Marie-kondo

Reading Greg McKeown’s book “Essentialism” not long after my husband and I Marie-Kondo-ed our home, I discovered a similar philosophy could apply not just to our stuff but also to how we all spend our time.

Marie-kondoing the family belief systems might be the work of a lifetime, but each book we get to look at and ponder over liberates us. It is not comfortable—like sitting in an old, dimly lit attic breathing dust, crouching down on hard wooden floors, trying to read age-old books, the ones with the really tiny font without proper spacing.

“Gently used books” sound good in theory, but unless obvious great care is taken to match the book with the recipient’s interest, it looks like you’re taking advantage of the occasion to do a little Marie-Kondo’ing.

We need to approach winter the way the Pilgrims probably did. We’ll gather around the fire (the TV) and spend time darning our socks (Marie-Kondoing our closets) and telling each other long stories (bingeing The Crown) while we wait for spring.

As you continue to interact with people, participate in activities, own objects, or carry on with your habits, observe how they reflect back at you, and notice which ones bring you joy. It’s literally the strategy of Marie-Kondo-ing your life.

The immediate benefit for me as we began Marie-Kondoing our house (there’s the verb!) was eliminating clothing.

There’s been an official fear trash can this whole time? Where is this elusive, magical fear trash can? Can I get it at Ikea? Did I have one and accidentally Marie-Kondo’d it because “fear” and “joy” are polar opposites?

Essentially, we Marie-Kondoed our entire existence, selecting what we needed for a retirement household and what sparked enough delight to keep.

Your closets are so Marie-Kondo-ed that I doubt there’s anywhere to hide.

Marie-kondoing your Sock Drawer