Warning: The following article describes a brutal act of clutter-clearing in which a number of inanimate objects are heartlessly disposed of. It may not be suitable for sensitive readers. Proceed at your own risk.

I’ve never been a packrat. By most people’s standards, I live quite simply and don’t have a lot of “stuff.” I have learned, though, that a lot of the material I do accumulate is like sea wrack, washed up against the shores of my living space by the waves of projects I’ve started and not completed.

Oh, I’ve tried to complete them—most of them, anyway. Usually by organizing the heck out of them first. I’ve kept lists of projects. I’ve whittled those projects down to bite-sized tasks, devised methods to streamline and schedule those tasks, and created whole systems to track my progress so that I could have the joy of crossing things off my to-do list. I’ve spent hours, days and weeks blasting through those to-do lists like dynamite in an all-out effort to finish as many projects and tasks as quickly I could, so that I could have the simple, uncluttered life I crave.

It never, ever occurred to me that I could simplify my life by eliminating things without finishing them.

In late 2001 I fulfilled a long-held dream and began to learn to play the Indian tabla drums. I took lessons for five years from one of the world’s acknowledged best tabla players, Pandit Swapan Chaudhuri. I adored the classes, and Swapanji is a wonderful, patient and gently humorous teacher whom I miss deeply . . . because I haven’t taken lessons now for over two years.

It broke my heart, but I had to stop for my own benefit. I took the classes far too seriously, and I felt such a sense of obligation that the lessons became more of a chore than anything else. I was feeling enormous stress over the fact that I couldn’t practice as much as I wanted to, and I thought I wasn’t doing justice to either the money I was spending on the classes or, even more important to me, the beautiful musical tradition of the tablas.

At the end of it all (and I still choke up just writing that), I was left with five years’ worth of cassette tapes. Tapes? Yes, because we learned so much so quickly each week that Swapanji allowed us to record the classes. I would come home from class, play through the tape, write down the new composition we’d learned, and refer to it as I practiced throughout the week or refreshed my memory of it later.

These tapes held pure gold. They contained the teachings of a living legend, instructing very small groups of students in a tiny room. Swapanji played each new composition for us. He gave us individual attention and advice. He gave encouragement, sometimes talked about the history of the tablas, and often told funny stories.

But 90% of the tapes were filled with us students, ineptly tapping and pounding away as we attempted to stuff each new kaida, rela, tukra and chakradhar into our short-term memories. This was nothing I would ever want to listen to again.

Once I’d finish transcribing each week’s tape into my permanent notes, I’d save it with the intention of extracting the 10% of the material with real value for future reference. So when I stopped taking classes, I had a gigantic box filled with five years’ worth of cassettes. I consoled myself with the thought that since I was (*sniffle*) no longer learning anything new, I would finally have time to deal with them all.

It was an Enormous Project. Just getting the (sometimes undated) tapes into chronological order took me a long time. The next step was to listen to roughly 200-250 hours of class tapes through an analog-to-digital converter, and sift through the dirt of the vast, useless majority of the recordings to find the tiny nuggets of gold where Swapanji was actually talking and teaching. I would then need to save those smaller files, date-label them, catalog their contents, and burn them to CD for safekeeping.

I really thought I could do it. In my spare time, outside of my full-time job and my many other projects and commitments. I expected myself to. This unfinished project weighed on my consciousness for two full years. All unfinished things have an oppressive weight to them, but this one was extra-heavy. After all, those tapes were priceless! They deserved to be saved, if not for me, then for posterity!

But slowly I realized that posterity didn’t much care. That other people took these classes, too. That I wasn’t personally responsible for being the caretaker of the material I’d learned. That Swapanji had been recorded—professionally—hundreds of times over the decades.

That I really, truly didn’t have to do this project at all. Ever.

So . . . I threw away the box.

Then I cried.

And then I was swept with the most profound feeling of relief I’d felt in years.

How odd that my biggest lesson came when I stopped taking classes.

In my last post, I talked about the wonderful feeling you get when you achieve closure on something that’s been hanging out on your to-do list for too long. I also talked about the importance of being gentle with yourself as you delve into your piles of stuff (either virtual or actual).

Now it’s time for an admission. I’m really, really bad at being gentle with myself.

Specifically, I’ve been in a physical purging phase (no, not bulimia, just uncluttering) for a handful of months now, and at times I’ve been downright brutal about it. And you know what? Mostly it’s felt really, really good.

So I guess the last one was the “closure” post, and this one is the “disclosure” post. As in, full disclosure on my part. Because no matter what I said last time, and no matter what I say in the future, sometimes just digging in and going full bore until you’ve got some tangible results in one intense session of something can be extremely satisfying.

