To Keep or Not to Keep
& Barbara Becker on simplifying
Earlier this week, I walked into my office and felt a wave of overwhelm. The whole room was chaos—stacks of boxes and bins, everything piled high and haphazardly from clearing out an old storage space. I thought, How can I possibly work in here? I considered just moving everything to the garage, but then I remembered the garage is also overflowing with boxes. I always thought I was a minimalist. How did I end up with so much stuff?
In that moment of existential crisis, I did what any other fully adult person would do: I put in an SOS call to my mom. I told her I was feeling exhausted and overwhelmed by the backlog of personal and home-related tasks that have piled up (apparently very literally) during my book launch, and this office situation was sending me over the edge. Her response was prompt and simple: “Do you want me to come help you?”
I hesitated. “You already have so much on your plate.”
“This is what moms are for,” she said. “Get your to-do list ready. I’ll be there tomorrow.”
And so I made a to-do list, and she drove down. We started in on my office as soon as she arrived, going through boxes of art supplies, old notebooks, letters, and press clippings. One box contained all the worldly belongings of my late friend Anjali, including her passport and precious photographs. Another was filled with stacks and stacks of my old medical documents (the ones that inspired and were featured in “The Cost of Living,” a short film and video art installation my mom and I collaborated on as part of our joint exhibit, The Alchemy of Blood). My first impulse was to throw the medical records all out, but then I thought, They really do tell a story—a different story. I moved them to the stack of things to keep.
We proceeded that way for an entire afternoon, sifting and sorting, repackaging and reorganizing, toeing that delicate line between holding on and letting go. It was tiring but cathartic, and as afternoon turned to evening, we reached a stopping point. We had finished that day’s to-do list, and rather than overwhelm, I felt a wave of relief.
But then I moved my laptop and saw a notecard in my mother’s handwriting with “Things to do for Soussou” written at the top, below it another five things. I had a little moment of panic—I thought we were finished, but there’s still more to do?!
And then I actually read the list, which for those who aren’t fluent in Frenglish, goes like this:
Close the eyes
Listen to the sounds
Hum
Free time
Say five words at random
Dance for five minutes
It’s as important a to-do list as any other, and during any future sorting and sifting, something that inevitably I’ll keep.
During this late spring clean-out, I kept thinking about an essay from The Book of Alchemy called “Simplify,” by Barbara Becker, which I’d like to share with you today. It’s a forever favorite that, like many of the prompts in the book, is one you could write to every day and never exhaust its usefulness. May it help you learn to tow that line between holding on and letting go.
Covered in dust,
Suleika
Some Items of Note—
Mark your calendars! We’ll be gathering on Sunday, June 22 from 1-2pm for our virtual creative hour—and it’s going to be extra special this month. More soon!
There’s a very limited stock of Alchemy Tour merch left—the silk scarf and baseball cap sold out, but the Wonder sweatshirt and the Book of Alchemy tote are still available. Get yours here!
Prompt 341. Simplify by Barbara Becker
My brother and I were sitting on the floor in our parents’ living room, surrounded by piles of objects: the contents of their closets, paintings from the walls, stacks of books, pots and pans. Our task that winter weekend was to clear out the house to get it ready for sale.
It was a job neither of us relished. Both of our parents had died earlier that year, within weeks of each other. That, of course, made this project especially charged. It felt that every object we picked up was imbued with a memory of them, and we struggled to sort them into our neatly labeled boxes... “Keep,” “Toss,” or “Donate.” I wasn’t so sure I wanted to part with any of it.
Then I reached for my father’s dog-eared copy of Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. I opened right to a page heavy with underlining. There in the center of the page was Thoreau’s exhortation to “Simplify, simplify.” My father had even put a penciled star in the margin next to those two words. It seemed nothing short of a visitation from these two wise men, Thoreau and my dad: a reminder that by paring down the complexity of life—whether that be the material possessions or the clutter of unnecessary busyness—we will arrive at what’s truly essential.
