I’ve never been stellar at keeping clutter to a minimum. It seems to creep up on me until suddenly I feel like I am suffocating in stuff. Cleaning is not high on my list of to dos although one look at my personal space would suggest maybe moving it up the list a bit would be beneficial. Eventually I’ll go through and clean out/throw out, but until I do, there is that overwhelming feeling of crap taking over my life.

 

Interestingly enough, I’ve been thinking about some mental clutter that I feel needs sorting, analyzing, and even boxing up. It is stuff that I seem to stumble over occasionally. I am not sure I want to get rid of it forever, yet I need to stash it out of my way….sort of out of sight-out of mind if you will until such time as I don’t even remember it is there and can forever let it go. This is stuff that reminds me of past hurts. It’s the sort of stuff that triggers thoughts of grief, guilt, self pity, and even some hostility. Yep, time to sort through it, pluck out the good memories, and release the rest.

 

I am not entirely sure how to make this work. Some of my mental clutter is akin to Aunt Josie’s hand painted tea pots. What happens when friends or family come around asking about that particular bit of “clutter” I decided to pack away and forget about?

 

I think the answer lies in choosing my response while I am sorting and putting away those thought patterns and memories. What would my response be? Maybe it could be something about my choice to put old experiences away for safe keeping and move forward with new ideas and new ways of thinking….sort of a “don’t even go there with me” response. Wonder how that would go over. I really do need to find a way to release and not continually go dig through the boxes of put-away stuff. I am very good at that, you know…re-opening the box, climbing in and wallering, then dragging the old stuff back out. Makes for a very messy lifestyle and a constant need to lick old wounds.

 

Geez….maybe the only good option is the give-away-throw-away approach. Ouch. Letting go. Feels a bit like constipation. Lovely metaphor, don’t you think?