The Freedom of Fewer Choices

How much do I love shopping at Trader Joe's? Sooooo much! There are too many reasons to list. Here are the top 3:

1. Every single time I've been there with Pia, one of the TJs "crew" has offered to help me take my groceries to the car and they've loaded up the trunk and whisked away my shopping cart before I've even gotten my wiggly babe into her car seat.

2. Black bean and cheese tacquitos. Chocolate honey mints. Reduced Guilt Chunky Guacamole.

3. A break from the Decision Fatigue of every other grocery store in town. When I want to buy, say, cereal, there are roughly a dozen options from which to choose. Pasta sauce? Eight options. Pickles? Spears, slices, or whole. Ketchup? One option: ketchup. I can be in and out of TJs with (usually, almost) everything I need for the week in 30 minutes, AND stick to a list and budget.

Bonus: The store is not jam-packed with displays and aisles. It feels open, navigable, and easy. You could fit the entire store into the Halloween Candy section of Target.

Does Trader Joe's have everything I could ever need for a recipe? No. But by narrowing our ingredient options, we've actually gotten more creative in the kitchen, and we are able to go to Whole Paycheck less frequently, which saves us a whole lot of money. And time. Shopping at TJs is efficient, cost-effective, and delicious.

I am pining for the day that our home will be conscientiously curated to contain only those Useful, Beautiful things that Spark Joy, like the Joy that is sparked by finding Gluten Free Candy Cane Joe Joes.

Like my favorite grocery store, I've found that my house is much tidier, more efficient, and happier to live in when I have fewer options. This is and has been an ongoing process, but every little step I have taken in the direction of Fewer has been rewarding so far.

Exhibit A:

A couple of weeks ago, I decided to apply the now-famous Marie Kondo lessons of Tidying Up to my closet. I haven't actually read her book (who has time to read entire books during baby naps??), but I have read a couple of reviews and articles about her New York Times bestseller, and concluded that I had gleaned enough to take a stab at purging my closet of anything that didn't Spark Joy.

I took every item of clothing out of my closet, laid them all on my bed, then picked each item up and held it in my hands before deciding its fate. I made four piles:

• Sparks Joy AND it currently fits!
• Sparks Joy but doesn't fit my new, plush, post-baby body
• No Joy here, but I've barely worn it, so I'll try to consign it
• No Joy, but it's in good shape, so I'll donate it

No surprise, most of what Sparked Joy and Fits consisted of cardigans and a couple of forgiving dresses and skirts. I'm still about 15 pounds from my pre-baby weight, so I'm going to remain hopeful that some of those Joy-sparking clothes with buttons and darts and zippers will fit again. I didn't part with them; I put them in a plastic tub in the storage closet. Here's what was left:

Disregard the upper-right piles - they are Les's pants!

I've been operating from this wardrobe of roughly 30 items + basics like tank tops, t-shirts, leggings, etc, for three weeks now, and I love it. When I rush to the closet in the morning to get ready for work, I know that everything in front of me fits, flatters (reasonably well), and makes me happy when I wear it. Soon I will add the winter sweaters that spark joy, but those are still packed away for now.

Gone are the sentimental items, the stash of overly-fussy wedding guest dresses from the season of my life when I attended 10 weddings every summer, and anything that I really wanted to like and wear but never or very rarely did. As I hear Kondo's book suggests, I thanked the items I discarded for their service or for their part in a previous season of my life, and stacked them neatly for re-homing.

Last year, I had a 40-Item Wardrobe for a season, and that was totally painless. Maternity clothes created their own capsule-wardrobe-by-default, and I did just fine for more than 6 months. I know I can live and work and play and go to church with a limited but versatile mix of clothes, but I still want More and New and Better and Different all the time. That's the part I can't quite seem to wrangle. And I do not promise that I will never buy any more clothes. No. But anything new must be versatile enough that I can wear it for at least two out of three main fashion venues: Regular Life, Work, Church. And, thanks to Ms. Kondo, it'll have to Spark Joy as well.

All You Need is Less

The world is shredding my heart these days. I look around at our comfortable life and our comfortable faith in our comfortable part of the world, and I feel really uncomfortable. And I want to feel that way for as long as it takes for us to make real changes and take real action, rather than just cry a few tears and heave a big sigh and then sink right back into our easy chairs with a tub of ice cream for a nice, brain-numbing Netflix binge.

There are a lot of ways to move from sugarshocked immobility to meaningful action. Give, pray, and get involved with organizations who know the issues well and can connect you with volunteer opportunities. (We've had terrific experiences with World Relief and Exodus, so if you're looking for an endorsement of a refugee-serving organization, check out either of them. Two thumbs way up).

Every time I think the plight of so many in the world, I feel newly convicted to pursue minimalism. And then I see something pretty or fun or on sale in my new, softer size and I buy it anyway. Just like a diet, my minimalism always starts tomorrow.

