I Owe Someone an Apology

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In the 332 books I’ve read and recorded on Goodreads since 2007, only twice have I given a book a 1 out of 5 stars. Usually, if a book is that bad, I just stop reading and move on. But on two occasions I felt compelled to offer a different point of view from the prevailing opinion. One was upon reading the best-selling The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying by Marie Kondo. I read the tiny book, took in the clothes-folding instructions and rolled my eyes at her personal story. I honestly thought the woman was a wee bit touched, what with talking to towels and crying over unkempt shampoo bottles.

I also thought the KonMari Method was better suited for the smaller, minimalist homes of her native Japan than most larger U.S. dwellings. (Her book happened to hit about the same time as the tiny house movement and after we underwent a major downsizing.)  

Then Kondo’s show hit Netflix this month and I decided to watch an episode. Which turned into five more before I knew it, and I had to admit I liked it. The consultant goes into American homes and helps their residents tackle domestic issues around clutter, wisely staying within the edges of extremes. Really though, she is helping people move through a passage in life: adulthood; child-rearing; empty nesting; job relocation; widowhood; and so on. 

Suddenly, I saw the wisdom in what she was doing. This tiny woman with a zen-like aura gets people to confront both their stuff and their situation while focusing on five areas of their homes where materialism and memories are likely to accumulate. In each episode, wariness yields to acceptance and by the end of the half hour, everyone is more joyous, less stressed.

This is a case where the TV show is better than the book. I’m never going to kneel and introduce myself to the house as Kondo awkwardly does in each episode. But I can certainly provide it more respect and breathing room. 

I actually took all of my clothes out and held each one to see if it “sparked joy.” That included an embarrassing largess of athletic wear. Over the years I’d donated bags full of old race T-shirts, including one with most of my prized marathon shirts given away by mistake. I now run far fewer races, so you’d think those shirts would feel more valuable; but I felt the opposite. I realized I’d likely never wear them again because of fit or fashion concerns; therefore, off to Goodwill, they go.

I’m next going to do a book and paper purge, but I’ll need more time for sentimental attachments to weaken. Until then, I rescind my previous criticism of the life-changing magic that comes from tidying. Now I'm a believer.

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