I want to simplify my life.
I want space, and freedom, and room to move in my home.
I want to rid myself of the embarrassment of cluttered rooms and mumbled excuses to visiting friends. “It’s been a busy week. The kid hasn’t been well. We’re in the process of renovating. Oh that’s just our junk room … and um, that room is too … yeah, don’t look downstairs …”
I want to be able to walk into any room and find what I’m looking for. Actually, I want to be able to just walk into any room full stop. No teetering stacks of storage boxes, half-sorted piles of paperwork and hurredly tossed bric-a-brac to work my way around. Just clear, empty doorways and open expanses of floor.
Except I don’t want it enough.
I know I don’t, because if I did it would be done already. All that junk and clutter, such a heavy weight on me, would be gone. My home would feel airy and spacious again. My life would be unburdened from all that stuff.
Instead of doing I keep dreaming about how wonderful it would be. Overwhelmed by where to start, too scared to take that first step. I’m convinced that only a huge attempt will make any difference, that small steps are a futile endeavor. Unless I can see an improvement immediately it’s not worth the effort. And so no effort is expended at all. And the junk still sits there.
Because I don’t want it enough. Not yet anyway.