“…because there was nowhere to go but everywhere, keep rolling under the stars, generally the Western stars.                                                                                                                     –Jack Kerouac, On The Road

It can be dangerous quoting Keroac, one of the most adventurous writers of the Beat Generation and who helped determine the course of what would be known as the youth decade, out of context, but I’m going to do it anyway.  What he meant by…“there was nowhere to go but everywhere“…was checking off your bucket list; to do things you always wanted to do and go places you always wanted to go. But I want to expand and reinterpret it for this particular pause we are living through, given travel is now de rigueur. Instead of hopping on a plane, train, or in a Hudson Hornet and throwing caution to the wind, we could use our imagination to “go everywhere” – no passport required. And this is right up my alley. Specifically, back alleys.

Because you see, I am a flâneuse.

“Flâneuse,” you might well ask – “what is that?”

The male form, flâneur,is a French term for a person who ambles, meanders, and sanballousas the streets with no particular destination in mind, noticing little details and life along the way. The flâneur emerged from the imagination of Charles Baudelaire in his 1863 essay, “The Painter of Modern Life”.

And now given we are on physical distancing duty, strolling down back alleys is one way to walk mostly in solitude without constantly zigzagging.  Besides, you probably need to practice physical distancing anyway…from the refrigerator.

In my hubris, I thought I had invented flânerie. As far back as I can remember, whenever I visited a new place, I would immediately sling a camera around my neck and perambulate for hours, often every day.
 

Mostly I liked the back streets, the alleys, or laneways – as they are called in Australia – for that is where, through my peripatetic strolling, I can investigate and imagine another life of a place, it’s enigmatic secrets, it’s mysteries.

Back alleys hold a myriad of treasures: stencilling on buildings, sordid cars in disrepair, broken signs with interesting fonts, garbage-pickers, loading docks, cast off furniture, inspirational graffiti, shipping pallets, distressed brick, small flower gardens, electrical conduits, sagging porches, strains of radio music, patterns of low slanting light and deep shadows, peeling paint, battered bicycles, and layers upon layers of dirt and grittiness.

There is a lot of rich history, all the stuff you don’t see on a main street. 

While strolling I look for photo opportunities. Taking pictures continues to train my eye, enlivens curiosity, and gives me a heightened meaning to a place. 

Some of my best learning happens when I meander down a new path, wandering and wondering. I find things I did not expect and have an opportunity to know a place (or thing) in a way that sidewalks don’t afford.  
 

We live in a culture where image is almost everything, and finding something truly authentic is increasingly difficult.

It would be hard, I suppose, to describe the mundane, the oddities, the detritus, as beautiful, but it can be truly fascinating and compelling.

I have two doctrines regarding walking.

Factoid #1: I have this thing about not walking back the same way I came. I would like to explain why, but there really isn’t a valid reason. Given my prescient history, I should have long ago abandoned this premise, replacing it with sanity.

Factoid #2: I don’t walk for more than two hours at a stretch without stopping for a a cappuccino. I obviously now have to review. 

Factoid #3: I am out of toilet paper. 

That was three things. 

I like the rhythm of walking. I like being able to stop when I like, to lean against a building, or a tree, and make notes.
 

Michel de Certeau observes that “writing is one way of making the world our own, and walking is another.”

I walk because I have things on my mind and walking helps me sort them out. Thoughts come in a far clearer form when I am walking.

I also become less crabby. 

And over sensitive? I can feel the word “pea” under 20 mattresses.

I walk because somehow, it’s like reading. I am there, but I’m not really there; I’m privy to lives and times that have nothing to do with me, but I may be able to imagine beyond what I observe. Even alone, there is always companionship.
 

Above all, I walk because it confers — or restores, a feeling of placeness, and allows for stillness and solitude.
 

But remember, if you do decide to venture out, please put on pants before leaving the house. Standards cannot be allowed to drop.

You know who you are.

