My husband once asked a friend to tell him the secret to his success.
“Storage rooms,” he stated matter-of-factly. “One day it occurred to me that people love their stuff. So I figured if I built storage facilities, people would come. It took my last cent to build my first one, but within a year I had enough cash to build a second. And the rest is history.”
To me, the Queen of Clean and Clutter-Clearing Goddess who had feng shui-ed her surroundings into a holy living space, the idea that people actually clung to their old junk like a baby baboon clings to its mother’s breast appalled, even horrified me. My countertops were clear…and for years so was my conscience.
Last year when I began pulling Christmas decorations out of our attic and hauling them, one by one, to the appropriate rooms for unpacking, a startling question occurred to me. Exactly how many boxes of this stuff did I have?
“One, two, three,” I began counting. “Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…forty-one, forty-two!”
WHAT! FORTY-TWO BOXES OF CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS! Could it be I was one of them? A quick inspection of my attic, closets, garage, and cupboards revealed the truth…that I had secreted away masses of junk, all the while pointing an accusatory finger at others for the same offense?
By March, my dark secret had festered into an open psychological wound. I finally convinced my husband that downsizing was the only cure for what was ailing my hypocritical conscience.
Copyright © 2017 Patra Taylor