. You can streamline your possessions and organize your home AND still feel like it’s full of variety, abundance, visual interest, and vitality by incorporating color. Lots of different colors, or lots of one or two favorite colors. As much color as you want, wherever you want. In fact, in my experience, color can help curb the compulsion to buy more stuff for your home because the stuff that is there is more interesting. One of the most streamlined, organized, and functional spaces I’ve ever seen is a veritable fiesta of teal, chartreuse, and navy blue.

A variety of clothing is required equipment for life. Choose whatever colors you want.

Dishes for yourself and your family are required equipment for life. Choose whatever colors you want.

Heck, paint takes up no space in your home. Choose whatever colors you want.

You can use one lovely, high quality teapot, and it can be bubble gum pink.

Your one vase for fresh flowers can be neon green.

You can treasure a handmade patchwork quilt that features every color under the sun.

To me, and others who prefer rooms with low visual stimulation, black, white, and gray are lovely. I live in a house painted what can only be called “landlord beige.” When I’m not dressed like a mime, I’m wearing pretty much only blue or green. BUT, I do have some scarves in many different colors, and they bring me joy and make my wardrobe feel more lively. Minimalism does not mean making your whole life look the first 20 minutes of the Wizard of Oz, y’all.

HOT TIP // Make a Month

I’m drawn to the idea of 30-day challenges, probably due to my special blend of perfectionism and laziness. A month seems to be both a significant amount of time and a manageable amount of time.

I completed a Whole 30 one June (sorry again to anyone who had the unique displeasure of interacting with me during that time). I completed the Minimalists’ Game one January, albeit the remixed variety. Those experiences were rewarding, and helped jumpstart some long-term positive changes for me, so I’ve developed a fondness for month-long personal projects.

Case in point:

I wanted to stop watching TV when I was by myself, using that time instead for reading, writing, walks, cooking, chores, catching up with real live people, and sleep. I wanted to instead be a social TV watcher, using TV as a means of connection and companionship with real live people in real time. And I wanted to stop binge watching altogether, so that I could have more time to, you know, live my actual life.

Sounds like great plan for a month-long challenge, right? I certainly thought so.

Except that I completely forgot about it until the 6th.

When I realized my failure to launch the month-long challenge on the 1st of the month, I was so bummed that the only thing I wanted to do was watch all of the tiny house shows on Netflix. (There are a LOT of tiny house shows on Netflix, y’all.)

That obviously made me feel worse, and further crystallized my resolve to change my viewing habits.

Then I had a flash of insight -- a month-long challenge doesn’t have to line up perfectly with a calendar month. It just has to be 30 consecutive days!

(If this is where you’re saying “duh” and regretting reading this many words about something so obvious, I apologize. This thought was truly revolutionary for me. I’m not unaware of how sad that is.)

So instead of binge watching terrible television solo for the rest of the month, I started my month on the 7th. And I went a full month abiding by my new rules for TV, plus a few extra days because I hadn’t realized the month was technically up.

And then, I watched some Planet Earth while folding some laundry because Planet Earth is dope and folding laundry can be tedious and because I had strengthened my self-control muscle enough over the course of the challenge to trust I would turn it off when the episode was over.

And a challenge doesn’t even have to be a month at all! A week, 3 days and then a total epic fail of a lapse and then 3 more days… whatever! I can start, and restart, and re-restart, right now. And now. And now.

What 30-day challenge are you hoping to try? Why wait til the 1st?

HOT TIP // Set a Date

When we purchased our house last fall, we had loads of help with moving and unpacking. (Thank you all, again!) Within the first weekend of having the keys, the basic and essential equipment of our life (read: coffee maker) was unboxed and accessible.

However, the bedding for the guest room, the office supplies, the camping gear, etc., all languished in boxes. We didn’t need that stuff right away, so procrastination was a very attractive option.

So to prevent ourselves from living among boxes in perpetuity,  we planned a housewarming party three weeks from our closing date.

That held us accountable for getting our house in order in a big way, because we wanted our guests to be comfortable and at ease, not stepping over one moving box to find a seat on another.

I can’t just circle a date on the calendar and jot down something like “Deadline: House Organized!!” My future self will thoroughly ignore a wimpy little circle. My future self will not ignore the prospect of being self-conscious and embarrassed.

So, what project are you putting off?

Is your guest room/ office/ home gym combo a hot mess? Offer to host your in-laws next weekend. Are your kitchen drawers filled exclusively with ketchup packets? Plan a dinner party. Embarrassment is an excellent deterrent, so hack it to jumpstart an organization project.

