Decluttering

In our barnyard there sits a pile of junk: old mangers and other feeders from past stabling configurations, wooden gates from a different era, slowly rotting away, and lots of other detritus from various and sundry projects, all designed to make the farm run smoother (most of which were quickly proven failures). The pile of junk wouldn't look out of place in any barnyard, and I've seen barnyards with piles of junk much larger than ours, but still, it shouldn't be there. It's a hazard to the livestock, a haven for rodents, and an endless source of sharp metal objects just waiting to puncture a mind-bogglingly expensive tractor tire. And worst of all, that pile has been there for years, and has grown over time. I didn't start the process of accumulating the junk, but I have certainly made that junk pile my own.

Over the past few weeks I've finally managed to start dealing with some of the junk. A few boards here, a bit of wire there, even a piece of rope - no idea where that came from. It's a slow process - things need to be sorted by type in order to get rid of them, and there are a few items in there that actually are worth the time and effort to salvage, like some gate hinges of a size and style that were common once but are now hard to find. Mostly though, it's just slow because I don't have a lot of time to deal with this in the first place - the hour or so I spend on throwing out junk is an hour that other things aren't getting done. Despite this, my goal is to have the junk piled cleaned up by the end of the year, and once it is cleaned up, to ensure that it never comes back again, presenting no risk to the goats, offering no comfort to the rats, and making a four-figure tire repair just a little less likely in the future. 

It might seem odd to blog about junk. I'm a playwright, after all. I make theatre. Yes, I do farm, but I usually write about the animals, because they're the most interesting, certainly more interesting than a junk pile. But there is a meaning to my madness, both at the bruised knuckles that come with prying seized bolts out of rotting wood and at writing about it. I'm decluttering. 

The junk pile isn't bringing me any joy. It adds nothing to my life, aside from a few pieces of hardware that, in the long run, I probably won't really need. It's just a source of negative energy; a waste of space, a drain on time, and several accidents waiting to happen. It needs to go, not for any of the reasons I just mentioned, but simply because it needs to be gone. 

It was the British author and activist William Morris who said "Have nothing your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." I think of that quote often, and a common phrase, attributed to a number of people, that I think goes with it well: "everything in its place, and a place for every thing." Taken together, they offer a powerful message about getting rid of the junk, be it in a barnyard, a basement, or inside your mind, and ensuring that what remains has a place, a purpose, and a positive impact on your life. And perhaps I'm laying it on too thick with the quotations, but I also think there's a lot of wisdom in this phrase: "use things, love people. Never get the two mixed up."

This is all advice that I need to take to heart. The junk pile in the barnyard is only one of many things I need to clean up: more old stabling (that will not be making its way to the barnyard), several pails of scrap iron in the shop, and several items of varying sizes and shapes that I just don't know how to dispose of, and haven't taken the time to find out. All of it needs to go.

But of course, it's the junk piles that are in my head that I need to deal with the most. Those junk piles are full of bad memories, regrets, doubts, cockiness (the root cause of many doubts) and countless other things that I know are not useful, have never believed to be beautiful, do not have a place in my life, and are, for the most part, the consequences of loving things and using people. Decluttering those is going to take more than a few bruised knuckles, and it won't be done by the end of the year. Nevertheless, I am getting around to them, finally, and starting to make some slow-but-stead progress. 

So I'd better roll up my sleeves and get back to work. Those junk piles aren't going to go away by themselves!