I am a mess.

I cannot remember a time in my life when this has not been true.

When I was younger, I used to blame it entirely on my sister. We shared a room, after all, and looking around, it was mostly her stuff that cluttered the floor. Being five years my senior, shouldn’t she be setting a better example for me? Whenever my mother would get on my case, I would simply insist the actual problem was the environment I was raised in: you brought me into this world, stuck in a small rectangular room with this kindergartener, and left her to her own devices. Her devices were messy, I tell you, and now I have been doomed forever.

This argument held the tiniest bit of water—that is, until my sister moved out and literally cleaned up her act. Now both my mother and my sister get on my case. Once my ally amid the heaps of clothing, she now is the first to cast judgment on my disheveled belongings. (Her name is Carmen but we call her CarMOM. I don’t suppose I need to explain why.)

Unfortunately, my self-righteous “you-did-this-to-me” attitude about not cleaning my room makes even less sense when living with non-family members, as I have been doing for the past five years. Instead of encouraging me to change, however, it has led to a lot of apologies, excuses, and unfulfilled promises.

For this, I am ashamed. I am ashamed that I cannot do something that everyone should be able to do. I am ashamed that I don’t take better care of my possessions. I am ashamed that I lose things, all the time, just because nothing actually has a place to begin with.

I come home from work, tired and ready to relax, but it’s hard to do so when I see the mess that awaits me. Yes, I could just read a book or watch TV to wind down, but look at this place. I really should clean up—but look at this place. I don’t even know where to start, so I don’t.

There was a time when I liked having a messy room. I could organize my schedule, my schoolwork, my thoughts—I wanted one thing that wasn’t so managed. I also added it to my list of quirks, as in “Look at how quirky I am! I can still remember the entire Bug Juice theme song but I can’t use a closet for its intended purpose! I love public libraries but my room looks like a private library of JUNK! Ringo is my favorite Beetle but also I’m uncertain where my entire music collection is!”

I used to embrace the chaos; now it only swallows me up.

So, I’ve decided to change. Like most good endeavors, this one started with a book.

In her international bestseller The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, Marie Kondo give simple advice for uncluttering one’s life. Her strategy, which she calls “the KonMari Method,” hinges on getting started in this way: for each item you own, hold it in your hands and ask yourself, “Does this spark joy?” If the answer is “yes!”, you keep it. If the answer is “no,” you get rid of it. It’s that simple.

Except, of course, it’s not. So far I’ve only worked through the first category, clothing, and already it’s hard to strive for joy versus necessity or convenience. Thanks to the KonMari tips for storage, when I open my drawers I can see everything at a glance, and the only thing I see are things I love, things I held in my hands, and “yes!” before throwing it in the Heap of Joy. Other things, though, I held my hands for a while, turning them over, avoiding the inevitable. Eventually, I would set them down gently in the garbage bag with a soft-spoken “thank you for your time.” Some of those things I wore quite frequently, but much like what happens when Topanga kisses that other guy, there was no spark. So I let it go. Now, my entire closet is basically Cory Matthews.

But there are still books, papers, mementos, and miscellany to sift through. Some of it is precious; some of it is junk. Some of it is my junk, and I will love it forever, thank you very much. But I’m starting to realize that some things I can love but also get rid of without much remorse. The thorough process of holding each thing, assessing the joy it does or does not bring,quickly leads to bigger questions about what I value and why. These questions make me aware of the intersections between what I own and who I am.

This is the KonMari Method of tidying—and living.

Catherine Kramer

Catherine Kramer (’14) has a degree in English and works in publishing. Her continued existence is made possible by grace, warm hugs, and iced chai lattes.