There is a rumour among reliable social media sources like Twitter, that Shakespeare wrote King Lear while quarantined during The Great Plague of London. Without toilet paper.   But what I want to know is, did King Lear write back? Well, I for one, do not need that kind of pressure. I mean, I finally finished vacuuming all my carpet stairs.  But once I watched a whole season of “The Office” in under 10 hours (I paused once to make more popcorn). So pray telleth, which is more impressive?

Take that, Will Shakespeare.

Whilst in this ‘pandemic pause’, which I admit is a tad better than being under house arrest for dueling, we may have felt pressure to be productive: cataloging historic light fixtures, master acrylic paint pouring, writing King Lear 2, or putting socks in pairs.

Our culture has woven a deep seam into our brain telling us we are only valuable when we are on the hamster wheel of producing. We proudly wear this busyness badge of merit and parade it to anyone who will listen – or read on Facebook.

Almost without notice, we are losing ourselves, losing our ability to know who we are and what is important to us.

Succumbing to, or pervasive on, social media, we should be aware that there is a stark difference between connecting, which entails a two-way exchange, and showing off. (I also warn you against succumbing to culinary-inspired Instagram feeds for fear of extending your health risk beyond Covid-19.)Deciding not to perform for other people requires vulnerability, to be honest about who we are, realizing that people around us won’t ever fully get us but that others – separated across time and space – just might. We now have the opportunity to reflect on our habits and past behaviors.

It is becoming clearer and clearer, that if there ever was a time to sit still, it is now.  Pared down, there really are only a few things the body needs on any given day — hygiene, nutrients, a little light exercise, and Netflix.  Now may be a good time to make a “Not To Do” list, to make inactivity your new hobby. But only after you clean out the limp radishes, moldy carrot sticks and the bag of forgotten mushrooms from the bottom of the crisper drawer.Now may be the time when we consider if we really need so much air travel, Caribbean vacations, or more clothes.Now may be the time to remove the unneeded and non-essential cargo from our lives – except ice cream.

There are definite and inherent gifts in this enforced confinement to be acknowledged.

Freedom

When we own less, we have more freedom in our spaces and thus more freedom in our life. When we declutter our homes from unnecessary or too many possessions, we can go from constricting and stressful, to calmer and more peaceful.

We need an essential consciousness about what we want, versus what we need. A haircut, presumably. 
 

Financial stability

As we own fewer possessions, it costs less to maintain our things. Even more importantly, we may begin to buy less going forward. 

Flexibility The world and our lives are going to change. That we know for sure. If we slough off the extraneous now, we will become more flexible for the future—whether we need to move, find a new job, or make changes in the way we live.

Benefiting others It is also becoming very clear which are essential services, and which are non-essential services. And we need to fundamentally rethink our delivery models. Embracing minimalism in a crisis helps us provide or redirect goods to those who really need it.

Security Possessions, except a roof over our head, never provides the security we desire. That’s why people start hoarding more and more and more. They believe the added items will help them feel safe, but they seldom do. We need to, instead, turn to friends and family and faith, or our goldfish who’s keeping us company, and realize the true things: our talents, our abilities, our work ethic. When we rely on our compass—who we are and the direction we desire, we will find more lasting security.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.                    Just keep going. No feeling is final.   –Rainer Maria Rilke

But one of the things we must avoid at all costs, is to lapse into thinking that everything was fine before this disaster struck, and that all we need is prudent patience for everything to return “back to normal”. Flannel pajamas can do that to you.

Haruki Murakami writes in Kafka on the Shore, “When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what the storm is all about.” Clinging to the past is like holding ice cubes in your hand: once they melt, they’re gone. We don’t have a ‘normal’ anymore. We will be forced to formulate a new one.  But what is more important is that we need to understand that life before the pandemic was already a catastrophe of desperation and exclusion, illuminating economic inequality, racism, patriarchy. My hope is that the new era will bring a calibration between human and planet and animals, to realize our absolute inseparable connectedness with all of life. I hope it’s obvious now that our future depends on it. Are we going to be able to engage the laws of  “whole-ism” and actually live it? We are about to find out whether humans descend, or transcend.

