Three minutes and three pages later I feel ashamed by the clutter that I know is in my room, there’s a reason I chose to read in another, cleaner, room in the house.

The part I dislike most about Kondo’s book is the part that arguably makes it so effective: she succeeds in shaming the reader for their messy lives in the first few pages.

Why did I sign up for this again?

I thought the teaching of a minimalist lifestyle, strictly as far as material possessions go, would lead me to inner peace. I thought I would move through the book, trance-like, until the end where I would get up calmly, walk to my room, and be able to immediately throw out anything that is not useful, or does not bring me joy – that is the crux of Kondo’s book, “My criterion for deciding to keep an item,” she explains, “is that we should feel a thrill of joy when we touch it.”. Instead, I dropped the book like a hot potato after the first chapter and ran to my room in a manic state and immediately started throwing things away.

I should preface the whole experiment with the following statement: I am not a hoarder. Per se.
I’m sentimental and lazy, there’s a difference.

When did that get there

So my room has consistently been a tidy little collection of chaos: shopping bags and boxes full of old receipts and papers and bills hidden quietly under the dresser, gathering dust and not much thought; old wrapping paper and pieces of ribbon that I was sure I would use eventually; books and stationery that I purchased mindlessly, telling myself, ‘I’m a writer, this is really my only vice’ and neglecting to remind myself of the boxes of shoes and scarves that I had purchased thinking ‘I am a fashion writer, this is really my only vice’.

Seeing this mess through a new lens suddenly brought everything into clear focus.

I had been feeling lost like I had no direction and nothing to wear. Which is a bullshit lie because I have more clothes than is really necessary and a healthy dose of ambition. But I was distracted, by things, by the mess. Deadlines came and went, new credit cards and licenses unopened, receipts lost and articles of clothing swallowed up into the void.

Important parts of my life went missing in the forest of my room. Space which, let’s face it, is the most important space to a 20-something living with roommates.

And so I began the attack – I started with paper.

I should mention that this goes against Kondo’s tried and true method which recommends the following course of action: “The best sequence is this: clothes first, then books, papers, komono (miscellany), and lastly, mementos.”

Am I a minimalist yet?

Bag by reusable-shopping-bag I went through every old piece of paper. Tearing up and recycling all the things that didn’t matter anymore. Everything that was left, and necessary, fit into one vintage wooden box that sits on a shelf.

Despite completely ignoring Kondo’s plan of action, I felt a sense of relief and accomplishment.

And so, I moved on with fervor to my clothes. With a newfound ruthlessness, I make snap decisions about almost every piece. Have I worn this in the last year? No. Is it something I want to sell or donate? Will I miss this? That last question took my minimalist mindset, shook it by the shoulders and then head-butt it in the face.

What was the line between sentimentality and excess? I didn’t know the answer yet. If I could make a split second decision about the item in question, I tossed it into the donate pile. If I needed more time to decide, I threw it onto the bed, allowing myself the luxury of deciding at a later date.

Kondo would never let an in-person consultation go down like that. She explains in the book that she asks clients to place all their clothes into a pile on the floor. When they claim they have collected all the clothing in their home she stresses to them that this must be everything. Anything found after the sorting process would be immediately thrown out.

Ruthless.

I thank my lucky stars that Kondo isn’t here in the flesh and continue my purge.

We’re all a little sentimental, okay?

Going through each piece turns out to be quite a long trip down memory lane and takes much longer than intended, “To truly cherish the things that are important to you, you must first discard those that have outlived their purpose. To get rid of what you no longer need is neither wasteful or shameful… Let them go, with gratitude,” advises Kondo.

This is my favourite thought in the book and surmises most of my attachment to my clothes. I smile as I come across pieces I wore out in university but that no longer fit my personal style. I thank and acknowledge a dress that I’ve worn to a few funerals for its purpose and for accompanying me on these journeys, but I don’t need it hanging in my closet.

So this is what it’s all about

The meaning of minimalism comes to me suddenly as I’m sitting in a pile of my material items, thanking them out loud for their service. Minimalism isn’t about mindlessly getting rid of things you no longer need. It’s about making space in your life and your mind for the things that matter.

Kondo says in the first few pages, “From my exploration of the art of organizing and my experience helping messy people become tidy, there is one thing I can say with confidence: A dramatic reorganization of the home causes correspondingly dramatic changes in lifestyle and perspective. It is life transforming.”

And, gosh darn it, she’s right.

I’m going to continue using this book. Then get rid of it.