Decluttering as Work and Life Planning, Late Middle Age Edition

Let me disclose at the outset that I have absolutely, positively no business writing about decluttering, because I have long been one to collect books and print out articles at the slightest chance that a vaguely defined project might someday come to fruition. And now that I’ve been at this professorial thing for over three decades, the “maybe someday” possibilities are many.

You may be thinking: Just scan it and store it. But my mind doesn’t work that way. When a writing project beckons, I need the printed stuff out surrounding me, physically. It may mean squandering some time searching through piles of paper for that one article needed for a quote or citation, but that’s my work style. I strive to write clearly and in a well-organized fashion.  But when I do succeed, the process usually started with the chaos of books and papers strewn about me.

Motivation

My faculty office needs some serious thinning of the paper herd, especially since it became a full-on storage area while teaching online during the pandemic. However, it is a secondary priority, as presently I am focusing on my home.

You see, I am planning to add a cat to my household. As a future first-time cat dad, I have assessed the available space in my modest Boston condo and concluded that, among other things, a room I’ve been using to store a lot of books and papers needs considerable clearing out to accommodate a litter box and some other cat-related essentials. Although many cats are said to enjoy surroundings akin to a used bookstore (i.e., my interior design motif), I’ve simply got way too much stuff.

Of course, it’s not just about work-related material. Like many folks who are reading this, I have myriad interests, ranging from heavier (e.g., reading the “Great Books”), to middlin' (e.g., keeping a stamp collection), to lighter (e.g., the World Football League of 1974-75). These interests have led me to gather not only more books, but also plenty of periodicals, collectibles, and ephemera.

So, there’s much to sort through. "Tidying" guru Marie Kondo and an odd book about “Swedish death cleaning” have failed to motivate me. It has fallen to this yet-to-be-identified cat to prompt hundreds of book donations and the feeding of recycling bins.

The Reckoning

That said, the process of deciding what to keep and what to jettison is taking much longer than I anticipated. For work-related materials, it involves making threshold decisions about the art of the possible, assessing what potential projects to set free. This, in turn, requires a reckoning about what I can and want to do during my remaining productive years.

In this regard, my scholarly interests have coalesced in ways that greatly help to clarify what doesn’t fit with my overall focus. This is in stark contrast to how I regarded scholarship as a very junior professor, when I treated potential law review article topics as largely standalone endeavors, sharing some overlaps and rooted in the same general doctrinal content (for me, employment law), but otherwise separate and distinct.

Nowadays, my scholarship is a big slush pile of intersecting and interrelated work (in my mind, at least), often shaped by insights from branches of psychology, the theoretical frame of therapeutic jurisprudence, and the ongoing question of how law and policy can advance human dignity.

Having this core grounding for my work is deeply satisfying, reflecting a process that has evolved over many years. It also helps me to distinguish between genuine unfinished business and the “maybe someday” ideas that have never truly grabbed my attention. Nevertheless, the abandoning of imagined projects and associated new forays – via books offloaded and stacks of paper designated for recycling -- buttresses an understanding that life is not forever.

By contrast, keep-or-donate decisions for my personal library sometimes invoke a ridiculous calculus that can involve waaay too much thinking. For example, I’ve long assumed that someday I would dive into two of Ken Follett’s beefy series of historical fiction, both of which appeal to my middlebrow leisure reading tastes: (1) a series opening in 12^th century England, with his bestselling The Pillars of the Earth, and (2) a trilogy covering major events of the 20^th century, starting with The Fall of Giants. But this attempt at book pruning caused me to vacillate on whether I will ever make time to read them. I boxed and sealed these six hefty volumes to donate, only to grant the exiles a happy reprieve after reading a bunch of online reviews praising them.

Many of you may relate to the broader process I’m going through. My penchant for nostalgia makes it easy to lament that the days of seemingly endless choices have passed. But when I take off the rose-colored glasses, I recognize that this supposed open book of possibilities was built on a lot of anxiety, insecurity, and uncertainty. Today, even as my stiff joints remind me of the march of time, it feels good to have a center of gravity for my work and personal interests. And if this helps me to sift through my belongings and clear out some space for a new cat, then I’ll be all the happier for it.

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Comments

[Paul McGreal]

I used to be someone who printed an article, case, or reg "just in case." I got a Remarkable 2 tablet e-reader last year, and that changed everything. The handwriting and note-taking features have been flawless. Also, I can organize all files in folders based on project and sub-folders on topics within a project. And it's portable, so I can always have all these docs with me. It has transformed how I review current awareness and research materials.

[Carrie Petrucci]

This article resonated with me in so many ways! I'm so glad to know I'm not the only one who has done exactly the same thing over the years. As a current cat owner, your story hooked me in that much more. Wishing you the best in this process. I know how personal and idiosyncratic it can be. And thank you posting this.