A New Habit

We’re two weeks into the new year, and I’ve already gone off the rails.

I ate way too many sour cream and onion chips. I devoured mounds of chocolate, ice cream, cakes, and cookies. I binged on gummies and Netflix. Plus, a snowstorm shut down the gym for a day and it’s threatening a repeat next week. (I can’t possibly be expected to work out at home, can I?) So many resolutions blown in just a few days. One resolution stands—a habit I formed years ago, a system to create space, room to breathe.

I work from home. So, my environment affects my creativity, my focus. When clothes are crammed into drawers, when the contents of drawers ooze out onto counters, my brain registers an error code. I feel claustrophobic. I need white space to function well.

Here’s how I tame the stuff: the clothes, shoes, towels, blankets, utensils, etc. that attempt to swallow me whole.

Part 1: Donate one item every day of the year.

The thought of cleaning out every closet, drawer, and cabinet makes me want to cry. Spring cleaning or yearly purges are overwhelming to me. But five to ten minutes each week I can handle.

I start in my closet in a certain section . . . say, the top rod. (I have one of those organized closets with upper and lower rods, cubbies, and drawers—a big draw when we bought the house so I wouldn’t have to organize it myself.) I start on the right and work my way to the left and then move to the next rod, drawer, cubby. Once per week, I pick out seven items. I am pretty brutal during this part. Do I wear it/use it? Do I need multiples of the same item? (Why are socks only sold in packs of twelve? I wash clothes once per week. How many socks will I actually wear in a week?) Do I feel good in it? Could someone else use this more than I do? This last question is the final nail in the coffin. I am thankful for how God has provided over the years during times when my husband and I were praying over two single dollar bills, begging them to make babies . . . and fast (It’s a Wonderful Life reference). I remember generous moms of older children passing on maternity clothes I could not afford to buy myself. As the receiver of generosity, I want to now be that blessing to others. Will one pair of socks make a difference? Maybe not. But, over the course of a year, 365 items could bless someone.

Once I make it through the first three or four weeks, I’m hooked. I start looking at everything in the house with a focused eye. If I don’t love it or need it, it’s a potential donation. I tackle everything I have access to first—my own clothes, shoes, outerwear, knickknacks, and everything contained in the kitchen. I leave everyone else’s stuff for last. I need the momentum of a good six months or so of success before I subject myself to the depths of a teenager’s closet and drawers. To boost my sense of reward, I give myself a check mark each week on the calendar. (A check mark is enough for me; you might be motivated by a different reward.) So, by the time I have exhausted the rest of the house, I am desperate to find more stuff to give away. I have become a donation addict. I admit it.

I move on to the least oppositional member of the household. He’s a grown man after all. (Plus, he doesn’t want to be relegated to the couch. Happy wife, happy life?) How many t-shirts does one man need anyway? I continue down the line, leaving the borderline hoarder for last.

Part 2: When any item comes into the house, one item must leave the house.

I don’t want to sabotage the progress I’ve made. I love that I can move my hangers with ease. My drawers have pockets of space to easily move things around. I don’t have to cram things in to get a cabinet or drawer shut.

A glimpse behind the curtain: One of my favorite stores was having a clearance sale. I found a new hoodie that fit all the requirements—comfortable, super soft, and black. When it was delivered to the house, I immediately looked through my old hoodies. I have to admit that several of them I would be embarrassed for the UPS driver to see me wearing, even through the windows. I chose one of the embarrassing hoodies to replace the new one. Done: one in and one out.

Each week, the items chosen on a given day (Saturday for me) are added to the bag in the garage. Once the bag is full, it’s delivered to my charity of choice. No backsies. If I have second thoughts about an item in the garage, I am not allowed to retrieve it unless I replace it.

So many details, I know. But let’s talk about the bigger picture. When I have too much stuff, I can feel claustrophobic. I need margin. I need white space. This habit puts me in the right frame of mind to begin looking at my schedule. What are the parts of my schedule I love or need? If they aren’t important to my health (spiritual, emotional, mental, physical), do I have to keep them? What could I remove from my schedule in order to have margin, in order to create needed space?

I encourage you to try this practice for three weeks. Give yourself a few minutes one day per week. Reward yourself when you clear out seven items. Consider how you can be a blessing to someone in need. Your extra just might be their necessity. Let me know how it goes!