Empty Spaces

The trip to Barnes and Noble yesterday was notable for several reasons. As described in my previous post, I managed not to purchase anything. More interesting than that, however, was the way I suddenly felt about the prospect of walking up to the register with STUFF.

STUFF (as currently defined by me): Unnecessary clutter; material tangible or otherwise that serves to soothe our nagging inner fears while doing nothing whatsoever to solve them. A.K.A.: crap we buy or hold onto to make us feel OK while we traipse around haphazardly through life. Perhaps stumble around would more accurately depict the most typical human efforts at getting through a day.

Yes, I know that Barnes and Noble has books. Many good books. Enough good books to overshadow the quality-challenged books also in stock. And I love books. New and pristine books are in my STUFF category right now as I already have plenty and live one block away from a library. The book covers I perused are not, however, what inspired my anti-clutter musings.

Examples of STUFF I saw at Barnes and Noble yesterday:

1) Decorated filing folders, promising to organize lives.

2) A short, cylindrical case with three zippered compartments created to hold (I can only guess) particularly noteworthy toenail clippings, wished-upon eyelashes, tiny bathroom tiles, and friendly ladybugs.

3) Dr. Atkins books. No explanation necessary.

4) Roughly 400 different ways to jot down a quick note and then throw it away. Some had letters on them (post-its to reaffirm your identity?). My personal favorite was a candle put inside a chalkboard cup. Write a note reminding yourself not to burn off your bangs – just to be safe.

Most people can theoretically understand that these and other objects don’t enrich their lives in any meaningful way. Most people can explain in detail how we should be volunteering in our communities and giving objects away instead.

Most people buy STUFF regularly. Most of this STUFF sits eternally in corners or cramped cupboards, rarely if ever seeing the light of day.

The question of why we do these things is certainly interesting. Right now I don’t care. I just want to stop.

For some reason, I have noticed in recent months that I simply don’t want to buy anything that I can’t use immediately. I left many of my beautiful books in my parents’ barn when I moved to my apartment, taking only the books I could envision myself reading very soon. I have given boxes of clothes and trinkets away – many of them things I have held onto for over a decade. This has felt surprisingly easy and good, like rinsing sand off of itchy feet.

Empty spaces intrigue and motivate me. I have spent my lifetime lusting after blank journals and fields vacant except for untouched powdery snow. My bookshelves now have far fewer books per shelf than they once did. The bookshelves of my adolescence often contained two rows of books; half of all books were hidden. Now all books are given space to breathe. They also spend more time off of the shelf now, open on my lap.