I read The Magic of Tidying Up a few years ago, and other than the now-ubiquitous phrase of “sparking joy”, I have not retained much from it. I would like to be the kind of person who folds her socks in a neat and precise manner, but alas; I know myself well enough to not even pretend. And while I made some efforts at using the “does it spark joy” approach to closet editing, I found it not particularly useful; honestly, after repeating that question to myself a dozen times, the words stopped making any sense. I have since come up with other wardrobe management techniques that work for me and keep my closet from overflowing my whole house. [I kid, but it’s not outside the realm of possibility, you guys.]
Of course, in the last couple of months, with the release of Marie Kondo’s Netflix series, KonMari is back in the news. I tried watching an episode, but didn’t finish it. I normally love any opportunity to peek into people’s homes, so I was somewhat surprised by how not-interesting I found the show (Marie Kondo herself seems delightful). I have concluded that I am simply not part of the intended audience.
This needs some unpacking because, on a certain level, I am most definitely part of the core audience for KonMari: namely, people with plenty of disposable income and materialistic predispositions. [Let’s face it: there are lots of people for whom KonMari has no relevance for the simple fact that they don’t have the privilege of owning anything more than the bare necessities (or less).] But even so, it doesn’t speak to me. I think the fundamental principle at the core of it – that you should only surround yourself with things that matter to you and/or bring value to your life – is an important one. How that looks in practice will be vastly different from person to person, and I think KonMari is too prescriptive/arbitrary if taken literally.
Why, for example, is 30 books the maximum that any person should have in their home? I live in a 1,700 square foot home; I have room for more. More importantly, I have room for more in my heart. Books are a fundamental part of who I am, and have been since I was a child. I will come back to this in a moment, because the online debate around home libraries sparked by Marie Kondo and her work has been very interesting to me.
Something else that sparks joy for me? Home décor trinkets. There are certain things I like to collect, and certain “treasures” that I have accumulated over the years; much like books and clothes, they tell the story of who I am. Although it might not look like it to some people, I do curate my collections – both adding and taking away pieces regularly. I actually hate visual clutter and while what constitutes “clutter” to my eye might be different than for someone else, once my house steps over that line, I take immediate action.
At the same time, I don’t accumulate objects in categories that don’t matter to me. I’m not big into cooking, and you’d be hard-pressed to find our one lonely spatula, much less multiples, in my kitchen. I don’t like to decorate the house seasonally, and other than Christmas tree ornaments, I don’t own any items of that kind. My linen closet is streamlined. So is my make-up drawer. [Which is not to say that I’m perfect. I probably own more stationery than I could reasonably justify, for example, and while I like that stuff a lot, it’s probably not worth hoarding.]
With age, I have settled into my habits and learned that the important bit is figuring out how to best maximize the value of whatever money (and time) I have at my disposal. I try not to invest financial resources or mental energy into things that don’t matter to me, unless they are absolute necessities. [So, for example, I keep a working kitchen because I still need to feed my family; a true chef would find it woefully inadequate.] And I periodically reassess the value of the things I choose in the first place. Maybe this is just another way of saying “does this spark joy” but, for me, the question is: is this the best use of this space (physical and/or metaphorical) in my life? Some things are worth having or keeping because they serve a necessary function; some things because they add meaning or beauty and are, in their own way, irreplaceable – whether for that moment, or for a season, or a dozen seasons.
I can imagine that perhaps some people need help identifying for themselves the categories of things that truly matter to them, but I don’t believe a one-size-fits-all approach is ideal here. Some people might need no more than 30 books in their house; some might need 30 spatulas – “need” being a relative term in both cases. I exaggerate, but you get my point.
Let’s go back to books for a moment, because I am intrigued by the debate around that. For the record, I find both the ends of the spectrum equally strange. I don’t judge people for not keeping books in their house, if that is their preference, but I also don’t understand why others are so vehemently against home libraries. Owning books (or not) is not a moral choice, folks. It is not inherently better to own books, or not to own books. My choice to build a house made of books does not invalidate your choice to keep none.
The idea of owning books as a signal – of class, or intellectual achievement – is also bizarre to me. I grew up in houses where books were plentiful, and I derive tremendous comfort from being physically surrounded by books. I also love to read, and I like having a wide variety of books at my fingertips. I grew up dreaming of owning my own library, and I am fortunate enough to have made that dream come true, but it was not a decision calculated as a means to an end; it was my end goal, my princess castle come to life. While I appreciate the privilege inherent in that outcome, it’s never been my intent to wield it as such. There was a long period of my life when I could not afford to own many books, and used public libraries extensively. [I also used to work in one.] I remain a strong supporter of the public library system because literacy is a human right. I don’t think my stance on that and ownership of a home library are mutually exclusive.
I get asked a lot of questions about my home library, perhaps none more often than “have you read all those books?” The answer is no. And perhaps more shocking to a KonMari adherent is the fact that I don’t necessarily plan to read them all, ever. It may happen that I do. Anything is possible. But I certainly have acquired books – mostly from donations, but also through actual (thrift) purchases – that I have no immediate desire to read. This is hard to explain to people who are not bibliophiles (and maybe even to some who are). To me, a book has value beyond its immediate utility for my own purposes. It might be something another family member would enjoy reading; it might be something that my kids might someday find useful for a school project. There are very few books that don’t have some kind of value, actual or potential. A book is untapped potential waiting for its moment. Metaphorically speaking, I like the idea of being surrounded by an infinite number of yet-to-be-discovered journeys. Some people might find that a stressful thought, a ticking to-do list; to me, it’s a wonderful thing. I feel no particular pressure to read this or that book. I like to know that I can, if and when the mood strikes.
After all that, you may be surprised to hear that I do get rid of books from time to time. It’s rare, but it happens. It takes a lot for me to punt a book, though. I have to (a) strongly dislike it, and (b) find no redeeming merit (literary or academic). Off the top of my head, I can think of only one book in recent memory that met those criteria. [It was a book by Ruth Ware and it was aggressively uninspired and unforgivably boring.]
I’d be curious to know your thoughts, both on the subject of home libraries, and KonMari more generally.
