Yesterday I was lying in bed scrolling through Facebook when I came across this sponsored post. It was basically some guy I don’t know explaining how a year of daily blogging changed his life. I rarely click on sponsored posts, by the way, but for whatever reason this time I did. Like me, the author was feeling frustrated and exhausted much of the (professional) time. But posting one measly little blog post a day (“It can be a few sentences! They can even suck!”) changed his life. Now, my life is pretty damned good, don’t get me wrong. But isn’t there always room for improvement?
Of course this wasn’t the first time I’d heard the blog-a-day advice–Seth Godin is famous for saying it–but come on. I’m a busy woman. I have kids and a husband and four pets and hair that would look like a mushroom cloud if I didn’t style it daily. Plus I don’t have the luxury of having one of those handy day jobs where I get paid even when I’m fucking off. Being a writer is my only job and my boss (me) is sort of a bitch, so if I’m not producing content under contract–even a speculative one–I’m not getting paid. Blogging every single day? That would take hours every week. When would I do all the things?
Because. So. Many. Things.
I mentally thanked this stranger for the idea and went back to Facebook. After I watched some kids humiliating their dad during a BBC interview, read about two sisters whose miracle anti-wrinkle cream “netted the biggest deal in Shark Tank History,” spent a good half hour scrolling through 1,483 comments from pissed off people who got sucked into actually buying this miracle anti-wrinkle cream and now realize the true miracle would be finding a way to stop the two sisters from charging their credit cards and then fell in love with Benji the ridiculously adorable pygmy goat (which naturally led me down the path of researching pygmy goats as pets because watch it) I decided to get dressed.
I hate getting dressed.
It’s not that I don’t have any clothes. It’s that I have too many clothes. If closets were restaurant menus, mine would be the goddamned Cheesecake Factory. Oh, but you’re on a diet, you’re allergic to shellfish, you’re a vegan, and you don’t eat wheat, corn, sugar or anything processed and also you’re not a fan of kale or quinoa. What I’m saying is good luck ordering lunch.
As I stood there surrounded by clothes I
hate MOM WE DON’T SAY HATE! don’t even like and mostly regret purchasing in the first place, I briefly thought about just ripping all of that shit out, dumping it on the bed and going full Marie Kondo on its’ ass. But seriously.
This, naturally, sparked an epiphany. I didn’t have time to blog every day, and I didn’t have time to clean my disaster of a closet. But BOTH NEEDED TO BE DONE, it was obvious. As was the fact that I had somehow managed to find an inordinate amount of time for pygmy goat research. For the record, my closet is enormous. I counted 91 hangers in the upper section of tops alone, every single one of them occupied. I have seventeen pairs of jeans (I wear three), thirty jackets (I like four) and more than forty hats. (I actually wear most of them, although I probably shouldn’t.)
Here it is (and I fought every urge in my body to tidy up the place before snapping these, but I didn’t because this is how bad is it, people). Please don’t judge me. I already know I need help.
So I have decided to combine the two things I do not have time for.
Starting today, March 13 2017, I am not only going to publish a blog post every single day for one year, I’m also going to go through my closet and get rid of at least one article of clothing, pair of shoes or accessory every single day. Some days I might get crazy and ditch two. One year from today, I will have rid myself of at least 365 things that do not bring me any joy whatsoever. I am going to keep them in a big box (or more likely, several big boxes) in my garage, which is going to make my husband super happy (sorry, honey). One year from today, I will donate this pile to charity, or auction it off and donate the money to charity. One year from today, I predict life-changing magic will have occurred.
If not, at least I’ll be able to find a free hanger.
I felt like I needed to pick something really good to get rid of on Day 1, so I chose my “Cher jeans.” These are a one-of-a-kind pair of hybrid pants I own that are skin-tight jeans from the knees up and sheer black, beaded lace from the knees down. The beaded lace part is in a bell shape, of course, and the jean part mostly looks like someone sprayed my ass and thighs with Ralph Lauren Indigo Denim. I bought these darlings of the dungaree world–wait for it–“in case I ever wanted to dress like Cher for Halloween.”
(I have never wanted to dress like Cher for Halloween.)
I looked through piles and hangers and baskets. I peered below skirts and behind suitcases. I know that I own these jeans because at least once a year I put them on and prance about the house while my children beg me never, ever to wear them in public.
BUT I COULDN’T FIND THEM.
The irony of that does not escape me.
In my search, I found a super cute pair of KELLY GREEN SKINNY JEANS that I bought because it “might be fun to wear them on St. Paddy’s Day.”
St. Paddy’s Day is this Friday. I am not going to wear these jeans. Into the pile they go.
You are not always going to get model shots, by the way. But as often as I feel like it–or at least a few times a week–you will.
I don’t know about you, but I’m super excited for the magic to happen. I’d love to hear your thoughts (probably).