It’s been a while since my head was in a ‘decluttering’ mood but it appears to be back. I look around my flat and marvel that I have quite so much stuff. I excuse away all the purchases with valid reasoning that I know doesn’t stand up to much scrutiny.
I’ve been pretty good over the past six months, and new additions to my flat are few and far between. I’ve slowly chipped away at boxes and drawers, but part of me knows I’ve not been brutal enough. Not yet.
Yet I still can’t, quite, make the leap to where part of me wants to be, some drawers remained crammed full of things that I could label ‘just in case’. I wear half the clothes I own, so why keep the other half? I keep headphones and spare USB cables even though I don’t use all the ones that are in ‘active’ use at various points throughout my flat. I have unread book upon unread book gathering dust on my shelves.
I have successfully cut down my online clutter, Facebook is a weekly (or less) check, and I’m not on Twitter as much either, but I still face the prospect of going through all the iPhone photos I’ve taken in the last few years, but I know I can tackle that in chunks.
I guess I’m hoping, at some point, that I will find a point I’m happy with, I’ll have decluttered enough and have fewer things to consider, both physically and digitally, fewer things to pause over, less stuff. Where that point lies I’ve no idea and I guess there is only one way to find out.
Bin bags and boxes await, charity shops and the local recycling centre are poised with baited breath.