So take a break, sit quietly, stare out the window. 

Each of us can find a half hour a day to waste, away from the wired world.

Know that by doing nothing, we may actually be at our most productive and creative self. It might feel weird and uncomfortable at first, but boredom can lead to brilliance. Inactivity is an interest that can be pursued, at any age, at any time. 
 

“Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day.”

—Macbeth in Macbeth

Maybe it’s Day 4 or 14 or maybe even 24, but i certainly hope I’m interrupting something.

Rita: “What did you do today?” Phil Conners: “Oh, same old, same old.”

There’s a scene inthe movie Groundhog Day where PhiI (Bill Murray) asks, “What would you do if you were stuck in one place and every day was exactly the same and nothing you did mattered?” Well, that about sums it up for me. Each day having the same effect as slamming a revolving door.

So I started creating challenges for myself surrounding my daily wardrobe while wondering if there is nightlife in Katmandu.  “How many orange things can I wear at once?” “Can I do four consecutive days of African prints?” “Does putting on earrings count as being dressed?”

My brain on limited bandwidth, there are some days where I feel so lazy that sitting upright in a chair seems like too much.

Then I considered my in-house situation, now that the neighbourhood is only available online. I now call the back of the house, the “café”, and the dining table is the “restaurant” – although the kitchen is short-staffed and underpaid. The food isn’t that great either. (I have no clue how this place is still in business.) The living room is called the “RepsolSport Centre”, with a worn brown yoga mat as its centrepiece, and a “reach for the remote” exercise routine. I have a “spa” – the bathroom, and the second bedroom “library” is being rezoned to make way for a high-rise of books. And I sure hope the weather is good tomorrow for my trip to Puerto Backyardia, because the kiddie pool is blown up and I found a bag of sand in the garage.

Home isolation has its ups and downs. One day you’re on a high cleaning baseboards with a Q-tip, and the next day you are drinking vodka straight, watching two robins out the window.

Yup, right outside my window. Two robins, madly in love. Every spring they return with a lot of commotion, then settle down to nest building and chick raising. RIght now it’s primo wooing time, and it’s really loud. Get a room, you birds.

I heard a guru say that in this time of Coronavirus, we should focus on inner peace and finish things we start. So I looked through my house to find things I’d started and hadn’t finished. I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bag of Doritos, a pack of Mars Bars, a cylinder of potato chips, a bag of Oreos, a quart of chocolate mint ice cream, and a package of red liquorice.I only tell you this in the hopes of impressing you. So right now, we’re stuck with ourselves for a while. And you don’t want to start a lovers’ quarrel if you’re the only person there. For any couples that are sequestered together, well, good luck. If you don’t throttle each other first, there might be a baby boom in the coming year. Or not.   Nevertheless, humans will never shed their desire to connect and commune. Love will keep us together, even when we’re finally allowed to go outside again.

I’m so excited…it’s time to take out the garbage. What to wear, what to wear.

Our world has virtually changed overnight. We have gone from consuming to containing. Us, our loved ones, our neighbours – voyeurs contained in our homes, able to watch, but unable to fully participate. We are an enormous collective experience with 8 billion other solitudes.

We have been forced to experiment with stopping. We have found that we have more time on our hands than we know what to do with – and clutching a bottle of Merlot.  As one who loves my home, I admit that this new found time is quite delicious – as well as the Merlot.

In the last couple of weeks, some of us have decided that the Christmas lights have been up so long, we might as well leave them up.

That we understand the concept of cleaning and cooking, but not how it applies to us.

And that there is no need to change out of that green hoodie for at least another two weeks. 

But there are some of us who haven’t quite set things up ideally at home, hung the art stashed under the bed, or finished thinning out our book collection.

With this new found time on our hands, we look around our home, and mull over some existential questions:

Why in my brief existence on this planet, does that closet have to be mine?

