Tag Archives: Tidying Up With Marie Kondo

Goodbye Gucci Bag

It has been years since I decluttered the Gucci bag given to me by my boyfriend in 1988. Recently, it returned to mind with pangs of sadness and feelings of loss which I write about today.

It came wrapped in a box, the purse in a pouch of its own. I did not realize at the time this was a dust protector to keep the bag nice when not in use. I immediately loved the thought and the gift, though deeper feelings of not deserving it stirred, as well.

Cream colored Gucci dust cover bag with green letters and a drawstring.

I do not know that I was able to trust that the giver found me special or worthy, because I did not believe that of myself. It is a heavy weight to put on a teenage boy over a long distance. It is a heavy weight to carry, that of being nothing special yourself.

Recently my son’s rap music was playing in the car as he drove home from school. I sat in the passenger seat. The line She want this Gucci, she can get it played in addition to all of the other designer clothes, cars, and jewelry she could get.

After cringing the song up a bit by adding my own lines, She want eight kids, she can get it, Toyota Corrolla, hop in it, I told him his father actually bought me a Gucci purse when we were teenagers.

No way. You never had a Gucci.

Um, yes, I did.

There’s no way.

Yes. There really is a way.

This prompted an immediate search on my phone for an image of the small, albeit genuine, Gucci cross body purse that I carried for a season.

Memories flood my mind.

I am standing in the closet of the Green Street house, not a newlywed, not married ten years, yet, looking at my things. I feel lost. I am lost in motherhood, lost in who I am and what I like, and sad that nothing feels right about me.

In a pattern that is familiar, I pick up the thing that is probably the most me, and hence must bear the brunt of my feelings about myself. The Gucci purse goes into the giveaway bag first. When will I ever carry something that small, again? These days the large plastic Peter Rabbit diaper bag is my perpetual fashion statement.

Foreign to me is the idea that this, too, shall pass. I am living forever in the traumatic present which feels as if it will never pass.

Somewhere, someone is blessed with the surprise of a Gucci at a Goodwill store, and I forget about it until my own child challenges the notion that I would ever own something with that brand name.

I watched another Tiding Up over the weekend. We are almost finished with the series. In this one, the husband has a piles of designer shoes, and I wonder his story with them as he works out the decluttering process of choosing what to keep and what to give away.

I think of my single designer bag, the one I look up online occasionally to find that is sells for a couple hundred dollars and is not something I will ever have back. It is a part of my past to handle, grieve, and let go, all in my mind.

I bless the teenage boy who chose the thoughtful gift at a department store for the teenage girl living 1,100 miles away. I bless the girl for her good taste in men and for knowing that he was the one from first smile, even though it would take blood, sweat, and tears to uncover the goodness in them both, together.

I bless the recipient of the Gucci purse then and the one who carries it now. Wherever it landed was the right place, just as the words from Young Thug landed in the right place on the way home from school with my son, the child of mine who I wish I was able to grace with a vintage Gucci cross body.

Maybe it’s a gift that I don’t have to choose!

Let Go

On the heels of my post about order and how I experience the show Tidying Up, I stand in the kitchen set staring into an open metal cabinet full of games. A mashup of titles from Honeybee Tree to Stratego fill the shelves.

Paralyzed, I stand motionless. This is a familiar feeling when entering a place of downsizing and decluttering. Theory enters my mind. Idealism. Memories.

In theory, I can pull out a game a day, week, or another set time with the family to decide if we really enjoy it, or even play it. In fact, on this unexpected snow day, I could gather everyone around for a fun downsizing activity.

Let’s try playing these board games together and see what we want to keep and what we want to get rid of!

Reality quickly enters the equation, and the energy that would take drains me before I mention the idea. How often do we actually play board games together, anyway?

Idealism jumps in with its voice. It might not be long before another generation of littles is running around here. They might like playing Honeybee Tree, and you might have more patience threading the branches through the little holes with them than you did with your own children.

Memories flood as past, present, and future collide. Art Lotto was a favorite of the first generation of littles. Memory was a game I hoped I could enjoy with my littles as much as I enjoyed my mom playing it with me. I know that missing Stratego piece is out here somewhere. If we get more clay then Cranium could be fun to play again like it was around the table of the Green Street house.

Caught in the undertow, trying to swim parallel to the shore, I pick up an item that is clearly to declutter. It is not a game but a dinosaur kit. I am certain we do not need it anymore. Opening it, I remember that my youngest has an overdue dinosaur project. These plaster of paris pieces will fit the bill perfectly.

I pick up a shallow cardboard box being saved to organize things in a drawer (ala Konmarie Method) and call my daughter to the table to assemble the dinosaur.

The process reminds her of another project, a diorama, also due. She runs to her room and brings down something she has saved since first grade.