With this repeated word guiding me like a mantra, I turned back to the task with new resolve and a bit more ease. It has never left me since.
Your prompt for the week:
Simplify, simplify! If you were to let go of three things before bedtime tonight, what would they be? What would you gain by letting them go?
Today’s Contributor—
Barbara Becker is the award-winning author of Heartwood: The Art of Living with the End in Mind. She is a mom, a perpetual seeker, and most recently a breast cancer survivor. As a hospice volunteer in New York City, she has shared time with hundreds of people at the end of their lives and sees each as a teacher.
How are you approaching The Book of Alchemy?
I always expect the thrill to wear off, but seeing this book out in the world, and hearing how you’re making it your own—it never does! Here are a few more to inspire your own pursuit of creative alchemy:
“I am breaking my nighttime screening habit. Instead I draw a bubble bath with lots of epson salts. I read The Book of Alchemy for at least 20 minutes while the magnesium seeps into my body and reminds me how good sleep could feel. In the morning I grab my journal and write just a bit, before the screening begins again. Thank you for the inspiration.” —Catherine
“I opened The Book of Alchemy and saw the 100-day challenge part. After all the usual excuses (I’m in the middle of another journal, there won’t be space; I’m about to go on a long trip, there won’t be time and I will be interrupted, etc.), I opened a cabinet and found an old, partially used legal pad. I opened the book again, saw the first prompt, wrote down the date and began. Two weeks later and one legal pad complete, I am on to the next odd notebook with half its pages torn out. I will get the book on Kindle so I can keep up while away. It’s not like I haven’t journaled on napkins or hotel stationary before!” —Michelle
“I am on Day 30 doing the book daily. I love the surprise—where will it take me? This week I ended up in the ER and ICU for two days, and on the way to the hospital, rushing out the door, I grabbed the book and journal because I hadn't gotten to it yet. The next morning, having survived the episode, I opened the book to this prompt: ‘Write about a time you dreaded something, but it turned out to be okay.’ I started my response with, ‘Funny you should ask...’ I didn’t expect the hospital stay, hooked up to everything and terrified, and the only book I had was yours, and I didn’t miss a day.” —Kathe
Dear Suleika, dear Barbara,
It’s not long until my bedtime, so I hope you don’t mind if I write to you in the folds between tasks, with a once-hot cup of tea, now just patient, & laundry I’ve promised the sun I’ll fold tomorrow.
Reading you both felt like someone gently moved the pile on the chair beside me & said, here, sit. There is something oddly comforting about other people’s chaos—how it gives me permission to stop pretending I don’t have my own. Your rooms were full, yes, but so were your instincts. Suleika, you called your mother. Barbara, you listened to your father’s underlining. You both reached into the noise & found a note that still rang true.
I’ve always thought I was the kind of person who could live with less. Less stuff. Less noise. Less need. But apparently I’ve just been very good at stacking things neatly enough to pass. Until, of course, they topple.
So tonight, if I were to let go of anything, it wouldn’t be the objects—I can live with those. It would be the quiet war I’m waging with myself about how it should all look. I’d let go of the shame in the pile, the guilt in the delay, the strange belief that I have to be cleared out before I can be kind to myself.
And what I’d gain? Maybe just the ability to lie down without an argument. To be held, not by order, but by the knowing that this too, this beautiful, burdensome, unfinished middle—is part of it.
Thank you both for these love letters to the mess.
Kim x
This post spoke to me, though that’s what I think every week. This one in particular, though, as I bit by bit rid my house of stuff accumulated over the 27 years we’ve lived here. We aren’t yet selling or moving but are preparing to in the next couple of years. Still, my response to today’s prompt is metaphorical. The three things I would let go of today, if I could, are anxiety over things I can’t control, comparisons that lead to feelings of envy or inadequacy, and self-imposed guilt over myriad tiny things. Everything else is just stuff.