Last week, The Angler sent me a link to Lemonade – the documentary movie about how unemployed creative types are making their lives sweeter. The movie captured my interest immediately and a felt a connection to those on screen telling their stories. The movie made me realize, in the world today, when an overachiever -perfectionist- creative type gets the pink slip, the following happens to that person: he or she begins a mad networking scheme complete with charts and diagrams to find the next job, he/she throws the ultimate pity party, and eventually he /she starts a blog.
In 2008, when a “perfect job” for me turned out to be anything but, I made the diagrams and threw one heck of a pity party ( you should have seen the menu!) It was exhausting. And I jumped at the first job that met my minimal criteria. Then in late 2009, when the non profit where I worked ( the not-so perfect-job but fit the charts and diagrams) closed it’s doors for good, I decided to do a 180 to my previous response. I didn’t alert my networks. I didn’t throw the pity party. My husband, bless him, gave me the green light to take some time off from full time work to gather my thoughts, refocus my efforts, and explore my creative side. ( I am extremely thankful and humbled for this luxury so few can choose) I embraced this new time in my life and created a cute name for it - I’ve been calling it my “creative sabbatical”. As part of this journey, I finally completed the third step of the unemployement cycle – I started a blog. Seven months ago TODAY! - I launched this site.
When I was creating this blog I had several things I wanted to achieve. I wanted it to be a place where I would share food, flowers, fashion, music, my latest photography projects, and my lessons in grace. When it came to the layout I had three words that drove the design: simple, clean, pretty. When the blog loaded, I didn’t want those of you who are kind enough to stop by to be bombarded with sidebars and virtual clutter. I wanted your eyes to have a place to rest, relax and sit a spell on my virtual veranda - a clutter free zone.
Webster’s defines “clutter” as: (n) a crowded confused mass ; (v) to fill or cover with scattered or disordered things that impede movement or effectiveness. For quite some time, my life was a crowded confused mess. My movement and effectiveness was impeded. It was time to make ”Clutter free” not only a blog template theme, but a theme in my life. Over the next 6 months through a wonderful bible study called Woman on a Mission, I learned more about calendar clutter. I learned to keep things off my calendar which don’t fit my personal mission for growth. Today, I don’t say “yes” to every opportunity because it sounds like a good fit or because I could do it. I’ve learned to let other people secure those blessings of service I don’t have to do it all. I schedule items to keep me accountable ( ex. must be at the gym by 8am). It seems to be working. I have by no means perfected the clutter- free calendar, but the dance card is far more enjoyable these days. I am thankful.
Tole Tray and Figures from my "Touch of the Orient" Days
Once my calendar was under control, I turned to the physical clutter that seemed to be overtaking the McCottage and sucking the life out of me. I would stare at the blue and white ginger jars in my bookshelf and think, ” I don’t like you” I would pass the loveseat that I owned in college and think “what are you still doing here?” It donned on me it was time to do the unthinkable: clear the clutter and host a yard sale. A yard sale in your parts may be known by a different name: a garage sale, rummage sale, moving sale, attic sale. Martha Stewart calls hers glamorously enough – a “tag sale” You can give it a fancy name, but no matter what you call it, I loathe them. I hosted only one in my entire married life, when we first bought our house. I swore I wouldn’t do it again.
I named mine the McCottage Sale. It was scheduled for July 3.
One thing the McCottage sale was ever called was a ” junk sale”. I hear the word “junk” and am reminded of a poster that hung in my home town drug store. The pouty little boy, chin in hand, which read ” I know I”m special because God don’t make junk”. That’s how I felt about my stuff. It was “special”, ’cause I don’t buy junk. The sale included pieces of furniture, pillows, rugs, decor accessories that until the morning of the sale adorned my home. When I began to post pics on facebook of the McCottage Sale wares, I was struck by the concern my friends began to express. They knew this was quite uncharacteristic for one as sentimental as me to let go. One of my closest friends even stopped by admist the pre-sale choas, to check on me. Her voice was quiet and sad, “why are you DOING this?” as she picked up the tasseled needle point pillows priced at $10 each. She eyed my grandfather’s writing desk, ”That’s your grandfather’s! Seriously, why are you doing this?” My answer was clear cut. ” I want to be free of all this clutter. The Angler and I have never moved. This is our first home. We’ve not had the natural purging changing homes allows. Several of the pieces of furniture I have are hand-me-downs and not what I would choose. It’s my grandmothers stuff, not my stuff. With a can of paint, I attempted to make them fit my style. Other things I bought just to ‘make do”, to fill space, or felt the need to have it to feather my nest. My twenty-something self wanted stuff. My thirty something self wants a cleaner slate. Its that simple.” The answer sufficed, she bought my needle point pillows.
The amount of “stuff” that made it out to my driveway early on Saturday morning was uncanny. The sale scheduled to begin at 7 am had those stalking professional early -birding patrons arriving at 6 am. My prices, as I was told by a dealer, were way “too cheap” I knew this. The sale wasn’t about making money, it was about clearing the clutter and improving my effectiveness.
As I lay in bed that night, exhausted and spent from the sale. I thought about the new places my porcelain china men were now standing. I wondered what spot my cute tole tulip lamp was illuminating. Then, because I can’t be simple in my thinking – I started comparing those things to the last few years of my life and my job status. You see, for awhile, I thought it was me that caused the job chaos in my life. I wasn’t smart enough, creative enough, or gifted enough to succeed in my last ventures. (I’ve had girlfriends express the same thoughts about their job woes to me, and I dismissed them knowing full well they were good enough, smart enough) – the thing is, sometimes jobs don’t fit. Just as much as it’s not the needlepoint pillows fault that they no longer work in my design scheme, it’s not my fault I didn’t fit the job(s) I had chosen. Those jobs were – like my grandfather’s desk – fitting the niche for the time being. My grandfather’s desk happened to fit in our home office. It wasn’t a french writing desk I had eyed for years, it was a small desk. With a can of paint, I tried to make it fit my style. Those weren’t my dream jobs. I gave the titles a fancy make over and I tried to make them fit, knowing full well, it’s not what I had originally envisioned for my career. Maybe you are struggling with these same self doubts right now with a job, or maybe it’s a a volunteer role that appears good in the society pages but you have no passion whatsoever for the cause. Maybe it’s a habit you picked up along the way because it was “cool”. Maybe it’s a friendship, or even a serious love relationship and it’s just not working. After soul searching, asking tough questions, and thoughtful prayer maybe you, like me, realize it’s not personal. Sometimes, things just don’t fit.
Styles come and go. Jobs come and go. Sadly, some relationships must come and go. If we are open to those comings and goings, we realize they are true blessings which afford us the opportunity to clean house and start all over with what it is God has called us to do. If you acknowledge Him he will make your paths straight. ( Prov 3:5-6). It’s up to us to keep them free of clutter.
Now, please excuse me, this McCottage sale money is buring a hole in my pocketbook. If I’m going to be sashaying down a clutter free path, I’m going to need a fab new pair of heels.
Cheers, Y’all!
