Just Call Me Sven

Today's one-word writing prompt was 'Legacy,' submitted by my friend Amy Marie, whose legacy will be a wonderful trio of intelligent, caring humans who were loved without limits by their mother.

When I read the word I pulled out of my prompt jar this evening, I fully expected to do a timed writing about the sort of legacy I mentioned above - something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past (Merriam-Webster).

But that's not where my pen took me. 

It happens.

So, have you ever heard of Swedish Death Cleaning? 

(Yeah, you didn't expect that, did you? I didn't either but here we are.)

It's a pretty neat concept, really. Basically, once a person hits late middle age (or whenever they want, I guess), they begin ridding themselves of all the material possessions they've accumulated that they don't need anymore - so that no one else has to do it after they die (that's the 'death' part). 

Can I just say? I wish my mother had heard about Swedish Death Cleaning. 

I really, really wish she had. 

When I moved into her house two years ago, she was still alive. We had determined that she needed full-time care, so she moved into my brother and sister-in-law's house. They took some of her things but most of her stuff was left behind and, concerned about going from a larger to a smaller home still filled with someone else's life, I decided to have a yard sale before I actually moved in. I wanted to get rid of a lot of my own stuff and I figured much of my mom's could go as well. What didn't sell was slated to be donated to a local charity. The house was going to be pretty much cleared out and I could move in. Yay!

Or, you know, nay. 

When the truck arrived to pick up all the leftover stuff (most of which was my mother's), my brother started taking everything back into the house. I asked him why. The most (surprisingly) sentimental of the three of us, he said he'd changed his mind and he wasn't prepared to get rid of our mother's things while she was still alive. I gently reminded him that because she had a rapidly-progressing form of dementia, she was never going to need or even see her things again... and if she did, she wouldn't remember they were hers. But still, he wasn't ready. I wanted to respect that, so I helped him bring everything back in. To the house. Where I was moving. With all of my own stuff. 

Sigh.

I did the best I could in the short period of time I had to get from one place to another (which turned out to be the worst few weeks of my life). Most of the clutter got jammed into the room that had been converted from the attached one-car garage. A lot went into the basement. The main living areas of the house were (and have remained) mostly uncluttered. Mostly...

But two years later, one full year after my mother's death, I still haven't gotten rid of her furniture, her clothes, or her 'things' (which are not things I want. At all). I haven't personalized the house in any way. I haven't painted or hung pictures. I've been living in this stagnant, impersonal place. It's not warm. It's not welcoming. It's not mine. It's not home. 

And I don't know why. 

It's not sentimentality. I don't care about her stuff. There were very few things she was truly attached to so it won't bother me to chuck pretty much everything. It's an overwhelming task, though. When I open the door to the garage-room, I'm immediately struck by the sheer magnitude of the job (also, by the smell of what I think might be a dead mouse. It's gross, man). When I head into the basement, it's even worse. Lord have mercy, it's worse (the mess, not the smell. Small favors).

Yeah. Sometimes the stuff is just a symptom of something bigger. 

And while I know need to address that something bigger at some point (probably in therapy), I still need to clear the space. And when I say need, I mean it. It's causing me anxiety and stress and it's not healthy.

Living the way I have for the past couple of years explains (in part, anyway) why the idea of minimalism holds great appeal for me. It has, actually, for a long time. Years ago, I read a book about a woman who owned only 200 things. Total. She could (and did) pack up her life to move from one place to another in just a few boxes. Can you imagine? My last move took forever. And so many boxes. And manpower. It took lots of manpower. And this woman? She was happy. I want me some of that!

While I think I probably need more than 200 things, I know I don't need a lot. I'm guessing I probably need (and most definitely want) much less than many people. In the past year, to feed this interest in minimalism, I've read books and watched documentaries and followed Instagram and Facebook pages dedicated to this lifestyle trend of living with less. One of my favorite documentaries on Netflix introduced me to a couple of guys who have dubbed themselves The Minimalists. They have a great website and blog, and when they explain what minimalism means to them, it makes me want to throw everything away and live out of a backpack. Here is what they say living with less has enabled them to do:

• Eliminate discontent
• Reclaim time
• Live in the moment
• Pursue their passions
• Discover their missions
• Experience real freedom
• Create more, consume less
• Focus on health
• Grow as individuals
• Contribute beyond themselves
• Rid themselves of excess stuff
• Discover purpose in their lives

Erm... hello! How amazing does all that sound? Sign me up!

But how/where/when to start?

Enter the concept of Swedish Death Cleaning. 

Oh, I should also mention that in addition to all the other crap I think and worry about day-in and day-out, I've been focused on my own mortality quite a bit lately (seriously, I'm just a ray of sunshine, aren't I?). I think it's having cancer, it's aging, it's worrying over retirement and work and resources (or lack thereof). And that has caused me to look around and see what I'd be leaving for my daughter to deal with - both literally and figuratively. 

I love my kid. I love her like crazy. As such, the last thing I want to do is dump a big mess on her - literal or figurative.

So I'm going to death clean. It might kill me (hey, two birds with one stone!) but I'm going to do it. 

But because I can't do anything without overthinking and over-analyzing every single step, I've made my own list of reasons I think minimizing my junk is both necessary and desirable:

• It will make my next move, which will come within the next two years, much easier. 
• It will allow me to personalize my space with only the things I love and need. 
• It will make my life just generally easier to navigate.
• It will mean that when the time comes, my daughter will only have to deal with the few things I truly love and not a whole lot of stuff that has no meaning to either of us.
• It will make room - in my space and in my head. And that's the most important reason of all.

But as I mentioned, it feels like an overwhelming task. So I'm going to take some of the advice I give to my clients when they have a big job to do:

Eat the elephant one bite at a time.

Make lists.

Start small.

Work in short, timed bursts.

Rest when you need to; it's not a race.

Recognize small victories.

Give yourself grace.

Take a deep breath... and just START!

My first task, which I will do this weekend, will be to go through the house and make a list (I like lists) of all the things I want to keep - everything from furniture to cooking utensils to clothes to books to decorative items.

Next will be to figure out what to do with what's left - sell, donate, or chuck.

After that, the hard work begins. That's the way it goes, right? Once the decisions are made, I actually have to make it happen. I have to DO it.

Yeah. I'm not always good at DOING it. 

But I'm bound and determined that my legacy won't be a load of crap that even I don't care about. 

So DO it, I shall. 

Just call me Sven, The Mighty Swedish Death Cleaner!

And, by god, wish me luck!

XO,