CAMPOut: Fay's Rehoboth Journal

I want to simplify my life but I don’t have time.

It’s the latest self-help craze. You can go on the web and find hundreds of sites touting the pleasures of veering into the slow lane. From simplifylifedotcom to simplelivingdotnet, people are rushing to tell you how to slow down.

I originally thought I was simplifying my life by moving to the beach. Ha! I’m busier than ever. So the thought of slowing down intrigued me.

I was stymied from the first. "Write down all the things that are complicating your life…"

If I had time to write down all my complicating factors I’d have a second book.

Skipping to a list of small steps you can take to simplify things, I sought to identify a magazine that I subscribe to, but don’t have time to read (add "and feel guilty about not reading" for those of us of the Jewish persuasion).

Okay, I’ve subscribed to People Magazine since the day it was first published in 1974, but now not only don’t I have time to read it, but ninety percent of the stories are about celebrities I’ve never heard of. That they are celebrities without passing through my radar, or even my gaydar in the case of Peter Paige and the whole Queer As crew, scares me. I have left the popular culture zone and I’m in a purgatory between cool adult and doddering biddy. Will somebody please tell me why I should know the name (never mind how to pronounce) Avril Lavigne?

Zapping People was the easy part. Unfortunately, as I tossed the invoice into the trash, I unearthed a New Yorker solicitation.

Now a few years ago, in an effort to keep navigable paths in my home, Bonnie and I adopted the "nothing comes into the house unless something goes out" rule.

With a slot now open on my periodical list, I ordered the venerable New Yorker. I won’t have time to read that either, but it will look much more erudite than People stacked on my coffee table.

Seeking more ideas I checked out realsimple.com, and found that it’s just another magazine wanting me to subscribe. False advertising!

Flunking magazine deletion I moved on to "identify responsibilities you’ve taken on that you are better off without." Whoa. That’s the whole adulthood thing. I could get rid of it all if I could just go back to fifth grade (of course then I’d have to learn to be a computer whiz).

Let’s see, I would be vastly better off without the responsibility for paying my mortgage or pharmacy co-pays, but I’d be homeless and anxious. No good. There must be some responsibilities I can delete. Maybe plant watering...I have a 15-year old Jade plant with baby Jade plants sprouting in pots all over the house. I could recover about 15 minutes a week if I just stopped watering. Of course, I’d have to spend weeks watching the plants shrivel and croak, so it’s not a wise trade.

I love the hallmark advice of the simplification movement about "finding a quiet time for yourself, when you can turn off the TV, cd player, computer and cell phone." I already have a time like that. It’s called bedtime. Next!

Anti-clutter activists define simplification as getting rid of what’s bogging you down. Okay, that would be my thighs, and I’ve been trying to get rid of them for years.

Apparently, clutter is the enemy of simplicity. To get rid of unnecessary possessions, simplifiers want you to ask yourself "If a natural disaster approached and you had to get out of your house suddenly, what would you take?"

Purportedly this answers clutter problems. But I don’t think I’d be happy living with just 27 photo albums, a photo signed by Sharon Gless, and extra underpants.

I’m a closet case. Once I managed to come out of the closet it’s been impossible getting me back in there to organize the thing. It’s overstuffed with wardrobes in three different body sizes—current, the elusive one-size-down, and pup tent in case I revert to carbohydrate loading.

I understand we’re supposed to mark time on our calendars specifically for clutter clearing, scheduling it like any other important activity. Would that be the twenty minutes after the full day’s work and right before the next political fundraiser? I could unclutter instead of showering and dressing, certain that showing up nekked, with poor hygiene would limit future invitations and give me more time for clutter removal.

One book on simplicity asks why we hang onto so many possessions. Keep reading and they suggest…get this, converting to Buddhism. Folks, I want to throw away tchotchkes not convert to a new religion.

"Why do we get so buried and overwhelmed by our stuff?" asks a clutter guru. I was tempted to scoff until I opened a kitchen cabinet last night and got caught in a Tupperware avalanche. Here’s the real question. How many plastic won-ton soup containers do I need? And frankly, where do the lids go? Are they in the crawl space with solo socks from the dryer?

Buried in burpware, I managed to kick some of the containers toward the trash can, but they immediately became dog toys and are now cluttering up a dozen different places in the house.

Who started this simplification craze anyway? I checked the credentials of one clutter management expert and want to know what it says when the author’s first book is Simplify Your Life, with her second, Panic and Anxiety Disorder. Coincidence?

Let’s face it, simplifying takes a lot of time. One suggestion had me subscribing to Simple Living magazine, getting a pack of index cards, and jotting down favorite tips. They suggest listing one idea per card, subject on the back, details on the front and then, after incorporating the tip into my life, checking it off in red pen. Puleeze. If I took time for that I’d have to give up the quiet bedtime thing.

"Do it now!" is another simplifying mantra, so you don’t have to take time to write the chore on a list. Hell, I’m a "do it now" kind of girl. Especially when it comes to ordering a second Cosmo. Actually, in the do-it-now spirit, I’ll wrap up here and e-mail this column to Letters immediately.

As the Simple Simon’s say, simplify your life and you can do what you love and love the life you live! Hey, overscheduled, and cluttered though I may be, I already do. Right now, for instance, I‘m heading out to acquire another soup container, then heading for another political fundraiser. But the day after this edition comes out, I’m having a great big yard sale, selling off baby Jade plants, books I can part with, a sofa (no points here, another one is entering the house the same day) and all the tchotchkes I can schlep to the driveway. Stop by and simplify my life. Or at least say hello.