My Clutter Conundrum

It’s a familiar setting. Another new year rolls around with its shiny promises of better things to come. First, you need to clear out the old to make way for this wonderful potential.

I know clutter isn’t good for my mind. The clearer and tidier my house is, the more energised I feel and my thinking seems clearer. So, getting rid of stuff is a good thing. Win win, right?

Except I have a problem.

I find it hard to throw things away. Really hard.

Now, I’m not talking about rubbish here. I mean the stuff that has nothing wrong with it apart from outgrowing its usefulness to me. Surely there must be someone out there who would love some eyelash curlers? Or maybe an IKEA lampshade?

I have a lot of charity shops within a five-mile radius from my house, but I’m finding that more and more things are being rejected, or they physically cannot take any more donations. And I am loath to throw my clutter away.

Before I get a slew of people lecturing me about Vinted or Marketplace, I know about these and I use sites like that occasionally, but for many items it’s not really a viable option, and I don’t have the time or energy to pack and post things.

I think a lot of my issues have to do with my age. I’m a child of the 60s. My mum and dad lived through WW2, and rationing hadn’t long finished in the grand scheme of things. Money was tight. Many items were luxuries. Make Do and Mend was the motto of the time. I was taught to darn at school. Things that I take for granted today, like books, fitted carpets, and freezers full of food, were precious. They had to be looked after. Everything from transistor radios to cars were mended and tinkering with mechanics was a worthwhile pastime. When you bought something, you kept it for life – maybe several lives if it got passed down to the next generation.

Hence my clutter conundrum. I want it out of my house, but it feels so wrong to throw perfectly good things away.

Currently, I have several items on top of my chest of drawers that I don’t want, but no clear avenue of disposing of them other than the yawning hole of my rubbish bin.

Then there are the things that were given to me. Behind my laptop, I have a tiny crochet basket that someone made for me last year and filled with mini-Easter eggs. I don’t have any use for it – but a friend made it. They took time over it to bring me joy. How can I callously toss it into a bin? Or the stuffed tiger I was gifted which has an ugly face. I don’t particularly like it, but it was a present from someone I love dearly, who knows that tigers are my favourite animals.

And maybe they will never know that their heartfelt presents are destined for a landfill – but I will.

I once helped a wonderful friend of mine who had been given a vase by a close relative and felt obliged to have it out on show despite it being something that looked as if it would grace a mortuary. I “accidentally” knocked it off the shelf and broke it so she had a legitimate reason to get rid of it.

Then there was the case of the Christmas lanterns. Both my sister and I received the same one as a present. It had Santa figures all around it which, quite frankly, were grotesque. They had the kind of faces you see leering at you in your worst nightmares.

I gave mine to a charity shop, but my sister, who lived in the Scottish countryside, had no such handy way to dispose of hers. She came up with a great idea. Just before she left the area, she took it round to a neighbour at Hogmanay who had moved there within the last year and told them it was

traditional to hand it to someone else to bring them light and luck for the new year. The neighbours were thrilled. My sister was relieved. Everyone was happy.

Maybe I ought to start some new traditions down my street. Eyelash curlers, anyone?