A few weeks ago I was visiting some family in Guelph. After, I went for a short bike ride in the evening. I found myself at a Little Library in a corner of the city that I hadn’t explored before. Inside it, I found Spark Joy, a book by Marie Kondo. While I know a bit about her writing and methodology, I’ve never really dug into her work. This book seems to be a follow up to The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up. The first half of the book provides case studies, methodologies and suggestions for approaching tidying. The second half features illustrated step by step guides on how to actually take on specific tidying tasks.

As I flipped through the pages, I found a surging excitement in me at the possibility of clearing out some junk. For me, clutter tends to just accumulate slowly, accreting in corners and under beds and desks until it becomes a noticeable burden. At that point, I go through bouts of rapid cleaning, and skew towards getting rid of things with a manic energy.

Regardless of the technique you’re using to clear clutter, for me, the act of discarding things out brings up thoughts on wastefulness, reuse, and abundance. I feel like this comic below aptly summarizes some of my thoughts on this.

Of course, discarding stuff and clearing clutter doesn’t mean you are a rich minimalist. Yet this comic strikes a chord for me, it resonates in my mind, transporting me to memories of physical spaces owned by wealthy people that I’ve found myself in. There’s a kernel of truth, there. And of course, conversely, people with less wealth often need to keep things around for reuse, resale, and repairs—you can't carelessly throw away things that allow you to continue to be resourceful. There are no two ways about it. I can’t go through bouts of throwing clutter and junk away without feeling like we live in a bizarre, absurd world, especially in comparison to other times and places in our world. How do we get to a place where I am literally throwing away or donating unused things?

Rich minimalist or not, the ability for clutter to accumulate in a hyper-capitalist, consumerist culture is altogether too easy. How many times have I bought something just because it was on sale? Or because it was in good condition at a second-hand store? I don’t exactly exhibit presence of mind when making decisions about accepting new items into my home. The default has often just been: yes, I will take that, thank you.

I’m thinking about this more, as our apartment will soon fill up with possessions that belong to our new child. I’ve been finding myself asking myself: how can I encourage having a respectful appreciation for the things we have in our life, and model a healthy relationship with acquiring and letting go of objects?

I recently brought up this topic with a friend on a long ride home. He told me that for him, getting an object means that the object sort of carries a weight—a set of responsibilities behind it. There are implicit requirements in ownership. Our objects need to be taken care of, used appropriately, and have their maximum potential engaged. If you aren't doing all those things then you will be worn down just by the mere presence of this object. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to objects. They should bring light, not dread. I think this is the idea behind an object "sparking joy".

My project list is long, but tidying is quickly bubbling up past many of the other things I want to do. I need to know where things are, now that we’re a family. It’s not exactly the fun I might have chosen for myself in the past, but the methodological approach that Spark Joy brings turns what might have been a chore into something that actually yields autonomy and makes way for a healthy sense of control (and at least knowing where the sunscreen is).

Each person has to find their own method for sorting through the detritus we accumulate. But the more I read about mechanisms for taking care of clutter, the more I wonder about what drives our capacity to collect—is it fear-based? comparison-oriented? opportunity oriented? Or are we just as the Magpie?

I’d like to imagine there is a way to break the cycle of over-consumption and thoughtless accumulation. I know there is a way to say "no thank you" to new items that appear at our door. Maybe it requires being mindful in the moment, and monitoring impulses. Or maybe I should shut the door, find the goddamn key amongst the clutter, and lock it.