One Thing is Clear: I Must Simplify

I have cleared my desk. The piles of papers, books, household bills, and repair projects that normally weigh down its two wings are now on the floor behind me. Out of sight, if not entirely out of mind. This morning, I haven’t opened my personal or work email, nor opened my electronic calendar. I didn’t fire up Twitter to post a 140 character note that I #amwriting this blog. I brought in The Globe and Mail but left it rolled on the kitchen table.

I am simply here to write.

But simplicity isn’t simple. We know this because our world overflows with books, blogs, courses and consultants all trying to help us to simplify. To clear our work and living spaces. To clear our minds of distraction and clutter.

Yet for all we try, we in North America still have a problem with accumulating things. We know we’re not on the right track when we need an advertising-filled magazine called Real Simple to tell us what ‘simple’ products to buy.

Prompted by some changes in my life, I’m currently rethinking my “stuff,” and this newly-cleared desk is a first step. On a business level, I am in transition from a traditional office (staff, machines, storage, and lotsa space) to a virtual office with a presence in two cities. All those shelves, filing cabinets, and storage boxes full of books and documents need to go. Somewhere.

Furthermore, the personal effects that my wife and I have accumulated over the years will soon need to be downsized. We are likely transitioning from the house where we raised our family to a condo of about 1/3 the total square footage. I say likely because the prospect is daunting. The thing about stuff is that it’s easier to just leave it laying around than it is to organize it and ship it out.

Ironically, my current purging and downsizing initiative started with a resurrection of boxes and crates of old writing files from various storage rooms. You see, as a writer, I had literally shelved many projects for years while I did consulting work.

As it happens, many of the electronic files I created years ago are no longer readable. Either the hardware (think 5 ¼” floppy drives) and software (Kaypro DOS??) have disappeared, or the actual data has dissipated into the ether.

That discovery has led me to dust off and crack open boxes of fading and brittle paper files. Each boxes poses the questions: What are you going to do with this stuff? What are you saving it for? When, exactly, are you going to use it?

The answers I give myself are enlightening.

My first impulse is to think that I will never be done with many of these documents. But how long is never? Really. ‘Never’ actually means ‘when I die.’ The vision of my survivors shuffling through the boxes of dusty records and relics does not inspire images of joy and excitement. Because if much of this stuff is of marginal value to me, it’s of even less import to others.

No, in most cases, my accumulated things will be superfluous before I am dust. So do I need these boxes another 20 years? 15 years? 5 years?

Which are my must-haves? Which would I save in an emergency?

How does one learn to detach from things — especially things that embody years of work? I suspect that Leo Babauta, who blogs at Zen Habits, is right when he says that clearing one’s space is one step in an ongoing practice of keeping a clear focus on what is important in life.

I am inspired too by remembering how my late mother would react when something of hers was accidentally broken. “Don’t worry,” she would say, “it’s just a thing.” Just a thing.

Of course, simplicity is not for everyone. Nor do I believe that it’s a necessary first step to productivity or creativity. For a number of years when I taught at Red Deer College, writer Birk Sproxton occupied the next office. Birk’s space was the literary equivalent of an archeological dig — many strata of documents layered on every horizontal surface. It worked for him — Birk not only got all those student papers graded but published books, stories, anthologies and articles with regularity.

For me, though, each pile of papers ultimately becomes a little pile of anxiety. Sure, there are great little writing ideas, clippings and musings embedded in each pile. But when my eyes fall on them, I am just as likely to feel guilt as I am to feel potential and possibilities.

Years ago I read that a person should toss out one old possession for every new one that they bring into the house. I’ve tried but (with the possible exception of underwear) have never really managed to comply.

So, in my life simplicity is very much a work in progress. In fact, remember back at the start of this piece, when I said that I left the Globe rolled up on the kitchen table? I lied. Writers always lie. It makes for better stories.

But what’s the harm in scanning the headlines while waiting for my bread to toast? You say I should be ‘in the moment’ with the toaster and the visible waves of heat rising up against the cool morning window? I’ll work on that next.

Photo Credit

“Zen Water” darkpatator@flickr.com. Creative Commons. Some Rights Reserved.

Lorne Daniel’s clutter-free desk, photo by Lorne Daniel

Recent Lorne Daniel Articles:

• Walking Consultations: moving public engagement beyond opinions
• Murals, pride and history help prevent graffiti
• Striding Unfamiliar Streets
• The Scientific Map Of A Human
• Office Technology As Appliances