Unintended Consequences

I keep gazing admiringly upon my freshly organized closet. It really is a remarkable sight. Apparently I was mistaken about the size of my closet. It is not, as I previously thought, tiny. It is rather large! At least it appears that way now that two thirds of its contents have been removed. Here is a glimpse:

I am one week into my Project 333 experiment, and my simplifying efforts have already produced a surprising effect (in addition to my expanding closet space): I find I am wanting more . . . more of less.

After my great closet clean out, I found I was motivated to simplify other crowded areas of my home. I tackled the overflowing Tupperware cabinet and sent all stained, warped, and unmatched plastic containers and lids to the recycling bin. Our food storage containers are now neatly stacked with their proper lids, and nothing falls out when you open the cabinet door.

I also addressed my make up and cosmetics, finally freeing myself from that too dark foundation that will never match my skin, the dried up nail polish that I used to love, and the perfume sample that I didn't like but kept anyway. I moved products from the bathroom counter to the cabinet underneath, where I discovered I now had more storage space.

I even found a friend to take my light bulbs (that I won't use because they have a cool, greenish color cast). Yes, I was keeping a bag of light bulbs that I did not intend to use; they were perfectly functional, so I hated to throw them away, but I am picky about my light and kept ignoring this fact while purchasing more.

Beginning Project 333 has helped me re-frame my relationship with my belongings. I am considering what place these things have in my life. If the plastic storage container no longer has a properly fitting lid, why I am keeping it? In hopes that one day the lid will magically return? In what world will I, with my perpetually fair skin, ever wear foundation that says "Medium" on the package? Why am I saving a bag of light bulbs that I cannot stand to use?

I want a full life but not a crowded one, and these things take up space. They get in the way.

I know that eventually, in some weeks or months (or days if my toddler gets in there), the Tupperware cabinet will need to be organized again. More lids will get lost and more tomato sauce will stain. I will likely purchase another cosmetic item (or two or three) that doesn't work for me, and I won't use all of my new royal blue nail polish before it separates and must be thrown away. Organizing and simplifying is a process.

But I feel I'm breaking free from the burden of holding on "just in case", or "because it cost good money", or "because it still works", even though it doesn't work for me. I am practicing letting go of things, and my house and I are breathing a sigh of relief.

Now please excuse me while I go find something else to organize.

Trying on Less

I love to shop. Even with a tight budget, I get an intoxicating rush when I discover a perfectly fitting dress on the sale rack or find a secondhand shirt for a fraction of its original retail price. I am swept up in the thrill of the bargain, and if the deal is “too good to miss”, I will overlook a multitude of issues (the fit is slightly off, it’s not really my style, I already have something similar, I have no occasion to wear it in the foreseeable future…). I will reason that I am making a good investment, that I am actually saving money by spending so little, and I will leave with a shopper’s high and a happiness that will never be matched when I actually wear the item.

And I may not even wear it. I may try it on briefly before abandoning it for an outfit I like better, and my “super amazing steal of a deal” will languish in my closet.

You know the game where you try ten things on while getting dressed and nothing quite works? And then you end up wearing your favorite jeans and sweater for the third time that week. And then you are fifteen minutes late to wherever you are supposed to be because the simple, daily act of getting dressed took way too long. Tell me I’m not the only one who plays this game.

I love to shop, and yet a nagging discontentment has crept in as I’ve added more and more to my tiny closet. My closet is crowded, but I struggle to find something to wear. My heart feels crowded, too.

I am ready to try something different, something radical.

For Lent this year, I am giving up (at least temporarily) the vast majority of my wardrobe, and I’ll wear just thirty-three things from now until Easter.

I’ll be doing a modified version of Courtney Carver’s Project 333, which challenges participants to dress from a 33-item wardrobe for three months. Official P33 rules include shoes, accessories, and outerwear in the count; I’ll be counting these separately. Pajamas, loungewear, gym clothes, and underwear (including tights, socks, etc.) aren’t included in the count. Though I’m bending the rules a bit, I do plan to work from a limited selection of all of these items. One of my favorite quotes from the website is this: “This is not a project in suffering. If you need to create a version of Project 333 that works better for you, do it.” I’m going with that.

I’ve made lists, sorted piles of clothes, selected, swapped, and worked my way down to 33 things (plus three coats) which are now back in the closet. I moved everything else to the guest room closet, which is now overflowing. Please don’t open that door if you are at my house . . .

I am looking forward to the challenge, and I’m also fighting some trepidation. I wonder if I will get bored of my limited choices. I’m bridging two seasons, so I’m concerned I may not have all I need to bridge dramatic temperature swings. I worry about what other people will think. Will anyone even notice or care if I’m wearing the same thing more often? Were these the items I was wearing all the time anyway? I wonder if I’ll feel guilty for forsaking all those other clothes, as if inanimate objects somehow know they are being neglected. I am considering what it would mean to fail and put everything back next week . . . or to succeed and end up giving most of it away.

Lent is a time of remembering and practicing sacrifice, of reexamining priorities and values, a time of not only giving up the bad, but of giving up the good in favor of the better. All that extra space in my closet makes me anxious, but it also makes me excited. There is space, breathing room, and that feels like the start of something better.