Every six months or so, I look around my house and have a sharp, sudden desire to get rid of 75% of the items in it. The random plastic toy floating underfoot, the outgrown shoes I haven’t had a chance to deal with yet, the tangled cords that surface here and there, the paper, oh the paper, that multiplies every time I turn my back.

There are people in the world who are naturally very good at decluttering. People like my sister and my friend Meghan, who have no sentimental attachments to old pairs of slippers. Or at least, if they do, they are able to put those aside and keep the out-flow from their home at a pace that more or less balances out the in-flow.

Then there are people like me. I admit it: I form sentimental attachments to my slippers. And I too often subscribe to the “I might need it some other time” school of thought. Not as much as my husband does, but that we both tend toward this thinking makes getting rid of stuff even more difficult.

My efforts at culling and decluttering are hampered by both attachments to the past and worries about the future. For people like me, deciding which things to hold on to and which things to move out takes a lot of emotional energy, as well as physical.

Add in the fact that I live in a home that measures 1,000 square feet soaking wet, with three other people, two of them possessing a lot of toys – and now that it’s birthday & holiday time, adding more every week! – and all of us with an outrageous number of books. I don’t have room to not be good at culling and decluttering.

And while I often just ignore it all, let my eyes skim over the disorganized drawers, the crammed corners, the overflowing bins, I know that I would much prefer a more organized home. A more intentional home. In my weaker moments, or when I am feeling overwhelmed, the chaos of my house – sometimes lurking just under the surface, sometimes flaunting itself out in the open for all to see – makes me feel even less together.

I want my home to feel like an urban retreat. Yes, there will always be dirty laundry. There will always be some random plastic toy underfoot (or at least there will be for quite a few years still, and for that I’m grateful). But I would love if I felt like we had edited out 95% of what we didn’t want/need/love. I would love to run with the inspiration of boat living, where everything has a place. I would be doing cartwheels if 95% of things had a place, even if they weren’t in it.

For people like me, who could use a little help with not just the process but the emotional stuff behind the process, there’s this book. The title makes me smile. I read it in one weekend. I was totally inspired to get to work.

Then I got my mother-in-law Karen into it. We’re going to be “tidying-up” partners (in this context, “tidying-up” means decluttering and organizing, not putting things away and cleaning). Join in if you’d like.

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