I Can See the Light at the End of the Closet

Yesterday, I found a bag full of my husband’s travel-sized toiletries, some Christmas chocolates, and photos from 2004 in my closet. I’m not sure that I really needed any of those things—but at least I’ve neatly put them away now, instead of leaving them in a pile on the floor of my closet, along with way too many other things. Same goes for the crumpled Christmas wrapping paper, two silver candlestick holders, and a yellow Livestrong band intertwined with a bracelet that doesn’t belong to me. It was like an archeological dig of the Singer Family, the 2004 to 2008 period.

When construction started last year, my closet became a (okay, one of our) dumping zone for all sorts of junk, not to mention my clothes and a pile of shoes from which I’ve been picking for nearly a year now. But the construction is long over, and I’ve got much more energy than I’ve had since finishing chemo and radiation last fall. So, I spent yesterday morning braving the dust (achoo!) and the third grade art projects, empty shoe boxes, and abandoned winter sweaters to clean out my closet. I organized, put away, and dumped. I sneezed, lay on the bed for a while looking through my kids’ schoolwork for the last two years, and stopped for a grilled cheese sandwich. But I did it: I cleaned out my closet. Also, I found marzipan, which made my husband very happy.

When I walked into my closet this morning to get a pair of jeans, I could a) find them and b) reach them without balancing with one foot on my scale and the other in a beach bag full of shells, goggles, and half-used bottles of sunscreen. If I knew anything about Feng Shui, I’d say I’d opened my chi, improved my flow or whatever. But I prefer to say that I saw, I decluttered, and I conquered. And now I feel much, much better. So much better, in fact, that I’m eyeing up the front hall closet. Grab the tissues! I’m heading for the light at the end of the closet.