What’s been hard has been dealing with my own limited stores of energy, and that’s where the patience and compassion have come in. I can’t always go full bore like I used to. When I was in my teens, twenties, and early 30s I could burn the candle at more ends than the candle had, and to hell with the consequences. Well, now I’m living with the consequences. I’ve learned you can’t ignore your body completely, because it will let you know in no uncertain terms when it’s had enough of your disrespect. I’ve learned (well, okay, I’m learning) to ride the waves of energy as they come; to be grateful when I have enough to get things done, and to be at least somewhat at peace when I just need to stop and rest for a while.

But the stuff? The physical stuff? Oh, I’m getting rid of it right and left. I’m being as responsible as I can, taking bags of clothing and usable household items to Goodwill, but I’m also making myself just toss things. Sure, maybe I could get a few bucks for, say, that piece of old concert memorabilia on eBay, but to be honest it’s just not worth my time, effort, and energy. Energy has become currency to me, and I sometimes have to be even more thrifty with it than I am with money. (Ooh, ooh—I could write a blog post about that. Let me know if you’d like me to write a blog post about that.)

Anyway, back to brutality. (Now there’s something I never expected to type in my blog.) During any of my recent decluttering sessions, I’d pick up the next thing in the area I was working on and ask myself, “Is this something that you love? Not just like, but truly cherish?” If not, I’d ask, “Is this something you use with any regularity?” If the answer to both questions was no, the item was history. Okay, there some exceptions, such as paycheck stubs, tax returns, and other papers that I sort of have to keep on file for a certain amount of time, and a few projects that I still intend to do (no, really!) and simply haven’t gotten around to yet. And books. My biggest gazingus pin. I’ve learned the folly of getting rid of books. It doesn’t work—they find a way back.

So if you find yourself ready for an intense bout of Whatever-Clearing, here are some tips I can offer you based on what has worked for me.

Clearing physical possessions? Give them the Active Ownership Test.

Active ownership is different than passive ownership. Passive ownership is keeping your two-sizes-too-small jeans in the very back closet where you can’t see them, so they are there if you ever lose the weight. Active ownership is hanging them in full view as a motivator to do your daily workout. (Not that you should—that’s just an example off the top of my head.) Passive ownership is storing a box of Grandma’s heirloom jewelry on a shelf somewhere. Active ownership is keeping a few pieces in your jewelry box and wearing them occasionally, with fond thoughts of her when you do. Passive ownership is using your weight bench as a clothing rack and plant stand. Active ownership is picking up those barbells and dumbbells on at least a semi-regular basis and doing some lifting.

The Active Ownership Test fits into the concept of wabi-sabi. Does the thing you’re considering have great value for you, such that you truly cherish its utility, uniqueness and presence in your life, or is it just taking up space? I’m not advocating asceticism, or tossing out things you really will regret later, but it’s important to recognize that our possessions take up energy in our psyches as well as space in our homes and offices. If you’re only passively owning something, you might want to take a close look at it and decide whether it’s worth the space and energy needed to maintain it. Letting go of things does not make you a bad, disrespectful, wasteful, or ungrateful person if it’s truly time to let them go.

Working on your to-do lists? Give them the Rolaids Test.

Yes, I just made this up right now, because I’m a word geek who likes inventing acronyms. And yes, it’s kinda silly.

That activity you’re considering. Does it have a ROLAIDS (Realistic Or Likely Action I’ll Do Soon) in its pocket? If it does, leave it on your to-do list. If not, do one of two things with it. Either put it on a separate “someday/maybe” list (concept courtesy of David Allen’s book Getting Things Done) so that it’s written down where you can review it later but you don’t have to waste energy by having to remember it, or drop it from your list entirely. Ahhhh! How do you spell relief? )

In either case (physical items or to-dos—and yes, those can and often do overlap), an intense session of Going Through Your Stuff can have fast-acting, stomach-easing results. But use with caution! This method works so powerfully that it can sometimes trigger unintended trauma. When in doubt, test it on a small portion of your home or office first, wait 24 hours, and observe the results. Proceed carefully. Less invasive methods may be indicated.

And always consult your decluttering doctor before beginning any new exorcizing program. Here are a few I recommend highly because I’ve personally worked with them all:

Lisa Baldwin of Divine Order
Jennifer Hofmann of Inspired Home Office
Shannon Wilkinson of Your Life – Inspired

And remember—if you can—that being gentle with yourself also works wonders.

Or so they say.

I have a lot of wonderful friends who are dealing with a huge sense of overwhelm right now. Many of them are in business for themselves, which means they’re pretty much trying to do all the events of an Olympic decathlon simultaneously without dropping any balls…erm, batons. Others are just (“just”!!!) dealing with all the demands of an overly hectic life, both online and offline.

