|My bowls never looked this nice.|
I started by getting rid of things. My apartment was full of things. My grandmother's coffee cups. More than a dozen metal mixing bowls. Clothing and shoes I had owned since high school. Boxes and boxes of baby gear. Enough stuff to fill a three-bedroom house with a den and a living room all smooched into my 1100 square foot apartment. I needed to get rid of some things to make space for myself.
(AKA Noisy Room Space Eater)
Everyday in January I picked another thing to de-own. Three extra wooden spoons here, a set of beat-up tennis shoes there, a skirt that was too short in 2002, and four of my six over-sized black sweatshirts. (I used to have a thing about black sweatshirts.)
Now, the choices are harder, but not impossible. Somewhere along the way, I realized I don't have to wear clothes that I don't like just because I own them. I can pass these items along, pass them to someone who may find joy in them rather then housing them in my closet, abandoned and taking up space. I can trust in the future. I can belive that there will be enough of everything to be safe, clothed, and loved. I am not less valuable as a person if I get rid of a metal bowl that looks like any other bowl just because my grandfather used that particular bowl to make brownies when I was seven. My memories are mine, and I don't need to live in a maze of boxes to remember the people who love and loved me.
It only took me ten years to figure that out.