What does a new pair of jeans have to do with compassion? Let's set aside compassion-related environmental and labor issues that come into play when I buy buy buy anything and everything I want, and think more broadly about how Stuff can clog up our hearts and lives.

Les and I have been talking about how our Stuff and our Love of Stuff gets in the way of living the life we want, and feel convicted about living. Here are some ways:

• Clutter in our home makes us self-conscious about hosting and hospitality. (Well, clutter, and our Ornery Chihuahua-based home security system). Fewer possessions = less clean up when you want to invite someone into your home. We could just get over our hangups about what our home looks like and what our Fur Baby acts like, and we want to do that, too, but fewer piles would go a long way towards a more hospitable house.
• Money we spend on Stuff prevents us from being as generous as we say we want to be.
• Our Things are distractions. We'd rather be comfy in our home, doing our own thing, than out loving our neighbors. We do need time at home to recharge and relax as a family. Balance is important. We're in a slow, "home base" season with a new baby. But eventually, we need to get back out into Community and not just cling to our creature comforts like Pia clings to her lovey.
• Stuff takes up space. Duh. But seriously. Do we have room to host a Safe Families child, or will our guest room be full of boxes of crap for all eternity? Will we be tempted to upgrade to a bigger house when Pia is older because we don't have room to contain all our family's possessions? Will our cars deteriorate faster because we have to park them outside all winter because our garage is being used as an attached Stuff Storage Unit?
• Stuff takes up time. What are my plans for the weekend, every weekend, lately? Cleaning out the box-filled guest room, organizing our one small storage space, purging unneeded stuff from the garage... cleaning, organizing, tossing. Not my idea of a particularly fun time. Clutter hangs over us in our free time. And every time I have to rearrange a kitchen cabinet when I unload the dishwasher, I fantasize about donating half of the contents of our cupboards, and having clear, usable counter space. In my fantasy, a clean, spare kitchen makes it easier to cook and clean and entertain. 
• Stuff Begets Stuff. Did you know there's actually name for the fact that buying a new dress often leads to buying new shoes and a necklace to match? It's called the Diderot Effect, and it played out in frustrating fashion in my life last week. I bought a new (Target clearance section) watch because our office building has NO clocks, and I feel rude checking my phone all the time in meetings. The watch didn't fit, so now I need to buy a little kit with tiny tools to take links out of the band so I can wear it. Grrrr. And the dress + shoes + necklace? Story of my shopping life. Pretty soon, you're over-consuming just to use the one thing you wanted to buy in the first place. Yuck.

There's a famous Bible story in which Jesus tells a wealthy man to sell all his possessions, give the money to the poor, and then come and follow him. It's a pretty famous story, usually called "The Rich Young Ruler". One could gloss over it and say "I'm not wealthy or powerful. This story has nothing to do with me". I remember several years ago when I read this story in The Message translation for the first time:

Mark 10:17-27 The Message 

To Enter God’s Kingdom

17 As he went out into the street, a man came running up, greeted him with great reverence, and asked, “Good Teacher, what must I do to get eternal life?”

18-19 Jesus said, “Why are you calling me good? No one is good, only God. You know the commandments: Don’t murder, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t lie, don’t cheat, honor your father and mother.”

20 He said, “Teacher, I have—from my youth—kept them all!”

21 Jesus looked him hard in the eye—and loved him! He said, “There’s one thing left: Go sell whatever you own and give it to the poor. All your wealth will then be heavenly wealth. And come follow me.”

22 The man’s face clouded over. This was the last thing he expected to hear, and he walked off with a heavy heart. He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about to let go.

Did you catch that last line there? He was holding on tight to a lot of things, and not about about to let go. That's me! A punch in the gut.

Do I think we are all supposed to sell everything we own and give the money to the poor? No. But I do think we are called to let go of the things that we're clutching so tightly we can't take hold of Jesus, or stretch out our hands to help someone else. If we're using our hands to hold on tightly to our stuff, we can't very well be Jesus's hands in a hurting world.

There are a lot of reasons I would rather hold onto Stuff than to Jesus. For one thing, my stuff doesn't ask me to do hard things, or make hard choices, or love people. My stuff makes me comfortable. Jesus, if you take him very seriously, does the opposite. I want to project a certain version of myself to the world: a put-together, reasonably fashionable, interesting person who you should like/hire/show kindness to (or pity, depending on how much sleep I've had). My closet and my piles indicate that I think my stuff will present, or maybe even create, that likable, capable person. Somewhere I think I know that my actions and my character speak louder than the trendy necklace I picked up to go with that new shirtdress, but another part really believes that the necklace will help. Fashion is fun, and putting your best foot forward is important. Getting dressed in clothes that fit and make you feel great in the morning can be a sanity-preserving ritual. Some days, though, when I'm sputtering on 4 hours of broken sleep, I am reminded how little the looks matter when the inside is all crusty and gasping. My identity is not my reflection in the mirror. Jesus is enough. He has to be, because I sure am not, no matter how well-curated my outfit is.