I’m glad I saved this. It will work perfectly.

The theme is frontier, and she asks about the Lincoln Logs. I find the bin and bring them to the table. It is like Christmas.

Can I take these up to my room when I finish making the log cabin?

Two projects are checked off of the list, courtesy of items we saved for way too long. It is a good thing we did not get rid of that dinosaur kit, the cardboard box, the old school project, and the Lincoln Logs . . . right?

Hence the bind.

Yes, it is a grace to have those things appear when we need them, but can I trust my needs to be met without having to account and project for every possible option and outcome? Can I release feelings of fear and scarcity to make room for possibility and provision?

Can I let things go?

On the way to school the following day, teenage brother sits in the passenger front seat, headphones on. Noticing the dinosaur in his sister’s lap, he recalls when he got the kit on a family vacation one year. He is the one who cast the pieces when he was ten or eleven years old.

I have no memory of this. None. We laugh and remember more of the story together. I express gratitude for the help he provided these many years later. I think of him at the time he got the kit, older brother of three younger sisters and little guy to four teenage siblings.

No one has an easy place in this family!

The projects are back home and sit on the dining room table. I look at them as I write, allowing myself space for things to be out of place while ordering my thoughts. I do not resolve the game cabinet situation.

Honeybee Tree and Stratego are keepers, for now. Memory is not in the cabinet when I go out to take a picture for the post. I must have let that one go already. The others will hold the space as I work through feelings, practice, and grow in my ability to let go.

Bringing Order

As a child I had a fierce longing for order in my world. I wanted a place for everything and everything in its place. The oldest of six children by the time I was 10, my early years were spent trying to manage a lot of toys.

This was difficult, because though I loved playing with little people, wooden blocks, and Duplos, when I outgrew these things there were still younger siblings enjoying them. They would leave pieces strewn about the house. When it was time to clean up, everything came back to me.

Whose toys are these?

They’re Julie’s.

While technically true, it was immensely frustrating. I was the first, and as such they were mine originally. I scurried to try to pick up and bring peace and order to the situation. If only I could get it right.

There was great tension between reality and fantasy. The ideal in my mind could not match what was actually able to happen. This played out while cleaning my room, a space that I shared with several littles.

We had a light blue wooden toy box with a hinged lid. One had to be careful when opening it, because the lid could easily slam shut. Cleaning the room often involved tossing everything into this toy box. When closed, the top doubled a seat. The trick was to get everything flat inside so that the lid would shut all the way. Not easy.

I tried organizing the toys. I sorted them by category, gathered all the pieces of different sets together, and carefully placed them inside the toy box, hoping the propped lid would not come slamming down on me in the process.

My efforts were thwarted by eager younger siblings as they scrambled and dug through and dumped out their newfound favorite things as quickly as I could tidy and sort out and put back. As much as I longed to bring order to the chaos, chaos always prevailed.

There was just so much to manage. So many people with so many things sharing so little space. I remember my mom’s frustration with this, also. She tried making containers out of recycled plastic milk jugs to use for sorting the toys. It was a valiant, hopeful effort.

As a mom myself, I recognize the feeling that if I only had the right bins and boxes to collect items, everything would fall into place, but there is also the piece of teaching children how to pick up after themselves. There were so many children. There still are so many children. There have always been many children.

Instead of calm, orderly space with things tidied and put away, there were toys everywhere, and tension and stress. My dad would say am I the only one that sees XYZ on the floor and I would see it too.

After all, the mess came back to me. I felt like the common denominator of the endless clutter. I would pick things up and hurry to try to put them away, but the cycle was never ending.

I remember having these when I grow up thoughts such as when I grow up there’s gonna be a place for everything and everything in its place or when I grow up I’m not going to have kids to make messes everywhere or when I grow up I’m going to have matching furniture.

Somehow I lost myself between that space and the space of growing up and then ended up just replaying the same story over again and again.

After watching several episodes of Tidying Up with Marie Kondo, I have still not made it through one with dry eyes. Something always stirs inside causing a tear to escape or a torrent to let loose. These tears prompted me to explore the story with tidiness, or lack thereof, in my life.

I understand the desire for order. I get the feeling of futility that it will never happen. I feel the weight of being a child who does not know what to do with all of the things and the mom who is just trying to do her best with what she has.

I grieve not having had a space and season that was my own to settle into and navigate on my own while learning to adult. I fight the fear that something will happen to the one I love before we have a chance to figure out our life together.

All of these themes present in different episodes and prompt conversations between my love and I in our living room. The bottom line, I have discovered, is that there is no right way other than to learn from the past, to sit with the present, and to move into the future with new knowledge and hope for repair.

I still long to bring order to the chaos. With some new grown-up skills in place and the kind understanding of those in my world, these days, order is catching up.