This post is for them, and others like them (you, maybe?). Because the technology we’ve developed over the past handful of decades has evolved so much faster than our nervous systems that we can’t keep up with our own devices and systems anymore. Yet we’re taught to think we should. And if we don’t, we’re to blame. Personally.

So let’s forget about the fact that most if not all of my friends have so many “to dos” on their lists that the weight of them would give a rhino’s knees arthritis. Let’s not even talk about how many of those tasks and projects are required by others, self-imposed, or some combination of the two.

Let’s look for a moment at the experience of overwhelm.

The time management and productivity experts like to talk about things like quadrants, mind maps, next tasks, lifehacks, and trusted systems. And I’m not knocking them—those concepts and tools are all important and very, very helpful. But I’d like to add one more concept to the list.

Closure.

The experts give us all kinds of ways to achieve closure on tasks and projects, but in my experience, few of them talk in depth about what that feels like. They (correctly) make the assumption that a sense of closure is what we want, and then mostly just dive right into showing us how to get it.

But closure is worth some solid discussion, because it’s really the big “why” lurking behind all those schedules, planners, checklists, and nifty filing methods. Because let’s face it, people—no matter how you do it and what tools you use, nothing feels quite so good as getting stuck into a task, finishing it, and crossing it off your list.

That’s worth saying again.

When you’re overwhelmed, nothing feels quite so good as finishing something. Or better yet, a few somethings.

Only you know how you work best. Some people (like me, for instance) hate the feeling of clutter, and would rather clear the decks of as much of the little stuff as possible before tackling the bigger tasks and projects. Other people crave the relief of knowing that their One Big Thing is out of the way so that they can focus on the smaller tasks.

Whichever way you operate, when things in your life are not done or not finished, it bothers you, either consciously or unconsciously. And this doesn’t just relate to your to-do lists. Often people are surprised when they do some purging of their physical possessions and experience a sense of relief that feels entirely out of proportion to the material they got rid of. This is usually because all that physical stuff represented unresolved mental and emotional stuff in one way or another.

This is not to say that we should all become Zen-like ascetics and eliminate all material possessions from our lives and all time commitments from our schedules. But maybe you can (gently, compassionately, and only if it truly feels okay) admit to yourself that you haven’t really looked at any of those dozens of your first love’s notes and letters in more than 25 years, and you won’t suffer if you don’t keep them anymore. Or that the chances of you actually reading all those books stacked on the corner table (or chair!) are minimal at best, and that you’d feel more relief from donating them somewhere and knowing you no longer “had” to read them than you’d feel guilt over not having read them.

When you eliminate enough things from your list(s) and space(s), the feeling of overwhelm starts to dissipate. Your headspace feels clearer. And that feels wonderful. There are two basic ways to get that deliciously liberating feeling:

1. Finish things.
2. Discard things.

It’s extremely important to be gentle with yourself in the process of doing both. That’s hard for perfectionistics, I know. I know. And we’ll talk about some ways to do that. But for today, if you’re feeling up to it, I’d like you to try a little experiment.

First, finish just one thing that’s on your to-do list, no matter how small. Go and get that spare copy of the house key made. Return those library books. Answer that one e-mail that’s been nagging at your mind. Whatever.

Next, get rid of just one thing that you think you have to do, but probably don’t. Will your job really be in jeopardy if you don’t attend this week’s staff meeting? Will your house really flood if you don’t clean the leaves out of the gutters this year? Do you honestly need to read every issue of Widgets Monthly to keep up with the developments in your field? If you skip this month’s, will you be okay? Try it, just this once.

And revel in the tiny but very real feeling of relief it provides.

More later.

Common sense tells us that perfectionists are neat freaks, with residences ready to be photographed for House Beautiful at a moment’s notice. Or if not that, at least perfectionists never have issues with clutter.

Wrong.

In fact, the physical clutter that surrounds us is often a source of guilt and shame. In classic perfectionist style, we tell ourselves that we “should” be able to manage our stuff and our surroundings better. We often don’t invite people to our homes for fear they will judge us for our messy dwellings. And the clutter can weigh on our minds even when it’s not in sight. I’ve often said that the state of my mind reflects the state of my bedroom; even when I’m somewhere else, I can’t think clearly because I’m remembering the mess that awaits me when I get home and feeling the pressure to deal with it.

So why does this counterintuitive thing happen? Why do perfectionists so often find themselves being . . . well, really messy? For a number of reasons.

