Birgit Medele - Clear your Clutter - Manifest your dreams

We are connected to everything we own. Welded to it, hardwired through invisible energy spaghetti no matter where on the globe we deposit our stuff. We are dragging every single teaspoon with us wherever we go, every spare nail, screw, pencil stub and paper clip. The entire contents of shed and loft are connected to us on an energy level. We lug them around, soundlessly clanking and rattling with every motion. As long as the spaghetti strings are attached in a somewhat organised way we are still able to move. The more we get entangled, the more exhausting it becomes to negotiate the next 48 hours. The following exercise illustrates this.

Briefly close your eyes and connect to your bed. In your mind, try to locate the latest electricity bill, the door keys, a pair of scissors, a piece of string. Finding your bed was straightforward enough, you knew exactly where it was. Locating the other items was probably slightly more interesting as you had to mentally hunt around until you managed to track them down. The longer it takes to make a connection, the more muddled up the energy-spaghetti. The longer our to-do list, the more challenging it becomes to wade through the morning into the afternoon. It feels so good to devise an organising system or get something done because we do not have to invest energy into constant unravelling. We can head straight towards our goals instead of having to negotiate homemade hurdles.

Decluttering has been getting a bad rap as allegedly one of the most unglamorous, some even say boring activities going. Think again. The most fascinating philosophical and psychological concepts are right in there, take your pick. Which life skill would you like to test drive first: learn to say no, develop your intuition, become more patient? Withdraw into the cosy, securely limited space of a cardboard box and start to practice the big stuff: dealing with transience and death, growth and new beginnings... Explore your wellbeing, your life, your journey through clearing out your clutter. How does that sound? Life coaches charge for their services, boxes never do!

Here is a story for you. A tourist on a walking holiday had been looking forward to a guided tour through a mountain monastery. Now the big moment has come. She tiptoes into the cell of a monk and looks around for a while. “May I ask you something?” The monk smiles “Of course.” – “Where are all your things?” The reply is a counter question. “May I ask you something?” – “Go ahead.” – “Where are all your belongings?” “Well, I’m obviously just travelling through here?”

You can guess the reply.

Clearing checks us out of the ‘Apathy Inn’. We get to unearth unexploited potential under layers of stuff; scramble over the props and head for the truly fascinating territory that unfolds behind the scenes. Crack open the first box to embark on a journey of self-discovery towards a creative life full of drive and enthusiasm.

Clutter clearing is an exploration where we encounter the psychology of why we find it hard to throw stuff out. Coming up: a selection of possible reasons for a refusal to let go – some might be familiar, others will not tick any of your boxes. Have fun digging!

Chaos theory is not a theory, it manifests as everyday experience. Our things lead lives of their own, gallivanting all over the place, driving us mad with their unsettledness. Instead of staying put on the desk, paper starts trekking through the house to grow roots in the most ridiculous places. After a frantic game of hide and seek, we track the bill down: it had gone underground in a shoe box in the kitchen cupboard. Magazines, books and toys for all ages multiply over night. Getting the wardrobe doors to shut is a workout far superior to any gym session and by the time we successfully prise them open again, we do not fancy wearing any of the stuff crammed in there.

Organised clutter lovers take pride in arranging their unused belongings, whiling away the hours meticulously folding, filing, labelling, rearranging and folding some more. Kept busy with the administration of stuff they rummage through their days, limiting themselves to the relatively straightforward question of where do I store this? Hypnotised by the steady rhythm of constant shifting – up down, in out, down up, left right – there is no time for pausing or reflecting. We get sidetracked playing in our life-sized Wendy house full-time, plodding along in a comfy illusion of being busy and therefore important and needed. It is easy to mistake movement for achievement and get fooled by being forever busy – doing what? The most useful side effect of this mock activism in our hamster-wheel home is that we never have to sit down and face an empty moment. We avoid unoccupied time and the confrontation with questions lingering right underneath those boxes, ready to jump at us. “Why are you here, what are your dreams? How can you fulfil your potential? Where to from here?” Clutter is a protective device, a skilfully constructed obstacle course that keeps out the intruders that we cannot simply file away. Clutter is a wall that we erect between us and the scarier topics. It keeps them at bay, we take the foot off the accelerator and grind to a halt in our bagged up comfort zone. Diligently beavering away, we set up a dam to stem the floods of feelings: the longing for a partner or the career change we never embarked on. Grief for the children we never had, loved ones we lost, opportunities missed. Sadness that the children we did have stopped being children and have moved out, moved on and left us. We try to fill an inner void with stuff, plaster over the hurt with yet another purchase.

The root cause for a passion for collecting can be hidden in the past. Perhaps our ancestors lost their belongings when they had to suddenly leave a city or country. Wander back in time: when did the hoarding start? Was it after a separation, divorce or bereavement, a traumatic childhood experience? One day you might have come home from school to find that a favourite soft toy – the rocking horse or train set – had disappeared. Your guardians had decided that, “You didn’t need that anymore.” You had been ignored and hurt. Deeply. Ever since, you have been trying to fill the gap caused by this wound; never letting go of anything; holding on to a boxed-up, past out of sight but not out of mind. At some point it became impossible to pluck up the courage to wake the sleeping memories. As long as the cartons are dozing, sealed and untouched, we do not have to deal with our stuff. We create a protective shell, an additional layer between us and the world out there or the worlds inside ourselves. Clutter is a cocoon. It tones down life; holds it at bay, shoved into some sort of receptacle. Stick on the label, fasten the lid; sorted. Those shielding mechanisms temporarily make sense, but after a while the disadvantages become obvious.

In a cocoon you cannot see very far. Only once we break free, can we emerge as the iridescent butterfly that we really are and set off, gently tumbling towards our dreams.

Too many of our bits and pieces get an easy ride when it comes to the crunch-question: should it stay or should it go? They pass the acid test with the eternal favourite of all hoarder excuses, “That might come in useful one day!” Even if we don’t need it, the children might want it in fifteen years time. Or a friend. The neighbours..? Underneath this innocent little excuse lurks a paralysing emotion; fear. We might have been spared first-hand experiences of hunger or homelessness, but still catch ourselves humming along to the feeling tones of an ever-present subconscious ‘tomorrow there might not be enough.’ Maybe some of our predecessors had to endure war times or an economic depression. Poverty consciousness can be passed down through the generations, but we can break the chain and transform fear vibes and cultivate trust every time we let go of an object that was kept incarcerated in a box dungeon for security reasons only. Once we have realised that our expectations create our reality we unsubscribe from the widespread mantra, “Every time I give something away I need it again”. Instead we use the brand new confidence gained from clearing successes (five pairs of trousers, three chipped mugs, one flaky friend!) to pat ourselves on the back and say out loud, “Should I ever require a spare tin opener again, I trust life will provide me with an even better one.” Using objects as security blankets is a habit we can break anytime we choose to. For a child, pieces of fabric transform into an imaginary friend and we hold on to familiar imagery just the same. Gifts we receive prove how popular we are; books signify knowledge; trophies or certificates are symbols of achievement. There is nothing wrong with a few well-placed memorabilia spreading comforting or encouraging vibes; it is about quantity. Kids rarely own 75 security blankets; they do not burden themselves with them or suffocate themselves underneath. How much stuff does it take to feel safe, to feel rich or secure? What does enough feel like? “The more stuff I stack around me, the more secure I am,” is a misunderstanding. Belongings can do many things, but making us permanently feel safe and loved is outside their remit.