I was in a world-class funk last week. It happens, periodically. Everything feels heavier, and life loses its promise and sparkle for me.
On Friday, I went to Target, killing time before picking Owen up from a field trip. To combat the sparkle issue, I purchased four dollar earrings---three of them actually. Fake diamonds, fake pearls, and fake studs.
I also picked up The Happiness Project, by Gretchen Rubin. If you're not familiar, it's a woman's attempt to uncover some of the secrets of happiness by field-testing theories by philosophers and experts. I'm not done yet, but I'm finding a lot of practical advice.
One thing she mentioned was energizing your space by reducing clutter. And so I organized a drawer.
And another. And another. I mercilessly tossed the clutter, and learned that nobody, not even a Marylander, needs four cans of Old Bay.
I bought file boxes, and made a hanging file for each year of my sons' lives. I finally have a place for the certificates and assorted crafts that their wives will appreciate some day.
There is a joy knowing, with absolute certainty, that an item is home. That it belongs. That amidst the highs and lows of hormones and serotonin---those chemicals that can humble a person---at least the markers all have caps. The colors will still sing on the page.
When I sat down to write this, I spent a few moments looking for the camera cord to download the pictures I took of my new clean spaces, so full of promise and light.
I couldn't find it anywhere. It was lost.
And instead of crying or stewing or just giving up, I took blurry photos with my phone, and laughed. What are ya gonna do?
I guess there's something to the whole de-cluttering thing.. Empty spaces, surprisingly enough, can fill a person right up.