It’s not Marie Kondo

In the last few days I’ve taken four bags of stuff to every charity shop in town (there are 8) and two car loads to the warehouse one out of town. And I’m no where near finished.

You would imagine that donating that much to charity would make you feel virtuous; as though you are doing something good. Not me. No, I feel guilty. “I’m sorry. I’ve got another bag,” I say, “Thank you so much for taking this.” I’d really like to be able to put it somewhere without having to talk to anyone at all but that’s not possible.

The shop volunteers like to talk to you. It’s probably why they volunteered in the first place. Other people probably like a chat; people who aren’t social awkward and in the middle of a death related breakdown. (Sorry, I know I wasn’t going to discuss it anymore). Questions about gift aid don’t seem relevant. Can you sign up to gift aid when donating things that aren’t yours?

I’m a fan of a de-clutter. There’s nothing I enjoy more than re-organising my sock drawer. You always feel better about yourself once you’ve got your pants organised.  I’m not a natural, though. I’m not one of those polished people, who never has a hair out of place and has a perfect clean and tidy home in matching pastel colours. I have to work at it and often I forget. When my children were small Mum and I enjoyed reading about Feng Shui and were fans of Karen Kingston, the de-cluttering guru of the time. Now, there’s a new sage of the spotless: Marie Kondo.

“Are you doing a Marie Kondō?”
“We’ve had lots of donations lately. It’s probably Marie Kondō.”

Why aren’t there chocolate handprints on her sofa?

I bit my tongue. I didn’t shout, “It has nothing to do with a perfect Japanese woman, who I’d love to ridicule but secretly admire. It's death cleaning.”

I’m grateful to Karen Kingston, as I’m sure future generations will be to Marie Kondō. My parents didn’t have a loft stuffed full of empty boxes, broken suitcases, outdated computers and bits of wire. They did keep things that ‘sparked joy’ as Kondō would say, which presents its own challenges when it comes to death cleaning. What do you do with every copy of The Artist Magazine dating from 1968?

The idea of only keeping things that spark joy seems to be completely turned on it’s head when you are doing death clearing. If you pick something up and tears prick at your eyes, you have to keep it.