The Discount Life (Cont'd)

Step One: Clear out Your Life


Cleaning out a woman’s closet is like following Indy into an abandoned cave: You know somewhere in the back there’s treasure but you’re certain to be attacked, maimed and terrorized before you get to it. It’s a daunting task for any explorer. I recommend calling in the troops to bulldoze & stand back up.

I did not, however, heed my own advice in round one. I promised myself I’d be reasonable and extricate half of the afore mentioned ‘discount life’ items from my over grown closet. The shoes cramping the floor seemed a likely place to start; can’t even close the damn door there are so many. So I kneeled before the vast mountain of footwear and began my cleanse.

The gold sandals have to stay. I started a ‘stay’ pile to my left. The red stilettos – Staying. They’re vital to a woman’s sexual security. The black boots are a staple. The other black boots are for going out and feeling powerful. The suede black boots are, well, suede. Valuable. They have to stay. The old tennis shoes can be used for mowing the lawn. The new ones for walking. The running shoes are, of course, for that marathon I’ve planning to run sometime between last Christmas and the day I die. The Birkenstocks. The Birkenstocks are from college and I really didn’t wear them anymore. I suppose I could give them up. I took them gingerly in my hand, inspected them woefully and put them to the right in a goodwill pile. I turned my attention back to the closet and the emerald green flats I’d nearly worn a whole in. Staying. [I looked back at the Birkenstocks] Pause. Turned back to the leopard print flats that always gave my pinky toes blisters. Staying. [Glanced at the Birkenstocks. They really are comfortable.] Pause. Turned back to the Tahari patent leather heeled sandal. – amazing shoes that transform an ordinary Jane into Cindy Crawford. Staying. [ Checked on the Birkenstocks. They look so lonely being the sole item in the goodwill pile.] Pause. Looked back at the closet. [Oh for goodness sake’s I have to keep them.] And just like that the Birkenstocks rejoined their mates in the stay pile.

I checked my watch. It was almost time to meet Mel for dinner. I’d wasted 3 hours on this project and in the end managed to convince myself that every pair of shoes I owned were necessary to my value and my happiness. They say it all starts with changing the thought process. I was half way but I can see now I had given in to habit. DL. I did, however, reorganize all the shoes and put them back neatly into rows in the closet. Organization is progress. I left my cave feeling that Indy would be proud.

At dinner, I bounced my theory off Mel. She agreed that I was, perhaps, onto something. Mel has never had a lot of money and therefore, has always had much more sense then I. She does not own too much. She knows the value of all she has in her life. She’s my got it together friend. And even she could support my theory with her own example of DL behavior.

“Just last week, I told Jack I wanted to go eat at that new Bistro on Kent street. But he said the wait was too long and you didn’t get much food. He said we could get more and faster if we went to Jimmy’s instead. So we did. I got a lot of food for less and it was fast but the whole time I just thought ‘this isn’t very good. I wonder what I would be eating at the Bistro’?”

“Discount Life!” I said. “Agreeing for less then you want because it’s easier than holding out for the real thing.”

“Jack didn’t see it that way though,” Mel said. “He was really happy with tons of mediocre food.”

“Some people are I suppose. It’s just like trash and treasure. What’s discount for you may not be for me. It’s personal.”

“Yeah but mediocre is still mediocre.”

“To you.”

“So how do you decide what’s acceptably discount and what’s not?”

“I don’t know,” I said between a sip of wine and a bite of bruschetta, “I haven’t gotten that far yet. But I did start by clearing my closet of the discount life items.” Which is a misleading statement implying that I actually eliminated some discount life items.

“Did you start with that sweater?”

“No. I started with my shoes.” Half truth- I got no where with my shoes and I know it. But I’m going to let Mel believe that I did so I can make myself feel better. If someone else believes I am the kind of person who is in control of my life, then I’m much more likely to become that person, right? “I did bring one of them to return though. I kept the baby puke yellow one to remind me of my new mission to live an all the way life. A real life. No discounts. ”

“Awesome,” Mel said. “This could be interesting Chloe. You may really be on to something.” She took a bite of bruschetta. “But then you always were the one with all the ideas.”

Right. All the ideas and no follow through. I smiled and wondered what she would think if she knew that I really hadn’t thrown away a single piece of DL loot. I wanted to scream “I’m lying!” but I didn’t. I said, “It’s a work in progress. We’ll see where it takes me” and promised myself that the next time I cleared out my closet I would actually clear out my closet.

Step One Again: Clear Out Your Life AND Be truthful with yourself.

Okay. Here we go again. I sat before my shoes and winced while I created a goodwill pile. Shoes with holes or near holes, shoes that I hadn’t worn in one year (two but who knew that but me), shoes that were impractical, cheap or out of fashion – all had to go. When I had finished I had ten pairs of shoes in the goodwill pile, which out of thirty pairs, isn’t bad for me. The Birkenstocks were among them. I packed them in a box and put it by the front door. Stanley was there to greet me.
 
“What’s that?” he asked. Stanley. Good old reliable Stanley. Stanley that worked as an accountant, only expended energy enough to be sufficient for the task at hand and never had a superfluous thought out loud.


“It’s a goodwill box. I’m clearing out my closet.” He nodded his head and bent down to kiss my cheek.

“Good for you.” He put his brief case down on the bench in the tiny foyer of our townhouse, hung his trench coat on the hook above it and walked into the kitchen unbuttoning the buttons on his dress shirt.

“I thought it was time to get rid of the stuff I don’t wear. Find some clarity. You know, obliterate the madness.” I stood in the foyer and watched him pour himself his after work drink. This was Stanley.

“Sounds good.” Stanley with the personality of a cardboard box. Stanley that would never leave me, never hurt me and always came home at night and poured himself a glass of brandy in the short glass that wasn’t meant for brandy. Stanley whom I was no longer in love with but had built a life with anyway.

“Did you have a good day?” I asked, teetering in to the kitchen with cheer. One must maintain cheer.

“Yep. It was good.” He smiled a pleasant short smile and passed by me on his way to the couch for some SportsNation. He sat down and said “You?”

“Uh…yeah. It was interesting. I’ve been clearing out my stuff all day. You know how involved that can get for me.” I laughed a little at myself. He nodded and smiled his pleasant smile again. I could have told him about my Discount Life theory then. Could have explained my inner most workings to the man I was living with. Perhaps shared a brandy with him. Maybe had a laugh or two at my own expense. But the feeling washed over me that although he would tolerate that discussion and smile his pleasant smile, he wouldn’t really get it anyway. Things were always kind of black and white for ole’ Stanley. I saved myself the breath and said, “I’m going to go work on the closet some more. You might actually have some space in there when I’m done.” I headed up the stairs and heard him say, “That would be great. Good luck.” This is Stanley.

I let the boxes sit there for three more days. Don’t judge me. I needed time to mourn the loss of my shallow outward security blankets. Stanley patiently walked around the boxes and said little about them. His comments were exactly, ” it doesn’t even look like you cleaned out in here” and “so, is there room for some of my stuff yet?” Which were straight forward and fair comments. He was right. The closet barely looked cleared, which is a strong indication that it was too packed to begin with. And he hadn’t had room in my closet since he moved in. So…never. Poor Stanley.
 
(cont'd next time- stay tuned for the discovery the DL Anonymous)