The "If I Don't Love It, I Don't Need It" Era

(a.k.a. why I’ve been to Goodwill four times today)

You know that weird little adrenaline rush you get after purging a drawer? When you dump out the contents, toss three expired coupons, seven dried-up pens, some random batteries, and one mystery charger (Nokia? Electric toothbrush? Time machine? Who even knows.), and suddenly it feels like you’ve done something incredible? Something monumental? Well that’s me. Right now. Every day.

I’m deep, deep into a decluttering era. Not like “neatly labeled baskets” decluttering (though I’m dong that too). More like, “throwing half my house in the trunk and driving to Goodwill four times in one day” kind of decluttering.

We recently sold our cabin—which, for the record, was both emotional and incredibly freeing—and now we’re consolidating two fully furnished lives into one house for the first time in eight years. Which means I’m swimming in duplicates (and sometimes triplicates—is that even a word? Hmm, spellcheck says so). Two cheese graters. Two slow cookers. Five almost-exactly-the-same throw blankets. And somehow…eleven spatulas? What is happening?

So I made a decision—if I don’t love it, I don’t need it (and it’s got to go).

No more keeping things because they were expensive, or gifts, or “could be useful someday”, or just because they’re nice. No more guilt about the coat(s) I never wore or the hand-me-down vase I never even liked. If it doesn’t bring joy, or serve a real purpose in my life, it’s not staying for one more second.

Here’s what I’m learning:

– I don’t need three sets of mixing bowls. I just don’t.
– I don’t even like most mugs that aren’t my favorite one. And I always use my favorite one.
– No one needs 47 pillowcases. Not even Martha Stewart.

I always thought downsizing was something you did when you moved into a smaller house. But honestly? This feels bigger than that. It feels like making space—literal and mental—for a life that fits me better. And it feels good.

I walk through the house and ask myself the same question, over and over—do I want to carry this into the next season of my life?
Not “should I keep this?”
Not “will I miss this?”
But do I actually want this in my life—now that I’m paying attention? Turns out, asking with intention changes everything.

And you know what’s kind of surreal? Having everything in one place. For the first time in eight years, there’s just one kitchen, one set of scissors, one junk drawer (still chaotic, obviously). I’ll open a closet and think, oh right, that lamp is here now. It’s weirdly grounding. Like life feels a little more stitched together. A little more whole.

It’s wild how much stuff we hold onto without ever asking why or putting much thought into it. And it’s wild how light you feel when you finally let it (all) go.

So if you’re in a season of clearing out, or redefining what home feels like—or even just trying to get the stupid Tupperware drawer to close again—I’m right there with you, friend. We got this. One Goodwill run at a time.

P.S. I kept the bear wind chime. And the old stoneware coffee mugs. And the Pendleton blankets we used all winter long. I love them. So, they get to stay.