Is pandemic a chance to declutter my home? It’s not clear to me

My neighbor recently told me she was decluttering her already decluttered house, a second round of tidying that involves everything from the refrigerator veggie drawer to the top shelf of her closet. She considers this effort well-spent when measured by the sense of satisfaction it delivers.

The first time she embarked on this mission was early in the pandemic, when most of us were washing our groceries, wiping down our mail and wondering if we would ever be able to hug our loved ones again. Her lockdown de-junking resulted in donations of clothes that no longer fit, high-heeled shoes she didn’t want and kitchen utensils she didn’t remember buying.

But apparently once was not enough. She now claims decluttering should be like companies’ quarterly financial statements, done regularly and on schedule.

Her enthusiasm has inspired me to take a hard look at all that surrounds me. And it’s a lot. Maybe too much. How did The Hubby and I accumulate all this stuff?

I’ve come late to pandemic decluttering, mainly because I’ve been busy dealing with the heartbreak of my daughter’s and father’s deaths. Frankly, I have not had the energy for the hard decisions de-junking requires. Whatever focus

I’ve managed to maintain has been directed at work.

Hearing the excitement in my neighbor’s voice when she described her piles of castaways, however, has piqued my interest. She assures me this chore is both engrossing and soothing, almost as relaxing as a good book. And who doesn’t need that in this era of COVID-19 and political partisanship?

Decluttering isn’t new, of course. Nor is it a byproduct of pandemic confinement. Remember Marie Kondo? The tidying expert with the perfect bangs has built an empire on the philosophy that one should only keep items that “spark joy.” This kind of thinking is well-intentioned but not entirely practical. Can you imagine the fights with The Hubby if I insisted we get rid of all that stuff in the garage that sparks — in me at least — frustration but no joy?

Kondo is hardly the first, or only, taskmaster of order and harmony. Several companies have made money by getting rid of our mishmash of belongings. A drive around my side of town on any pre-pandemic Saturday would have introduced you to sign after sign for estate sales. Before the coronavirus cooties, we had relegated the sifting and sorting to the professionals because few wanted a previous generation’s beloved heirlooms.

I’m reminded of this every time I open the kitchen cabinet that houses my mother’s fine china, a set that she painstakingly collected with S&H green stamps when I was growing up. Since her death, I’ve used it only half a dozen times. Most of my entertaining happens on paper plates or, if I want to get fancy, on my everyday dishwasher-friendly dinnerware. Nevertheless, I can’t imagine giving away a single plate or cup of her collection.

Its hold on my heart remains that steadfast. I’m sure my kids couldn’t care less.

Just this morning I got sucked into reading a story about how to purge a house of possessions no one wants or uses. In 14 days! With minimal effort! In time for the holidays! The author reasons, rightly so, that cutting clutter gives us both control and peace of mind. Saves us time, too, when we’re looking for something we know is somewhere.

So, I’ve been walking around the house, judging each room and its content with a gimlet eye. I want to get a sense for the lay of my possessions. Everything appears organized, everything sits in its place, though I’ll be the first to admit that there’s a lot of everything: too many framed photos collecting dust, too many vases, trip memorabilia and all manner of knick-knacks.

Then again, if I consolidated, donated, cleared counter areas and table tops, what would my house say about me? Would it still feel like home? Could I adjust to a Spartan look?

Maybe I should just keep procrastinating.