I Can See Clearly Now

Life is sometimes like a closet — you never know what to expect. At least that's what my closet was like — until my wife intervened.

For most of our 23-year marriage, her side of the closet has been a pristine oasis of clothes and shoes. My side looked like the aftermath of a tornado.

She helped me realize that I'm an outward manifestation of a cluttered inner shoe rack. And if my closet is a mess, it may be a mirror of my soul. She didn't nag or give ultimatums. She simply waited until I came to her desperate for help.

We began by taking everything out. As I removed loads of stuff, my anguished mind envisioned my wife as an Army drill sergeant.

"That's right, Soldier. We're going to clean this closet till it shines. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Wife, yes!" I pulled out clothes, put them on the bed and awaited further instructions.

"Soldier," she continued, "we are going to eliminate every piece of clothing you have not worn in the past year."

"Year? But I have . . ."

"We will throw out every unmatched sock, every hole-ridden T-shirt. . . ."

"But I . . ."

"No buts, Soldier. We're in enemy territory and the enemy is clutter — the enemy is overabundance. We are about to simplify your life. There will be three piles," the sergeant barked. "Keep, give away and throw away. Are we clear?"

"Keep, give away and throw away!" I repeated.

I picked up a sweater her parents gave me the year we married and headed into the closet but was stopped by her cold, steely gaze.

"But your parents — " I pleaded.

"My parents will understand if you get rid of that stained piece of cotton! Let it go, Soldier."

I gently stuffed my old friend into the garbage bag. Dress shirts were next; I salvaged only three.

Yet as I obeyed, I noticed something akin to freedom come over me, and lightheartedness crept into the task. I was almost excited when I discovered a pair of unworn shorts or an unmatched sock.

"Now you're getting it."

Then I came to my favorite sweat pants. They have long, deep pockets that easily hold my keys and wallet. The waistband is strong elastic — the kind that fits snugly around . . . let's just say it expands.

I knew this was a pivotal moment in my mission to simplify. This would be my San Juan Hill or my Waterloo. I could take no prisoners.

I held up the sweats, admiringly, and noticed the frayed pant legs. Two rather large holes marred the seat. I hugged the sweats and froze.

"I can't. It's too hard," I cried.

The sergeant sat beside me. "No one said this would be easy, but you know it has to be done."

I stood, my knees shaking, and moved slowly toward the black bag.

"Do it for me, Soldier — for your children. When you simplify, it will be a beacon to yourself and others. It will have a ripple effect in the waters of life. When you walk in your closet and see clothes you can actually wear instead of piles of clutter, you'll be free."

I've reflected on that day and realized that fewer choices do make life easier. Recently, I traveled to a funeral and didn't have to search for a black tie or matching dress socks. It was all there before me, neatly arranged. My wife helped me make my closet a simple reality. My children still gasp at the sight of it.

I feel freer and no longer worry about opening the door and dodging what might fall out. I actually have room for new clothes, and next year I will simplify more and repeat the process.

Life is, at times, like a closet — cluttered, unruly, frustrating, unmanageable. A little help from someone who cares makes all the difference — especially when she buys you new sweat pants with better elastic — ah!