Just because it fits, does it mean it actually fits?

Is my living room having an identity crisis?

Would that chair be more attractive in extremely low light?

Sooner or later, it’s just going be too much. 

I don’t know if anyone is really putting on pants. Although I do have a pair on right now.

Homebound and isolated as we are, there is a silver lining. We now finally have the time to clean our venetian blind slats, remove the fluff out of our window screens with tweezers, and learn to clog dance. And get reacquainted with our natural hair colour.

This new term, “Social Distancing” is a misnomer. We really should be calling it “Physical Distancing”, because now is when we need to be more social than ever. Phones are things that work even when we are not in a pandemic and we should be taking advantage of them.

Many are struggling with this physical alienation, and for good reason. We are social beings with a natural need for connection. Now more than ever, we need to stay connected because we won’t and can’t, get through this alone. Now more than ever, we need each other. And now has never been a better time to do some good.  It’s a strange – and paradoxically delicious feeling of getting up every morning realizing that no one is here, nor will be, and for who knows how long. And that I am not going anywhere, except for my daily walk – and that at a distance.

In reflecting back to “normal”, never in a million years did I ever think that spending three months in rural Spain a few years ago, mainly in solitude and silence, was preparing me for this.

As further practice, I did not engage in social media or phone calls, listen to radio or podcasts, or watch movies and TV. 

There was nowhere to go, no one to see, and nothing to do.

No distractions, no duties, no obligations.

Alone in that remote, but stunningly beautiful place, I recognized early on that In order to keep myself from going completely mad and not be painfully lonely, I needed to implement a very stringent routine. 

So I woke up at the same time every morning and made myself a light breakfast. At 9 a.m. I walked to the village cafe (village being an grand overstatement), for my cafe con leche, then back home to write for 4 hours. I made lunch and then went for my 2 hour walk in the deserted countryside.

My daily walk was an important discipline because much of my thinking was only possible while on foot, a kind of hedgerow philosophizing. Walking kept me in motion and swayed me from despondency. 

As Robert Macfarlane writes in The Old Ways, “walking is a reconnoiter inwards.” Walking enabled me to have more sight and thought, feeling and knowing, rather than escape and dismissal. It was a unit of progress.  

After my walk, I read until it was time to prepare my 6 p.m. supper. I spent the rest of the evening either reading or editing.

And the day closed on itself.

This was a time of reflection and aloneness, but mostly it taught self-discipline and the grace of endurance.

The grace of endurance.

And joy as a calling. 

This is what is being asked of us at this time. 

Because we humans have a common experience, not only of this pandemic, but the fact that life is temporary and provisional. 

In that I can’t phone all of you in one day, I thought that we could have this mundane conversation via technology. (You are welcome to respond via technology, as my phone is ringing off the hook.) So here goes.

What is your daily routine? My favourite daily activity is, but not limited to, sitting around all day on the couch and occasionally moving from the couch to the table. Clearly I am a woman with diversified interests. I have also signed up with some chat groups, my favourite being “Chair Chat” where we share and discuss photos of chairs that are uncomfortable.

What was the best thing that happened today? It’s easy to be unabashedly grateful when things are going well. It’s definitely more difficult during this time of stress, unknowing and even danger. For me, was finding the lid to a Tupperware container on the first try.

How are you staying fit? This Christmas I made a bet with my sister that I could learn how to dunk a basketball. My home training now comprises of watching videos of Micheal Jordan and hip-hop dancing. It’s very intense. And my dog is a decent stand-in for a yoga instructor. You know. Downward Facing Dog.

Have you started a new hobby? I’ve taken up identifying backyard insects. Two so far. But they won’t tell me their names.  What are you reading? I know you would love to tell me you are catching up on your heady reading with ‘“The Brothers Karamozov,” or “Dr. Suess”, but your partner may read this and they’ll know it’s not true. Accountability is still king. Even in a pandemic. What are you watching? Instead of tuning in to The National Theatre to watch Benedict Cumberbatch play both Victor Frankenstein and his creature, you are probably Googling art that shows ants relaxing. I guess it can bring you joy. I am watching the neighbour’s cat pouncing on flies and trying to catch flying leaves.

