Open window

There is magic in the simple act of opening a window in spring. With the sliding of a sash, you are no longer separated from the elements. You can hear the passersby, both human and animal as they go about their business. A direct unobstructed line and connection to all beings. Bird songs are loudly intrusive and constant. A scolding red ring blackbird lands conveniently at eye level on a branch outside. Warm breezes send your papers flying in new directions, too. With a gust of wind through the open window, you receive an unmistakable reminder to clear away that stack of paper that has accumulated over the winter months (possibly longer). There are suddenly consequences to those papers sitting there. A pile of paper is not one massive singular object anymore, but many individual sheets again, some of which, certainly, do not need to be there.

You can always put a bigger paperweight to hold those papers down, but they will still flutter at the edges, begging for your attention. What can we do to take that hint and run with it? Does that stack of paper provide any hidden benefit that we need to recognize in the monolith before we take measures to dismantle it?

Over the years I have recognized several bad habits in myself that can lead to an unwanted stack of papers.

I know that grief or loss nearly always begins a stack for me. I will find myself trying to cover a sadness with something more cheerful and positive. The height of the stack creates a curve through time, space and emotion toward better things. At the bottom of the stack to my left, I know that there is copy of an article about Susan Sontag's death, which I want to keep, written by her son and a copy of her 1983 commencement address to my class at Wellesley College. To remove this stack of papers, I know I will need to think about that again, and so the stack sits, and potentially gets taller. I have tried and failed to file this set of papers more than once, which is why I know it is still there, and why the stack grew back again, organically from its roots, like a dandelion in the lawn.

More generally, at the heart of each stack is the question of "How will I ever find a way to file THAT?" I know that I need to be watchful for stack "seeds" right now after my aunt's death, or the house will soon be a mental minefield of hidden sorrows and piles of paper. When I'm alert and mindful of this possibility, that is often enough to prevent the stack from appearing in the first place.

I recently attended a talk by Denise Mair, on the evening that I also gave a presentation to the ADD group in Rhode Island. Denise is the only professional organizer in Rhode Island certified by the National Study group for the Chronically Disorganized. The NSGCD has published a measurable scale that distinguishes most of us from the chronic hoarders, the people you sometimes hear about in the news, with winding paths that cut through the memorabilia stacked from floor to ceiling, crushed by their books, surrounded by three hundred broken antique toasters, fifty years of Life magazine and a neglected cat.

Knowing how my typical stack of papers gets started, I shudder to think of the sadness that would lead to that situation in my own life, and work with diligence to reduce the likelihood of that happening. I have a task in my Life Balance list for "Pitch Pitch Pitch, File File File" that occurs routinely every day. One of the techniques that Denise mentioned in her talk is the need to categorize clearly, and to subdivide and conquer. I definitely know that this works in day to day paper handling. My file folders are clearly color coded -- green for business financials, purple for personal, red for ideas, blue for contracts and other official and legal business docs, yellow for marketing. They are organized to separate out business from personal files. They are functional and practical for nearly everything I need day to day. And yet, the "uncategorizable" is the category that I can always count on to trip me up.

If I can figure out how to file "sorrow," I know that I will be free from clutter for a lifetime!

I am put in mind of the Richard and Mimi Farina song, "Pack up your Sorrows," which has a chorus that says:

If somehow you could pack up your sorrows, and give them all to me...

You would lose them, I know how to use them, give them all to me...

To sift through a haunted stack of papers, I need a label and a brave willingness to believe that the unimaginable category actually exists. When I open a window, I take a moment to open my heart and connect what I find "out there" back to my surroundings. I can always share my sorrows with the birds in the trees. Paper is just paper, words are just words, and labels are just labels.

For clippings about Susan Sontag, I choose a bright red folder, like the blazes on the blackbird's wings, for "ideas," with a file label that says, "BE BOLD!"

I'll know right where to find it.