By Jane Gordon Julien
November 12, 2024
Three years ago, I began cleaning out my attic. Then my basement, Then I took a look at the rest of the house, and I started in on that too. I knew I would be moving, but there was more to it than that.
I was engaging in a practice known as “Swedish death cleaning,” or döstädning.” It’s morbid, true, but the intent, and the result, is absolutely life-affirming. We all live happier, calmer lives facing less clutter and fewer material goods, even if right now, in this moment in time, a little retail therapy feels necessary. (I still can’t say no to good books.)
But that’s a conversation for another day.
If you have loved ones who will be stuck with your belongings after you perish, throwing away your nostalgic but unnecessary belongings is an exercise in familial love. It is an effort that if made while you still have your wits about you will save your children, heirs, siblings, probate lawyer, sister-in-law in Bulgaria, whoever, from suffering through your chipped Boston rockers and banged-up Rubbermaid containers.
And no need to throw that stuff away. Somebody out there wants it. I used the Facebook group “Buy Nothing, Sell Nothing” to lighten my load. No money was involved. I’d post a photo of a Hoosier cabinet or an herbal wreath or a rubber chicken – one of my more popular items – and a bunch of people would jump online and tell me why I should pick them to receive it. Folks would then arrive at my front stoop and whisk away their newfound treasure.
Because my kids don’t want my stuff. They don’t even want their stuff, the yearbooks and prom photos and graduation programs and myriad other paper memories that I texted to each of them, one photo at a time, to see if I was going to be mailing it or tossing it. That alone took years.
There’s a whole book about Swedish death cleaning, “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning.” I didn’t read it, because that would have required me to bring another book into the house.
And that defeats the purpose, doesn’t it? For this week, talk to me about your stuff, whether it’s clutter or a cherished heirloom – or both – whether you’re holding on to crumpled Cat Stevens posters or gold-rimmed dessert glasses your grandmother gave you and that guilt has been keeping in your glass cabinet. And know that I’m cheering for you as you struggle to clear all that stuff out of your head and your life. Grandma is cheering for you too.
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