Baggage

The stuff you carry with you is telling: the useless things you hold onto; the props that get you through the day; the defences against potential disaster that hinder rather than help you.

I refer, ladies, to the crap that is in your handbag.

I’ve been workign through my issues and gradually downsizing my handbag crap. I haven’t wanted to write about it here. Baggage can be painful. But, after having gone a WHOLE WEEK with my simplified handbag, I feel like I can say: you really don’t need all that baggage.

Here’s a list of what used to be stashed in my standard daily handbag:

Wallet
Keys (Car and House)
Phone
Sunglasses
iPod
Diary
Umbrella
Hanky
Lipstick A (browny pink)
Lipstic B (glossy pink)
Tinted lip balm (red)
Foundation
Blush
Mascara
Eyeliner
Random Multi Purpose Sparkling Cream
Hairbrush
Hair Elastics x 3
Bobby pins x 1 000 000
Dry Shampoo
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Deodorant
Water bottle
Small packet of almonds
Novel
Tiger Balm
Panadol
Neurpohen
Buscopan
Sudafed
Notebook
Pens x 6

That’s an awful lot of baggage.

Now, this is the exhaustive list of what I’ve been carrying with me this week:

Wallet
Keys (Car and House)
Phone
Sunglasses
iPod
Diary
Lipstic A (Pinky brown)
Foundation
Blush
Mascara
Eyeliner
Sunglasses
Panadol
Hairbrush
Mints

And that’s it. Finito. It all fits into a cute orange and tan leather bag, about the size of an A5 piece of paper. Admittedly, I have employed a calico tote on days when I have to bring gym gear/my own lunch/cupcakes for my colleagues/office supplies with me. But, I still feel a great sense of pride in my downsized self.

It wasn’t easy, letting go of all that stuff. I’ve had to make a couple of changes: leaving some things (deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, dry shampoo) at work, leaving other things (umbrella, novel, random multi purpose sparkling cream) at home.

And, yes, I did get caught in the rain without an umbrella, and got rather damp, but what of it? And I did have to negotiate a bus ride without my usual please-leave-me-alone novel, but I plugged in my iPod, scowled, and no one bothered me anyway.

So, while I know and understand this is hard, please, have a go at dealing with some of your baggage this week. Or, at least, start small, and get rid of one item of handbag crap.

Might I suggest starting with the random multi purpose sparkling cream? It really is useless, and who wants to look like an extra from Twilight anyway?

Spring Wardrobe Cleaning

It’s nearly the end of August. It snowed yesterday in Canberra (I hope you got to see it, it was beautiful). There’s a cold-as-charity breeze sneaking through the draught in the bathroom window. I’m still taking hotties to bed with me to keep me warm.

But, spring is coming.

I can feel it when the sun rises early enough to wake me in time to catch the 7.45am bus. I can feel it as I walk to the shops for the Saturday paper, smelling wattle mingling with smoke from the wood fires Canberrans are so fond of. I can feel it while I take a ten minute cuppa-and-novel-reading break from PhDing on the balcony to soak up some rays.

Most particularly, though, I feel it when I look at the disaster that is my wardrobe, because I can feel a cataclysmic Spring Wardrobe Cleaning a’coming.

I’m one of those irritating people who can’t make up their mind whether or not they’re a neat freak or a slatternly grotbag in matters of wardrobe maintenance. And, because I remain undecided, I vacillate between the two states, depending on particular external factors.

For instance, a rental inspection, a particularly special new clothing purchase, epic procrastination, and the first hint of warmer weather will turn me into a neat freak who sorts her (American Apparel) tights and stockings by colour and degree of ‘goodness’ (If you’re interested in the classificatory scheme? No holes = best; holes at crotch only = second best; holes in toe and crotch = third best; holes everywhere = laundry day only).

On the other hand, long days in the office without sunshine, winning gold at social decathlons (BREAKFAST! BRUNCH! HIKING! LUNCH! COFFEE! MOVIES! SHOPPING! DINNER! DRINKS! THEATRE!), and writing sessions where I’ve got my flow on, turn me into the sort of slatternly grotbag who interprets closing the wardrobe door, by even the narrowest of narrow margins, as a sign that folding, hanging and chucking out can wait for Another Day.

At present, the pendulum is well and truly making its home in slatternly grotbag territory. To give you an idea…in a two minute reconnaissance mission, the following items, hitherto missing and presumed lost, were recovered from my bedroom floor:
• one half of a very expensive pair of earrings;
• my favourite vintage Nike hoodie;
• Cath Kitson woolly wellington socks;
• a pink and cream Elle McPherson bra (I thought I’d left it at the gym); and
• countless bobby pins and hair elastics.

