Ahhh, I knew that snazzy title would get your attention. Don’t worry, this isn’t a post about my underwear. Well, it kind of is. Actually, men should probably stop reading here. Yes Dad, that means you.
I recently had an epiphany while looking for underwear. Yes, I’m serious.
It went a little something like this…
Me: (packing, frantically) WHERE IS ALL MY GOOD UNDERWEAR?!
Brett: How should I know?!
Me: This is ridiculous! I have 70 pairs of underwear and can’t find the ones I need! (sweating, cursing quietly, grunting, throwing underwear everywhere).
Brett: Is that really necessary?
Me: YES. WE ARE NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE UNTIL I FIND MY GOOD UNDERWEAR.
Aha! Ten minutes later, I finally found what I was looking for. On the bed. Under a dryer sheet. With a little piece of gum tucked inside left over from The Dryer Incident two weeks ago (ahem, Brett’s fault, ahem). I removed the gum and tucked my favorite underwear into the side pocket of my suitcase, relieved. I hate not being able to find things. Nothing sends me into a nervous breakdown faster, especially when I’m trying to leave the house. This is how drawers get emptied and closets get torn apart and pairs of underwear end up hanging from the ceiling fan. We even have a name for it around these parts: Hurricane Ashlee.
Hurricane Ashlee happens when things are lost. And to be fair, things are never lost. They are just out of sight. Because my house is too cluttered. Hence, operation declutter my life.
But I digress. Back to the underwear drawer. Despite the fact that Brett and I were in a hurry to leave the house, I decided right then and there that I could not ever suffer a case of lost underwear again. While operation declutter the dresser was on the to-do list, Hurricane Ashlee warranted an emergency shift of priorities.
You see, I spend approximately two minutes every day looking for underwear. I get out of the shower, open the drawer, and search for the GOOD ones. I don’t fold my underwear (people who fold underwear are total freaks, right?!), so there are literally 70 pairs shoved into one tiny drawer. (Sidenote: “pairs of underwear” sounds weird to me, anyone else?) Out of my 70 pairs, I probably wear 15-20. The rest are just a random collection of underwear that is too old, too big, too small, too whatever. For whatever reason, I don’t like it and I don’t wear it.
SO I ASK YOU: why, oh WHY, are these reject pairs of underwear in my underwear drawer?! Is it really just because I have been too lazy to go through them? In the two minutes I spend searching through my underwear drawer every SINGLE morning, I could have cleaned that drawer out 1,000 times in the past few years. Shoot, I could have knitted 80 sweaters, or written a novel with that kind of time. IT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE.
By that point, I was in a fit of rage. I was pissed at the underwear. I was angry at every worthless particle in my life that didn’t deserve to be there. So, I sat on the floor and quickly separated the good from the bad. I threw the good ones back in the drawer and threw the bad ones in the garbage before proudly patting myself on the back.
And alas, underwear peace.
Come Monday morning, I stepped out of the shower, and it was like a bright light came streaming out of my underwear drawer, with symphony music in the background. Hallelujah! ONLY GOOD UNDERWEAR!!!
I grabbed a darling pair and went about my day with two whole minutes added to my life. Two minutes to talk to a stranger or help an old lady cross the street. No, I didn’t do any of those things on Monday but I COULD HAVE. And that my friends, is the point.
If I could just find two minutes every day to sort through my cluttered life and choose the BEST of everything to keep, my entire well-being would improve greatly. Because if I’ve learned one thing this year, it’s that less is more, in just about everything except for shoes. Why not keep the best pairs of socks and throw the raggedy ones out? Why not keep the mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer and throw the expired corndogs out? Why not keep the best, loyal friends, and let the crappy ones go?
I don’t know about you, but my life is better off without old socks, expired corndogs, and lukewarm friends.
So if you’re still reading this (bravo and many thanks), GO. Clean out your underwear drawer. Throw away some old socks. Get rid of expired corndogs. Let go of a bad friend.
Together, let’s be free from this clutter, and enjoy the peace of only keeping the BEST. The best things, the best people, and the best opportunities that deserve our attention.
Long live good underwear.
The end.