We now return to our regular programming.

From my couch to yours…

Home, as a concept, is taking on a new meaning.

This is much more than rearranging our furniture, sorting closets or cleaning out the basement.

For many of us, this new situational reality is just beginning to sink in.

We have no control and we don’t know if it is going to be okay.  But we never really knew. Especially not now. But maybe this will finally shake us awake and makes us more connected, reverent, and alive.  What if we become better people in a better world? But there is something else happening as well. We may realize that the world is more astonishing that we could ever imagine, as well as terrifying, unimaginable and incalculable. But next to this angst, this stage of choice, comes freedom. And with this comes the opportunity to do things you have never had the time to do before, to explore uncharted territories. So change out of your 9 p.m. pyjamas into your 9 a.m. pyjamas, commute to your sofa, and put your feet up.

Because here, for your edification and possible debile amusement, are some, if I say so myself, felicitous ideas to help keep you culturally engaged. Oh God, you say. She has entirely too much time on her hands.

Figure out what kind of wine goes with granola. Put all your socks into pairs. Knit Iceland earflap hats. Watch cacti grow. Work out why dry spaghetti breaks into more than two pieces when bent. Teach yourself the army alphabet: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo…so the next time you have to spell something out over the phone, you’ll nail it. FaceTime your extended family to vote on who has the nicest ears. (Never mind, don’t do that. That was a weird idea.) Remove pesky nose hairs.  Find out if woodpeckers get headaches. Make an Instagram account for your cat and write posts as though it is the cat writing them. Organize apps on your phone. Google courtship behaviour of ostriches towards humans under farming conditions in Mali. Paint your keys with different colours of nail polish. Rearrange books by colour. Check drawers for puce coloured sweaters. Remove immediately. Research whether cows with names give more milk that those without names. Calculate the total surface area of an Asiatic elephant.  Analyze the side effects of sword swallowing. Say the alphabet backwards. Attempt to like playing Solitaire. Destroy all pictures of you between the ages of 14 and 21.   Learn how to spell Worcester, as in Worcester sauce. Discover new uses for attachments of old vacuum cleaner parts.  Stack Tupperware in descending order and according to colour of lid. Watch black and white movies in alphabetical order. Count your liver spots. Keep a running talley of new leaves on your house plants. Finish Proust’s entire seven volumes of “Remembrance of Things Past” and NOT bring it up every chance you get. File income taxes on time.  Print out this list and use sharp scissors to cut it into separate action items.

Yes, I’m just a women, standing in front of some red liquorice, tryng to save some for later.

We all know how hard it is to declutter and get rid of things.

But bury St. Joseph in the Far East corner of the backyard?

Well, who better?

After all, he’s the strong, silent type. The patron saint of carpenters, families, and “Swedish death cleaners”. 

Swedish death cleaning?  

Yup, the new buzzword on the block – “dostadning”, a hybrid of the Swedish words “death” and “cleaning”.

More on this later.

There are many legends that may have contributed to the belief that St. Joe can help with decluttering: 

• Saint Teresa of Avila in the 16th century wanting a new convent, 
• the late 1800’s ritual of German carpenters burying a statue in the foundation of every house, 
• Brother Andre of Montreal when he wanted land for a chapel, 
• and Coun. Jeff Davidson when he wanted a new arena for the Calgary Flames.

But one must be cognizant, as apparently there are definite protocols for this ritual. Your options are:

• Bury him near your mailbox. (Makes sense.)
• Bury him 9 1/2” deep. (Or less.)
• Bury him close to the street as a sign that you’re decluttering the house soon.
• Place him upside-down so that he will be motivated to free himself by getting your house decluttered. (This suggests he’s stuck until the job is done.)
• Bury him right-side-up facing the house, pointing towards the house, pointing away from the house, close to the back of the house, close to the front of the house, or under a spruce tree.
• If you have an apartment or condo, you can bury him in a flowerpot – plants optional.

