DECLUTTERING? NEVER HEARD OF HER

I once flirted with the idea of minimalism. One bowl. One vase. One carefully curated doodad. I lasted approximately one day. Okay, fine, maybe ONE hour. Turns out, I can’t live like that. It’s like asking a painter to only use one color – and that’s no fun.

My home screams “personality,” and by personality, I mean a delightful explosion of things I adore. And I like it that way. I am a collector. An accumulator. A bona fide connoisseur of stuff.

I like stuff.

A bare surface? So serene and meditative, they preach. Oh, please! Where’s the creativity!?

See that surface over there? It’s practically begging for a stack of books, a quirky something striking a pose, a scented candle whispering, “serenity” and a vase of fresh flowers practically shouting, “she may have a slight accumulating problem, but at least her house smells amazing!”

Now, I’m aware of the whispers and the Instagram reels screaming about undesirable chaos. I understand the arguments for decluttering. Less stuff, less stress. A clearer space, a clearer mind. Better sleep, superhuman focus. The logic is sound. And you know what? Maybe they’re right.

“My therapist told me to declutter. I bought more pillows.” ~unknown

But just think, perhaps my so-called “clutter” is not chaos, but rather thoughtfully placed inspirations and memories. Turns out, my ‘wow’ factor is being surrounded by things I love.

This isn’t to say I don’t need to occasionally edit. But that’s a conversation for another day; preferably when I’m not surrounded by all the future “heirlooms” that bring me so much joy. 😭

So, here I stand, a sorta kinda maximalist in a world of wannabe minimalists, embracing the beauty of mooooore.

When my husband accusatorially inquires, “is that new?”, I calmly respond with, “that is none of your concern, sir.”

But I’m not a hoarder, I swear!

Though, if you were to, say, accidentally stumble into my hall closet (don’t!), or perhaps peek behind some random cabinets in my dining room or maybe just open one mirrored slider upstairs in what our daughters refer to as ‘the attic’, well, you might find an archaeological dig of forgotten treasures and “what was I thinking?” purchases. Oy.

Am I a maxihoarderist? Perhaps.

Point me toward a tabletop. A bench. A dresser. And I’ll vignette it within an inch of its life. I’m like a curator… of my own story. Oooh, I like the sound of that.

C’mon, life’s too short to settle for one thingamabob when you could have a dozen.

Whether it’s my grandma’s dome-covered candy dish brimming with sweet memories, my mother’s 1950s china that I continue to use for Jewish holidays, my daughters proudly displayed works of art, my grandpa’s exquisitely carved objet d’art, my grandma’s paintings, memorable items from travels and heartfelt gifts that remind me of someone special…

Even the thrill of discovery within the aisles of HomeGoods!

And yes, the possessions, odds and ends and stuff do add up. But in a world that often champions the stark and the sparse, the tossing of and downsizing, I’m here to create chaos. One delightful trinket at a time!