That's literal, friends. I am achieving great satisfaction on my hands and knees, cleaning my closet. I've wiped down the walls and the ceiling and the shelves, mopped the floor and am enjoying all the room an empty closet offers. Room for pretty things, lovely things, belongings to enjoy. Organizing handbags and shoes, and skirts by length. Satisfying.
I've lived in my home avec children, sans man, for nearly a year now. Cords and knobs that have been MIA for months and months, are finding their way to where they belong. Small projects are slowly being addressed and accomplished. I feel a bright, shining emptiness when I look around my space. I feel myself putting things together, in their place, where I want them to be. Empty doesn't always describe a negative thing.
I weeded a large shopping bag of clothing out of my closet, so far. Items I haven't worn in more than a year. things that no longer fit, stuff I merely tired of - all of it. Going. I was raised to love clothing - my mother is a magnificent seamstress and my childhood wardrobe was impressive. I was taught to respect clothes and fabric and my clothing lasts for a long time. I don't have as many occasions these days to wear overly dressy things - out with them! I like the feeling that having less provokes for me. Lightness.
Are there things I keep in my closet? Personal, secret items? Yes, absolutely. The most special to me are cards, letters, notes and photos. I have a sentimental side that occasionally surfaces. Case in point below, my oldest personal possession - Teddy. He sits in a place of honor, on a shelf between two pairs of Doc Marten's and a jar of dried lavender. And doesn't that array of items just about sum me up? Edgy, sweet and romantic - DelSolo.