While this sounds dire - and, indeed, outfitting myself from my wardrobe mess for tonight’s decathlon events will be problematic - it’s actually a part of a well balanced seasonal cycle of building up, then slashing and burning, my wardrobe.

I know that in the next couple of weeks, as the sap of spring rises in my blood, I will derive a peculiar, seasonally specific, pleasure from spending the better part of a weekend cleaning, sorting, arranging, and redistributing no longer needed clothes, bags and accessories.

Just right now, though? I can feel the sun dipping below the mountains, and that cold-as-charity breeze tickling my bare feet. It’s time to put on my woolly socks, curl up with a book, and wait for Another Day. Given the pleasing signs that spring is almost here, I am sure Another Day won’t be too long in coming.

Wardrobe

I mentioned in a previous post that I’ve recently moved into an apartment on my own, and I’m enjoying it very much. I think at least 80% of that enjoyment comes from my the size of my new wardrobe.

It’s at least three meters of built in, mirror fronted, all hanging goodness (I’m a hanger, not a folder – less ironing!). It’s massive. It’s huge. It’s amazing.

I never thought that having a big wardrobe would change my life and the way I approach getting dressed in the morning, but it does. Every morning, I slide open the doors and consult my clothing options (sorted into sections: tops/skirts/short and mid dresses/long dresses). My shoes are stowed in handy hanging shoe racks (thanks, IKEA). Belts and camisoles have a respective drawer. It’s all organized, all ordered, and all beautiful.

The cultural zeitgeist at the moment seems to be all about doing things Mindfully – usually eating or walking. My thoughts on this? Big Yawn with Arm Stretch. I love food, love eating while I read the paper, love eating while chatting with friends and family face to face and on the phone, love munching on a really good apple while I go for a walk. I don’t have the time or the inclination to roll a raisin around on my tongue for ten minutes before eating it. Enough already. Just eat. Same with walking. I have no desire to do walking mediations – left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. I’m too busy indulging in rock star daydreams, MA15+ conversations with girlfriends, and deep diving into vitally important issues (global warming, education systems, celebrity baby names). I just like to get out and enjoy myself, no complex mindfulness procedure necessary.

Pondering the pleasure that I get from my wardrobe and dressing in the morning, though, I can’t help but wonder if I’m a mindful dresser, if not a mindful eater or walker. That ten minutes I spend absorbed in choosing, combining, trying and adjusting is ten minutes in my day when I’m entirely focused on one task, and one task only, appreciating every piece of clothing in my well planned wardrobe, feeling like a glamorous diva, in the manner of Beyonce, even when I’m just pulling on track pants.

Mindfulness? Wishful thinking? Whatever it is, I like it, a lot. And it’s all thanks to my big wardrobe.

Listing

I write lists. Shopping lists. Wish lists. To-Do-Today lists. To-Do-This-Month lists. Just-Do-It lists. Lists that masquerade as other things. Lists drawn as ideas maps. Lists in the round. If I do it, want to do it, or have done it, it’s on a list somewhere.

At the moment, there are six lists on my office wall. Looking at them is like looking at a portion of my brain, splattered onto A4, although slightly less gory. There’s an ideas map for a course I’ll be convening this summer. A list of my responsibilities for another summer course I’ll be involved with. Tutorials times, rooms, and essay due dates for the first year course that I’m teaching semester. A list of seminars I’m going to be running for a masters course, to prompt me to find some relevant readings. ANU principal dates. And, last but not least, a list of monthly targets I’ve set for my PhD thesis.

I never meant to have this many lists occupying wall space in my office. After all, isn’t the purpose of a list to collate information into the one place, efficiently, economically, putting all the pieces of the puzzle into their correct places? Theoretically, yes. But in reality, my lists seem to breed, one list begetting another, until suddenly my office is decorated with blu-tacked pieces of scribbled-on and crossed-out pieces of paper.

I looked at this disorder this morning, and, after momentary frustration, laughed. Because this tendency to write lists is one half of a symbiotic relationship with another tendency of mine: I love to cross things off. Is there a better feeling than running a thick, heavy pencil line through that particularly bothersome task that is now, in the words of a certain opposition leader, dead, buried, cremated? Or doodeling loopy biro circles over a list-task you did and enjoyed?

I write so many lists so that I can give myself that little moment of satisfaction, that feeling of a job, if not well, at least competently, done, and the restoration of some sense where there was previously befuddlement. And all triumphs of sense over befuddlement, in my humble opinion, ought to be celebrated.