Our theme, “Get a Plan,” seemed like a tidy, ambitious topic to kick off 2020 when we hammered out our editorial lineup for the year.
Plans are good. Plans are necessary. I like plans in theory. Execution is another matter. Plans are fine for other people but my failure rate is too high to embrace much planning.
Privilege and Plans
Clutter is a first-world problem. I’ve read about people in other parts of the world who collect cigarette butts, separate the pieces, and sell the bundles by the pound — you read that right, by the pound, to earn a bare-bones living. I’m assuming that’s a clutter-generating enterprise.
I’ve got first-world clutter; too many shoes and coats and casserole dishes and — I’m just realizing — a significant collection of drinking glasses. I planned to clear things out after reading Marie Kondo’s, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing.” I skimmed the book (too busy), fast-forwarded the show on Netflix (too impatient, ) and dove in (too hopeful).
I ruthlessly bagged up my castoffs and dropped them at donation bins. I rolled sweaters, sorted clothing by colors, and rethought my casserole dish collection. The dogs thought they were the next to go.
The minimalist lifestyle suited me, but only for a minimal amount of time. I soon was back to my old habits, cruising consignment shops and hitting estate sales. I was a junkie who craved actual junk. My decluttering plans sputtered and then died in a heap on the closet floor.
That’s just one example of failed plans. Each January, I plan to carefully pack away my Christmas lights so I never have to untangle them again. Eleven months later, I’m untangling Christmas lights.
Here’s another: I plan to watch higher-quality TV — more PBS less Bravo, but deep down I’m drawn to the Kardashians and “My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding.”
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