The Problem
I’ve had the same mission for at least a year. I’m trying to de-clutter. I’m not talking about a room. I’m talking about my house.
I totally believe physical clutter becomes mental clutter. It’s like a sneaky morphing process that silently takes place as your clutter grows.
At first you don’t notice. Maybe you’re a little more stressed, but by the time you’ve reached the diagnosable “Generalized Anxiety” stage, you may (or may not) have figured out the connection.
My entire body is like a lightning rod for clutter. The more clutter, the more teeth grinding and muscle tension arises. It’s like the 2 x 4 that finally gets my attention…definitely a “Surrender Dorothy” moment.
Vacuuming has a way of disguising the clutter. My serotonin level is higher on the days I vacuum. It doesn’t last long, however, because my athletic shoes leave noticeable tread marks in their wake.
The Kittens
Then there’s the bathroom…oh, not my favorite room to clean. One reason…my kittens consider it their spa. My bathtub is their meditation space. I’m just lucky cats don’t like water. My shower is safe.
By the way, is there a Feline Mensa Society? I know dogs have Dog Parks, but cats need Mensa Meetings. If you don’t believe me, google the articles on how to pill a cat. When I’m feeling down, I read those articles. If those don’t make me laugh, nothing will.
But Don’t Call Me A Hoarder
I’m not a hoarder. A friend recently described me as a minimalist. Although a lot of my stuff is hidden inside drawers and closets, I still claim and cherish that moniker.
If I ever want to move…let’s not even go there. I’d have to hire two moving companies…one for my necessities and furniture, and the other for my “stuff”.
Stuff, meaning clutter, seems to stick to me like Velcro. Regardless of how many times I clear it, it reproduces like kudzu.
Can you relate?
Minute Meditations for the Soul 