Then say your prayers. 
 

Speaking of burying and hunting and gathering, I was just thinking…

Because of the dire situation we are presently in, what if they close the grocery stores?  

We’ll have to hunt for our food.

I don’t even know where doritos live.

So, “dostadning”.  No, it’s not as morbid as it sounds. It’s actually quite practical.

Trailing on the anorexic stiletto heels of Marie Kondo, but with measurable differences, Margareta Magnusson in her 2018 book, The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning, encourages us to slim down what we leave behind, by getting rid of unnecessary objects in favour of what we actually need, so that no one else has to do it for you after you pass. It might be said that this is the antithesis of the ancient Egyptian tradition of being buried with things to accompany us into the afterlife. Like our Saeco Picobaristo Super Automatic Espresso Machine.

But she does have some great declutttering techniques, like some of my clients do – by handing their extraneous stuff to me as I go out the door.   The deal is not to wait until the day you look in the mirror at your wrinkles to realize that some parts of you have dropped so low you can’t find them.

You may want to think of “dostadning” this way.

We all have that box (or three) tucked away in the far reaches of a closet.

Now if we didn’t want anyone to find it while we’re alive, we certainly don’t want to leave it lying around for someone to find out when we’re dead.

(Music softly playing in background from The Bridges Of Madison County when Francesca’s (Meryl Streep) children read the journals leading them back to 1965 and every detail of those four days in which she has enveloped herself every year since.)
 

There are apparently some perks to this “dostadning” thing. 1. It might make you happier. (Or maybe some of the people that live with you.) Unless it is pizza, we can usually live without it. If we pared down the argument is that we can better focus on the really important things in life, like wine and chocolate.Oh, and relationships and experiences.   2. It might help you feel less stressed and overwhelmed and get more done. An argument for embracing your inner Scandinavian Cinderella? Living in an organized space with fewer things to worry about can make life more manageable; from driving 7 children to soccer practice in rush hour, to figuring out how to program Roku to your TV so you can watch a soccer game before it ends, or not doing 13 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do.  3. It might help you better cope with the reality of your own mortality. We must all talk about death, but most of us feel like Woody Allen who quipped, “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”  Death however, is a very effective way of cutting down on expenses. And cleaning.  Getting rid of items can serve as a reminder that things don’t last forever, including us. And some of us may end up having to deal with some disability or illness that forces us to downsize or move out of our homes.

And by the way, Nobody Wants Your Stuff, especially your children. Baby boomers aren’t itching to glam on to your mahogany furniture, 12-piece set of bone china and wool area rugs. They have their own tastes in home decor – and hair styles. You need to ask yourself – Will anyone be happier if I save this? 4. You get to hang onto sentimental and lovable items. Keep just enough to remind you of what you want to be reminded of and what you dearly love (as well as your couch), like your treasured Swarovski crystal owl collection, Girl Guide uniform and love letters.

That’s not to say people with magnetic personalities who aren’t bothered by clutter wouldn’t reap the same benefits of organizing, as people who are innately more motivated to do it. They just don’t know it yet.



But you don’t need to beat yourself up for not attempting it. 

You can always hire a really good organizer/stylist/decorator with the utmost patience, courage, persistence, and just plain hard work, like old St. Joe.  
 

Your faith will be rewarded. (And you won’t have to bury me.)

And Amen to that. 

Sorry I’m late, but I got here as soon as I wanted to. 

I was shopping – at a thrift store. I needed a pair of shorts. For summer. Whenever it gets here.

Because last year I made a vow of no retail clothes shopping and to eliminate carbs after 6 p.m.
 

Unless of course, I’m invited to the Oscars, which probably lets me off the hook anyways, as I wouldn’t go unless I could sit next to Meryl Streep. 
 