P.S. For readers in the Patterson Park neighborhood, the annual home tour is on October 7th. Talk about an epic commitment. I’m offering a 25% discount on organizing sessions for those intrepid souls putting their homes on the tour. Book now.

HOT TIP // Long Live the Library

I love books as much as the next nerd, but I’ve been mostly cured of the compulsion to own each and every book I plan to read.

How can a bibliophile live with buying no new books? Simple: a library card.

I’ll let the ever smart and snarky Mr. Money Mustache explain: “I know the home-based bookshelf is emotionally attractive to many who fancy themselves to be intellectuals. But if you are really that smart, why are you paying dearly for something that you can get for free?”

Now I can “own” practically any book I want to read without spending a single dime or finding permanent storage for said book. I store borrowed books on a shelf in the coffee table, and make a point of returning completed books promptly.

Benefits of my home include its proximity to the local branch of the Pratt library, and the fact that the house has one built-in bookshelf. For a book to land a coveted spot on that shelf, I have to know I will read it again, and/or know of a friend I’d like to share it with. There are several books on the shelf that I decided to purchase only after reading a copy I’d borrowed from the library, e.g. Department of Speculation by Jenny Offill.

And if I ultimately decide that a book isn’t suiting me, I take it to the Little Free Library. There are two in Patterson Park, and if that’s not close to your Baltimore abode (or you’re one of my dedicated European readers with an understandable love of organization and inexplicable love of Baltimore-specific blogs) here’s a map of all of the Little Free Libraries in the world.

An excess of books might be the noblest form of clutter, but it’s clutter all the same. Take some time to curate your ideal bookshelf and free your home from the piles of unread and never-to-be-read-again books, by just storing them in the building you already pay for with your taxes.

P.S. If I’m purchasing a book I already know I love, or if I’m gifting books to others, or if I’m breaking my own rule because of being an occasional hypocrite, I’ll shop at a used bookstore or order it new from Greedy Reads or another locally owned, independent bookstore. Never Amazon, y’all.

HOT MESS // Water for Cotton

When I was in the market for a home, I never once thought to myself: “Hey, I should build myself a brand new home.”

Why not? Well, because there were literally dozens of perfectly good, "used" homes in the neighborhood where I wanted to live, and to start a home from scratch would seem like a huge waste of resources.

Why then, when I’m in the market for other things, is my first impulse to buy brand new?

When I need a t-shirt,  why don’t I automatically assume I'll buy a pre-owned shirt from the huge pool of perfectly good existing shirts? Why don’t I automatically consider the waste of resources involved in starting a shirt from scratch? Why don’t I balk at the three years worth of drinking water that’s consumed in producing ONE COTTON T-SHIRT?

Because I get caught thinking that buying new is cheap, easy, and expected. I’m working to combat that.

Let’s start with cheap. A t-shirt at Target typically costs under $20. That’s relatively little expense to me. But that cheap shirt is more likely to fade, fray, or hang funny after a couple of washings, meaning I’ll have to replace it, incurring more cost.

Besides, that t-shirt, and the one I have to buy after it craps out, is only cheap to me because I’m not the one paying the costs. Target (or Walmart, or Amazon, or Old Navy, or whichever fast fashion store you choose) externalizes those costs to other people, or to the planet.

And a quality t-shirt from a consignment, used, or vintage clothing store would likely cost me even less.

How about easy? Yes, frankly, buying brand new is very easy. Too easy! How else could fast fashion generate $250 billion in the United States annually? These companies want to make it very, very easy for us to become separated from our money. We should be suspicious of how convenient shopping is, again looking for ways that we all pay the price for our convenience.

And a quality t-shirt from a consignment, used, or vintage clothing store would be just as easy to purchase. Many boutiques even sell online.

So finally, let’s take a look at expected. It’s all too normal to assume that brand new is the default for our clothing needs. Even when we want a vintage look, we often opt for new.  Looking at you, Urban Outfitters. 

Why don’t we consider used clothes the way we consider used houses? I think it’s because the costs of newness seem so much less, but we all consume many, many more t-shirts over our lifetime than we do houses AND so many of those costs are externalized. What if we brought those costs to the front of our mind when making the decision of where to shop?

Now I’m not about to suggest that we all buy used underwear in the name of sustainability.

But when I go to pick up the black jeans that are currently on my shopping list, I’m going to opt for a perfectly good, previously loved pair rather than the “cheap, easy, and expected” brand new version.

And I will care for them well, the same way I’ll clean the gutters and maintain the HVAC system of my home, with the sense that someday, another owner will meet her needs by dipping in to the existing pool of goods rather than starting from scratch.