One is the drive to be thorough and complete beyond necessity. Maybe you have piles of magazines or papers sitting around that you haven’t read yet. Or craft projects, or clothing to mend, or auto parts in the garage, or that broken clock you’ve been meaning to fix for the past two years. To toss these things would constitute an admission that you’ll never get around to doing them even though you’ve decided that you should. And that would mean you’re less than the perfectly together person you want to feel you are.

Another reason is the infamous “just in case.” What if you finally lose the weight you’ve been trying to, and you can fit into that overflowing closetful of pefectly good “skinny” clothing again, rather than the ten or twelve outfits you’ve been rotating through for the last year? What if you eventually write that book or start that business, and need a quote from that very article you printed off the Internet several months back? You know, the one perched precariously on the stack of boxes in the corner full of books you really do intend to read. Someday soon now, honestly.

Sometimes you simply feel overwhelmed by the thought of all the decluttering that needs to be done, and so you keep finding (consciously or unconsciously) ways to avoid it.

If you see yourself reflected in any of these descriptions, there are things you can do to begin extricating yourself from the morass of stuff that surrounds you, both physically and psychologically.

First, take an honest look and decide whether it’s really all that bad. If you’re anything like me, you hold yourself to a higher standard than anyone else around you. So pretend for a moment that this is a friend’s house, or a colleague’s office. Would you fault them for what you see, or would you consider the amount of clutter to be reasonable? Maybe it makes the home feel cozy and lived-in. Maybe it’s the office of a busy person who has more important things to do right now than handle all the back-filing. Would you be forgiving of the way this space looks if it wasn’t your own? If so, can you allow for the possibility of forgiving yourself?

If you decide that the mess truly is problematic, there are some things you can try to circumvent your pesky inner perfectionist. One very effective method is to assign yourself one extremely small area per day to declutter. You might tackle the top of one cabinet one one day, or a single desk drawer. If you’re decluttering the kitchen, do one cabinet shelf. Have two boxes or baskets handy. In one, toss the items you’re going to get rid of. The other is for all the items that are being temporarily displaced until you find or clear a space for them to have a new home. You’ll be surprised how quickly you will see a difference in your physical environment by tackling just one small area a day. Even more, you’ll begin to feel a sense of clarity, space, and relief that will amaze you.

Another thing to try is to get some of your thoughts and feelings down in words. Write about why you really want to use up those candlemaking supplies or work your way through that stack of novels. Sometimes just getting it all down on paper is enough to give you some fresh perspective on the situation. This can clarify your goals, allowing you to refocus on some while possibly eliminating others–and all the physical stuff that goes with them.

You can also try reasoning with yourself about what you actually need. If you tend to hoard things, sometimes you can find ways to gently release some of them from your life. If you ever really want to read a particular book again, there is always the library, or the Internet since so many publications are now available online, either for free or (for used copies) cheaply on sites like eBay or Amazon. How quickly can you honestly expect to lose the weight you want to, and wouldn’t someone who shops at Goodwill or the Salvation Army be able to get good use from your non-fitting clothing while you’re losing it? Besides, think what fun it will be to shop for new clothing to celebrate your weight loss when you get there! Maybe you can even plan on doing that at Goodwill yourself.

I remember reading about a man who sold all his unneeded things on eBay, and banked the money in an “If I Ever Need to Repurchase Anything I’ve Sold” account. Which he then earned interest on. Brilliant idea.

Sometimes it’s just too much for you to face on your own. In those instances, it’s often best to enlist the help of a professional. Paying for decluttering assistance is not a luxury–it’s a legitimate “taking care of yourself” investment that will pay off many times over in increased peace of mind, productivity, and ability to focus on what’s truly important in your life. In the United States, the National Association of Professional Organizers maintains a list of accredited professional organizers with many different areas of expertise. This is the best way to find a trustworthy professional organizer in your area. 

Surprisingly, there are many people who can assist you at a distance over the Internet. Three individuals I can recommend (I am not being compensated for these recommendations, by the way) are Jennifer Hofmann of Inspired Home Office, Lisa Baldwin of Divine Order, and Alison Marks of Inside Out Design Coaching. Check them out to see if what they do resonates with you.

The main piece of advice I can give you throughout any of these processes is to be compassionate with yourself. You are a diligent, hardworking person who sincerely wants to do the best you can–that’s why you’ve surrounded yourself with so many to-do’s, probably more than you can handle. It absolutely does not mean you’re a failure if you never get to them all.

We’ll talk about these inner, “feeling” aspects of perfectionism much more as time goes on, and how we can be gentle and forgiving with ourselves.

In the meantime, happy gradual and compassionate decluttering to you! Feel free to respond in the comments below and let me know how it’s going for you, or if you have any questions you’d like me to address in future posts. You’re always welcome to e-mail me, too. My e-mail address is at the bottom of the “about me” page.