The story below is an excerpt from our January/February 2018 issue. For the rest of this story and more like it subscribe today, log in to read our digital edition or download our FREE iOS app. Thank you!
Is this the year for the resolution to . . . simply be yourself?
Well, it’s that time of year again. I’m old enough now to call it what it really is, the time of year when I lie to myself about getting organized. Nothing like starting the new year off with a bit of self-delusion. The chances that my New Year’s resolution to become organized succeeds are about the same as me buying a winning lottery ticket. In both cases, I daydream about the lovely life I’ll have once it happens and then wallow in disappointment when it never does.
I don’t know why I can’t seem to clear clutter out and keep it out. Why is this so hard? What happens to flat surfaces in my house? I swear I clean them off, dust them until they shine, and the clutter fairy drops 10 pounds of papers, bills, and miscellany on them when my back is turned. The clutter fairy is so sneaky.
My mom was a pack rat, so maybe clutter has a genetic component. I remember the weekend she asked me to help her organize. I was ecstatic. Finally, she wanted to pare down the mountains of stuff in her house. I assumed we would be throwing out boat loads of clutter. She, on the other hand, thought we would be keeping every single object but storing it all in pretty, labeled boxes. So clutter mountain did not get any smaller, it grew by 40 storage boxes and a label maker.
That was a frustrating weekend for us. I would hold up an item that surely she could part with, only to have it declared essential. Take for example, two dozen tiny tin cups. When I asked her if they could go, her response was, “I got those so when I throw a party I can serve shrimp cocktails and those darling cups are perfect for sauce.”
Let me explain why that’s funny. The only party my mother ever hosted was my sixth birthday party, which ended with her declaring she’d never host another. In my family we refer to this as the “unfortunate pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey incident.” My juvenile sense of justice was incensed when I caught Betsy cheating and strongly suggested to her mother than they both leave immediately. Mama was mortified.
Though she never hosted another party, as long as she had these cups she could be the type of woman who effortlessly threw together easy, breezy parties. The cups, along with everything else, were staging for the life she wanted to live. She built an entire Prop Department for her storybook life. There were expired snacks in the pantry for guests who never arrived. There were bags and bags of wrapping paper and ribbon and a stockpile of gifts for every occasion, so she could produce beautifully wrapped, thoughtful gifts on a moment’s notice. There were serving platters and place holders for sit-down dinners that were never prepared.
Mama passed away. Alzheimer’s disease negated the need for any props. In her final years, she lived within her own mind and did not seem to miss her possessions. Everything was cleared out and sold to fund her care. It’s all gone, even the tiny tin cups.
Today I find myself staring into my ‘fridge wondering why there’s a deflating cantaloupe in there. Why do I buy fruit and let it rot? Oh. Like my mother, I dream of being the type of woman who eats fresh fruit and cinnamon toast for breakfast, perhaps on delicate china while Vivaldi softly plays in the background.
My friends will laugh to hear that. I am clearly a Lucky Charms-out-of-a-chipped-bowl kind of woman. If classical music were playing in my house, I would not be able to hear it over the dogs barking. I sold my china because it had been 17 years since I last touched it. I am simply not the type of person who starts her day in an elegant, quiet manner and I will never be that person.
That’s it. I am putting the Cantaloupe Growers of America on notice. This year, I have a new resolution. I will not buy food that I won’t get around to eating. I will not buy clothes that I will never fit into. I am not going to buy props for some fantasy life that I won’t ever live.
This year, I am shedding whatever I think I am supposed to be and I’m going to just be. In 2018, I resolve to enjoy every moment I can. I resolve to tell the people I hold dear that I love them. I resolve to laugh every chance I get. I resolve that I will be kind, to others and to myself. I resolve to clutter my life with fond memories. This is going to be a great year. Now, about that winning lottery ticket. . .