Why to Shed Stuff (Benefits) (Part 1)

Part 1 (of 2):  Benefits of De-accessioning

For many people, downsizing, de-accessioning, and letting go  is emotionally difficult.  I think this has far less to do with discarding old clothes and far more to do with emotionally wrenching reasons that often prompt the work,   such as the death of a loved one, divorce,  ill health, loss of a job or income, or even “empty nest” syndrome.  Psychologists and doctors recommend NOT making major decisions at such times because it is so stressful (and because the resulting choices may be ill advised or regretted), but unfortunately, it is often those crises that REQUIRE rapid decision making by people who haven’t de-accessioned beforehand. 

When NOT coupled with such wrenching associations, shedding stuff can be liberating and energizing,  You may make money, free up time/money/space for activities you value, or discover that you can comfortably live within far fewer (and cheaper) square feet.

If you find the prospect of purging all those overstuffed rooms and closets daunting, this two part article can help.    

I'm Proud of My Outhouse

I surely have one of the nicest, most women-friendly outhouses in Alaska.

For one thing, it has a door.  A surprising number of such structures lack this feature.  I don’t know if the reason is to increase circulation in order to reduce spiders and flies, or to provide a clear view of a bear approaching at one’s most vulnerable moment, but I insisted on a door.  So, for ventilation, I have two high, screened windows, and additional  vents under the eaves. 

An additional plus is that it is painted.  Most aren’t.  To increase the light load, I painted the interior a cheery, shiny, butter yellow.

Women invariably comment on the décor.  My outhouse lacks magazine pictures of cars, naked women, and animal carcasses tacked to the walls.  Instead, I commissioned two stained glass pieces (of Alaska flowers) from a talented friend to hang within the window frames.  They cast rainbows on the reflective walls. 

Whereas some outhouses just have a hole cut in an increasingly splinter ready plywood bench,  I demanded a real, wooden seat.   You don’t use that in the winter, of course – the wood conducts the cold.  This year, for example, the hoar frost on the inside of the lid didn’t melt until March.  Rather, during the cold season, we keep the seat pitched up in order to sit on a ring of polystyrene, which, by virtue of the air holes, feels, if not warm, at least temperature neutral.

The building includes no magazine racks or funny books.  Let's face it: the building is unheated and uninsulated, so visits tend to be quick and business-like.

Nor does it include potpourri.  Although, come to think of it, I do keep a smoker in there in the summer (to deter black flies).  I wonder if sandalwood would work just as well...

The final advantage is its size.  Compared to some elbow clinging claustrophobic versions I've had to visit, mine is a roomy 4 x 8 with a high ceiling.  It is big enough to accommodate shelves for relevant items, including a jug of water and tin cup in the summer, a cast iron hook shaped like a leaf to hang one’s mittens, and a bin of firewood ash for occasional cupfuls down the hole.

Some people are proud of their cars or their jewelry.  Since I have neither here, I’m pretty darn proud of my outhouse.