🔎 How to Let Go of the Clutter You Love
On minimalism and what helped me get rid of sentimental objects
Once upon a time, owning lots felt great. I grew up in the Netherlands, a materialistic society where abundance meant success. I admired my grandmother’s shelves that showcased her good taste in silver, porcelain, and crystal.
When I later lived in Paris, I shopped for designer clothes to exhibit my style and bought fancy kitchen towels as a reward for hard work.
In my thirties, however, my belongings began to mess up my house and worse: They cluttered my mind. I wanted to own whole lot less. But getting rid of things was hard. How and why had I become so attached to my things?
Many years later, I lost my home in Paris and became a nomad. Suddenly, I was forced to do what I’d dreamed of for so long: minimizing my possessions. I had six months to sort through two decades of stuff. What did I want to take with me? What should I put in storage? And what could I discard?
Downsizing my belongings was still difficult. I felt ridiculously protective of things I hadn’t used in years. A sleeping bag from my teenage camping days. A wooden chess set from a college trip to Prague. A pair of silver boots meant for a NYE’s party in Los Angeles (never worn since). I feared I’d lose part of myself if I threw these things away. Gone would be my first kiss, my intelligence, my wild side.
Letting go of the clutter I loved remained challenging until I learned one useful trick.
In the process of cleaning things out, I was reunited with the ’80s cassette player my late father had given me when I was a kid. I wanted to get rid of the bulky boom box, yet throwing it out felt like renouncing my father’s love. As I considered what to do, I photographed the player, wrote about the cartoon stickers I’d plastered on the speakers, and posted my dilemma on social media, sharing the importance of this boom box with followers and friends.
Unexpectedly, these actions were helpful. I’d created a new memory of the boom box that was more connected to who I am now than to the actual object. Perhaps I wasn’t so attached to my stuff after all: I just liked how my stuff reminded me of my past and made me feel whole.
Because the pictures and captions were a meaningful replacement for the thing itself, I managed to dump the cassette player in the trash the next day.
I created similar new memories for other beloved stuff. I selected my most beautiful books and gifted them to friends, telling each person why they’d been chosen as the guardian of that book. I wrote funny odes to my favorite chipped coffee mug and moth-eaten sweater. I had myself photographed in my grandmother’s leather jacket, sent her the picture as a token of gratitude, and sold the jacket in a consignment store. I visited a refugee center on a day they were cooking lunch for the neighborhood and donated all my kitchen knickknacks.
Soon, downsizing became easier if not rewarding. What used to be a task was now a creative endeavor to connect my past to my present.
Six years later, I still use this method. I live out of a backpack and each time I buy an object (often secondhand), another thing must go. I can still feel a soft pain when I leave stuff behind, yet the relief is stronger.
Minimizing my belongings is not just about making literal space in my backpack. Letting go is also about freeing myself from learned behavior—accumulation—and finding attention for what truly matters. Living without clutter makes room for whatever may come my way.
This essay was first published by Slate in October 2024 in a slightly different version.
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Time flies in San Miguel de Allende—we’ve already been here a month! The construction next door is still ongoing and they keep exploding fire works over the city. Dulce (the house cat) and I often find ourselves on the roof, mesmerized.
All my best,
Claire
P.S. What’s your best trick to get rid of clutter?
I went through a similar experience doing away with most of my possessions in Berlin, including a small library. I rented a storage space of about 6 cubic meters and when I reopened it after a year of traveling I was astounded: why did I want to keep this?!
I now live a comfortable life with plenty of stuff sitting in my apartment. It doesn't feel like owning though: I get it from a nearby secondhand shop and occasionally return it there.
I think your approach — photographing, writing of—is lovely and worth replicating. I am a minimalist myself. And yet, even in our small house, there is too much.