Thinking about decluttering: One day

I'm not very attached to things and have no problem giving away clothes or electronics, and I do. But I belong to the category of people who might need this again. For example, I can't throw away a cardboard envelope in which I was sent a book, because I could use it to send a book myself. At one point I used 50 such envelopes and not a single one of them.

Rubber bands, plastic bags, school staplers, screws and nails, I save those. I just can't throw away useful things because they are useful.

Unfortunately, you cannot give away used cardboard envelopes. Or rubber bands. At some point, in my childhood, all of these things had a value, greater than they have now. Every kind of paper, cardboard, wire, scraps of fabric, buttons, lids, twine, it was all saved and reused in our house. Today, like my mother, I still have a cardboard box in which used wrapping paper and neatly rolled up ribbons are waiting to be used again. Over the years the box has become fuller and my wrapping paper keeps coming back to me. And once I start collecting it, I can't stop. It would be illogical. It would then have to be the case that I would basically no longer collect wrapping paper. I would have to take this fundamental step. It's hard for me to bring myself to do that.

I was talking to a friend about the topic these days. I said I didn't want someone to have to clean up all my shit at some point. “Yes,” she said, “that’s this Death Cleaning.” I researched this, this method of decluttering comes from Swedish and is called “Döstädning”. I think this is a good thing and can proudly say that no one has to throw away my used cardboard envelopes in which books can be sent anymore. A start has been made. I can't give up my 50 dresses yet. I'm still alive.

This text first appeared in wochentaz, our weekly newspaper from the left!

Every week, wochentaz is about the world as it is – and as it could be. A left-wing weekly newspaper with a voice, attitude and the special taz view of the world. New every Saturday at the kiosk and of course by subscription.

When my uncle died, on his deathbed he allowed his family to use “his wood” for his coffin. It was a joke. For years he had been collecting wood in the garage in preparation for the day he would build something with that wood. The garage had therefore been unusable for years; it was only used for wood that he collected to build something with, which he never did. Now he died thinking of this wood, understandably. Of course other things were more important, but the wood had meant something to him for years, he had always had this image of himself, and now he had to give it up. I think it has to do with a sense of future and even eternity. That I will send my cardboard envelopes in the future and that future is still ahead of me. There is no thought of an end. That's the mistake.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer about a year ago, I had a clear feeling of limitation for the first time. It was scary, of course, but it also added value to my time. Things became more important, others less important, everything shifted and rearranged itself. You have to forgive yourself for collecting cardboard envelopes or wood in the garage. That you are not the person who builds something out of wood, but rather the person who continues to believe that he could do it one day.