Living Abundantly and Doing Without

I am a cluttery person. So often when I think about getting rid of some inconsequential piece of whatnot in my house, this little ditty runs through my head: “Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without.” Or that other one, “Waste not, want not.” So I keep it. Because I just might need that mismatched button in the future—my kids may use it for sock puppet eyes. Or I might really want that fifth empty shoebox for Coriel to make into a diorama of something. And really, eventually I will start using coupons, so I gotta keep those!

Despite the above examples (all of which are real), I manage to keep my clutteriness in check most of the time. Ish. Our house is reasonably functional, and if there’s too much stuff in it, at least we don’t live tragically like those people on the hoarding reality TV shows.

Took this picture a while ago for a project
I was doing. It's an exaggeration, yes,
but far too close to reality sometimes.

I live in a constant tension between wanting to make sure we have the things we need and use those resources wisely—and on the other hand wanting to have a peaceful, relaxing home that is a refuge from chaos (well, at least sometimes a refuge from chaos; I have small children, after all). I want to make sure that we can “live abundantly.”

Recently for a book club, I read Peter Walsh’s It’s All Too Much. It’s a decluttering book that approaches organization, first and foremost, with vision. What do you want from your home? How do you want to live?

When I have read or said that quote in my mind—“Use it up, wear it out, make it do, or do without”—I have viewed it as a warning. The first three items are admonitions, the things you should do. The last item is a consequence for not following them. As far as I know, this is exactly how the expression was intended.

But.

What would it be like to accept and enjoy a life in which you “do without”? Now, I don’t mean doing without the basics of life. Shelter, food, water, and such—those are not things I’m talking about. I don’t even mean at least a basic list of perks (for example, though I could live without a microwave, I still consider it a necessity). I mean the tons and tons of possible extras. The hundred DVDs you rarely watch, the shelves of books you’ve been planning to get to, the kitchen gadgets, the craft supplies, the toys, the clothes, the endless stuff that can be so easily accumulated.

What if I made a conscious decision to “do without” some of that? How much of it do I really need? How would I feel if, instead of viewing “do without” as a dire warning, I took it as an equally valid option? Instead of clinging desperately to everything I own, just in case I might someday want it, what if I tried this: If that day finally comes, I just think to myself, “Yeah, I guess I do kind of want it, but I can do without.”

Recognizing “doing without” as a valid option is freeing to me in a way I would not have expected. I actually feel lighter just thinking about it. I know, that’s really weird, but it’s true. That, my friends, is Epiphany #1.

Epiphany #2 is related. In that expression, “Waste not, want not,” we tend to think that it is about stuff, objects. If you don’t waste it, you won’t find yourself lacking what you need. What if we also thought of it in terms of space? In terms of mental and emotional and spiritual energy?

Me? I have plenty of wasted space in my world. Why is it wasted? Because it’s filled with stuff that I’m freaking out about “using up” or “wearing out.” And so I find myself yearning for what I don’t have—more space. I waste it. Now I want it.

Emotional and mental energy. I could rattle off a list to you of things I’ve been “planning to do”—projects lying around my house, taking up both valuable space and valuable mental energy (because every time I think of them, I sigh to myself about my total slackerliness and lack of motivation).* This stuff is an energy suck. I’m wasting emotion on things that don’t really matter, leaving me sometimes drained for the stuff that does matter (like not yelling at my kids, or working on my novels, or smiling happily at my husband). I waste it. Now I want it.

Okay, I realize that not everyone has the same struggles with possessions that I do. And every virtue (like decluttering) can become a vice as well (like making your house so sterile and empty that your kids have no place to explore and enjoy being kids). However, for me, an “abundant life”—that is, a life full of really living—means that I have to recognize some liberating truths.

There is nothing wrong with “doing without” (once you have the basics, at least)—in fact, it can be a blessing. Space and emotional energy are resources just as important as physical objects. Maybe even more important.

I have a lot of work to do. (And I’m working on it! You should see the huge pile of stuff that we’re getting rid of. It’s sitting in the corner of the living room waiting nervously to move on.

*Now that I’ve said I could rattle off a list, I’m wondering if I really can. Let’s see… That tablecloth I’ve been crocheting since the dawn of time. Also the piggy purse for Coriel. Also the various scarves and hats. The Hug-a-Temple. That afghan I’m supposed to finish. … Yikes! And that’s just the crochet stuff. I haven’t even started mentioning the sewing projects, wire jewelry, blog posts, and assorted weird stuff (like that suncatcher I wanted to paint).