Sometimes we hold onto things because they represent part of our identity, or our idealized identity. I am a writer, I should have a lot of books. People who are serious about their health have lots of workout clothes and cookbooks. I am creative, so I need a whole room full of craft supplies, just in case I ever decide to learn how to block print, silk screen, or use oil pastels. None of those things are wrong to buy and use. Hobbies are great! Supplies are necessary for good, creative work. But I have to ask myself: why am I holding on to *literally* boxes full of unused or once-read things? What pains me about letting go of them? They have become representations of pieces of myself that need shoring up. Maybe especially in this new-mommy stage of life. I DO WORK OUT! I DO COOK! I DO PAINT, SEW, and MAKE STUFF! I do. And honestly, I'll probably keep a lot of those items. But I'm trying to learn how to keep the things that add value, beauty, knowledge, and utility to my life and let go of the things that simply add to the pile of things that I keep as props for the character I'm trying to play for the world (or my ego).

We're making some de-stuffifying plans over here, and I'll try to write about our process as we go. I do not have it all figured out. We both loooooove us some Stuff, but we're trying to be more intentional about what we allow into our lives, and what needs to go.

I Marie Kondo-ed my closet this weekend, so that'll be the first project to share! Stay tuned.

The Not-So-Brave New World

I have had roughly 437 ideas for blog posts since my last post in November. None have come to fruition. I've thought about writing about "green" baby products, pros and cons of various baby slings or parenting philosophies, or my take on the whole "anti-vax" debacle. I could have written some pretty funny posts about our Bradley Method natural birthing class, or my maniacal nesting-induced stuff-purging and organization projects. I've thought about writing about my genuine surprise that I am not more anxious than I am, and that I do not hate the extra-plush body that I'm walking around in for this season. I haven't written any of it.

The truth is, whether it be hormone related or just the fact that this is a sensitive and thoroughly new time and space for me, I have not been able to bear the idea of feedback, whether positive or negative, about the twists and turns we have chosen on this path. I physically cringe at the thought of reading any affirmations or skepticism or criticism. "You'll be great! You are going to be awesome parents!" feels just as scary as "Good luck with that co-sleeper. I hope you do better than we did!" or "You are a lunatic for trying cloth diapers", etc. Positive feedback hits my thin and stretch-marked skin as pressure and expectation. Skepticism and criticism are scalding and send my brain into a tailspin of self-doubt. Thankfully, I haven't really encountered any direct, personal criticism or skepticism, but I chalk that up to keep most of my opinions and our parenting plans out of the spotlight of the internet. And while part of me feels pleased with the sweet affirmations of my friends and family, another, shakier part freaks out with wondering whether we can live up to the hopes and expectations of others, or ourselves. We can't, of course.

I've already endured about seven months of "Let me tell you about my harrowing, near-death birth experience" stories, which have almost completely unraveled me on any given day. Don't get me wrong, I am thankful for all the experienced momma-friends who are brave and real and who do not sugar coat the hard stuff. I'm grateful for the advice and suggestions and wisdom they hand down, and I am eternally grateful for their promises to help me navigate the coming months. But there's something about writing from this trembling pregnant place of "doing the best we can with the information we have" for the entire interweb to read and, let's just say it, judge, that has me camped out in my safe little corner, stockpiling books and articles and notes from conversations with friends, keeping my opinions to myself.

A dear friend of mine flew under the radar for almost the entirety of her first pregnancy. She rarely returned phone calls, and didn't reach out to make plans for lunches or coffees or walks by the lake that we had enjoyed together for years. When she did call or text, we'd meet up briefly and she didn't say much. After her son was born, she told me that she had felt an intense self-protective quietude during her pregnancy, and spent a lot of time thinking and praying and reading and just "being pregnant" with her baby. I have not been anywhere near that introspective or meditative, but I finally understand the impulse to draw inward and just marvel. I'm too extroverted to go completely radio-silent, but I am much more selective with what I share and what I keep to myself.

The reality is, Les and I are imperfect, broken, excited, naive, first-time-parents-to-be. We're going to screw up. We're going to do things we regret. There will be wonder and awe and joy and tears and all of that. All of it. We'll be about as amazing as any parents who try to approach this adventure humbly, with our eyes fixed on Grace, who muddle through the best they can. Maybe once the navel-gazing season is over, I'll feel braver about writing more from my heart. For now, please accept this as an admittance of not-so-bravery on the "being authentic/putting your feelings out there" blogging front. There is a lot brewing over here, but I'm keeping most of it to myself for now.