I use to keep everything. Every thing. My bedroom was colorful but cluttered, childlike but claustrophobic. And while part of it had to do with a sentimental streak the width of a comet’s tail, the other part of it was being young and confined to a bedroom or studio; one simply cannot contain one’s worldly (cheap, abundant) goods to a single room. One could argue my Zen-like shift toward simplicity is eased by having my own place with more room to spread out my trinkets, but really, I just ditched and donated the excess, keeping just the things I love and nothing more. I still have the occasional pang when I see someone’s cozy kitchen stuffed with cookbooks and plants and coffee mugs jumbled on the counter, but simple is my mantra now. It’s so much easier to dust.
Still, I hadn’t parted with everything. I’ve carted my vintage linens and bonanza of blankets from place to place, using them for the occasional picnic. But mostly I just liked the look of them piled high in the cupboard. But after reading this article on medium.com (addiction forming to these quick, likable reads), I culled even the linen collection down to the bare bones, with a couple of extras thrown in just because I don’t live in a 200-square foot cottage. I feel better already.