Minimalism

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that there is almost nothing I like as much as I like de-junking. There, I said it. I get more of a high out of getting rid of things than acquiring them. And, believe me, I do like acquiring things so that's saying a lot.

But there's just something about being able to look at an object and say, "I don't need you anymore." There's just something about the feeling of having control over your possessions, rather than them controlling you. It's empowering. And wonderful. And, let's be honest, something that frequent moves make utterly and completely imperative.

This post was born as I sorted through my and my family's material life just this past month. We completed our fifth move since Grace was born (she's three...) and our seventh since we've been married. While this number may seem trivial to many, it's a lot to a girl who spent the first eighteen years of her life in the same house. The biggest change I went through was the periodic rearrangement of furniture that came from pure and unadulterated summer boredom.

But, back to the task at hand. Each time we move, I try to get rid of clothes. And, each time we move, I plead with Spencer to do the same---fruitlessly. See, while I pride myself on being fairly non-sentimental, Spencer is as sentimental as they come. While my church/girl scout/choir/cross country/yearbook t-shirts from high school have been living it up in various thrift stores throughout the country for years, Spencer's football/wrestling/soccer/choir/scout day camp/mission/family reunion/you-get-the-picture shirts are still sitting pretty in our dresser drawers.

Knowing these mean a lot to him, I always try to gently broach the subject come move time. "Spencer, I don't think I've ever seen you wear this shirt. Do you think we might...?" or "Spencer, I think this shirt would benefit kids on the west side so much. Maybe we could...?" Each time, perhaps one or two shirts have been deported. But I get it. He doesn't have to be like me. My way is not necessarily the best, it's just my way. But hope springs eternal...

I've discussed this issue various times with friends and they always suggest I make a t-shirt quilt. Which...is a fabulous idea, of course. If I was the quilting type. Or the crafty type at all. But I'm not. And the idea of cutting up Spencer's t-shirts and patching them together piece by piece literally makes me want to throw-up. So...that's just not going to happen.

But then, miracle of miracles, this past move something entirely new occurred. I caught Spencer during a magical moment of pure and utter material apathy. It was glorious to behold.

"What about this shirt?" says Anna.

"Toss it," says Spencer.

"And this one?" Anna inserts timidly, not daring to test her luck too much.

"It can go," comes the reply.

"Surely you want to keep this one?" says Anna, beginning to feel a little worried but so happy she can hardly contain it.

"Nope."

This, folks, is how I know that Spencer loves me. While that apathetic moment was as rare as it was magical, Spencer has not gone searching for his shirts at Goodwill or griped about me taking advantage of him during a weak moment. He has taken my minimalist/let's-keep-our lives-completely-encapsulated-in-clear, plastic-containers-obsession and met me halfway. He has given me a good portion of his old t-shirts. What more could a crazy, control freak ask for?