But truly, it’s not a sacrifice. In fact, it’s almost embarrassing – it’s not that noble a principle. It’s something I should have done years ago. 
 

But truly, I’m not new to thrifting. I’ve been doing it for decades, years before it (has now) become fashionable. Sourcing everything from clothes to jewelry to furnishings to books. 

There are many reasons why some of us are enthralled with thrifting. Thrifting is unmapped territory. Thrifting is mysterious – a cluttered Nirvana where the possibilities are endless.

It’s a place where we can swipe through racks of lurid and fabulous faster than swiping through Tinder. Where we can flit through racks of colour coded jackets, some older than we are.

In fact, I’m not sure what more you could ask for in terms of excitement.

In the past, thrift stores, garage sales, and consignment stores had a stigma about them of being for people who couldn’t afford to buy new. But over the last few years, our thinking has switched for a multitude of reasons: humanitarian, environmental, financial, creative, lifestyle, individualism, and the thrill of the chase. It also has been helped along by the surge of the internet, of sourcing transparency within the fashion industry, and of course, Marie Kondo-ing. 

I grew up in a time when consumerism didn’t have such a stranglehold over us. A time where quality, not quantity, mattered. A time when you got one or two new pairs of shoes a year, mainly because your feet grew. A time when a new dress appeared at Easter and another at Christmas. And if you were the oldest, you were the luckiest, because you didn’t have to wear hand-me-downs. 

Just nod thoughtfully.



We’ve all heard the quip about “comforting the afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.” So say this with me, “I don’t stop reading blog posts until the end.”

North Americans buy more clothes now than ever, thanks to low-wage manufacturing in poor countries and the rise of fast fashion. Clothes have come from being valuable possessions to disposable, leading to a throwaway mentality with things going out of style before we even knew they were in. 

it is estimated that we each throw away between 68 and 81 pounds of clothes a year. 

Many of us have gotten used to having whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted it. Thus not buying new may be more akin to a painstaking ascent over the Himalayans.

I encourage you to do a scary, yet extremely insightful shift –get over the want and become honest about the need. In other words, take an honest look at the things you want and the things you need, and then question whether you actually do. 
 

Desire reveals itself through certain situations – like browsing in a shoe store. Thus the key to life is to ‘not to want’. Because if you want, you have suffering.

I read this on a tea box. 
 

But really, when we look at the place we are at now, all we truthfully need to buy new are underwear, socks and those great candles from Anthropologie.

Here is where the world starts to divide. 
 

These days just about every business is either evolving or risking becoming obsolete. And fashion is one of them.

In fashion, new markets are emerging:
renting clothes online and off, 
sustainable fashion,
major retailers selling second hand clothes, and 
“trashion” (fashion and objects for the home created from used, thrown-out, found and repurposed elements).

All of this is shifting the goalposts.



The resale market has grown at 21 times the pace of the mainstream apparel market in the last 3 years. ThreadUP indicates that the reselling of thrift clothing alone is slated to be a $33 million industry by 2021 and reach $51 billion by 2023. 
 

It’s estimated that the fast-fashion industry produces over 15.1 million tons of textile waste every year, because rather than donating or recycling unsold items, they often burn or toss them. The debris can end up in the ocean where the plastic microfibres are consumed by fish, and subsequently humans. 
 

But what is worse is the industrial water pollution that occurs with the production of textiles. Around 8,000 synthetic chemicals are used to turn raw materials into textiles. Each year, textile companies discharge millions of gallons of chemically infected water into our waterways. It’s estimated that a single mill can use 200 tons of fresh water per ton of dyed fabric. Not only does this consume vast amounts of water, but the chemicals polluting the water cause both environmental damage and diseases throughout developing communities.
 

Yup, we can always rely on the statistics to make us feel that much worse. 

Modern clothing manufactures use synthetic fibres because they are cheap, but they also require tons of energy and crude oils. Not only are the gases from these oils polluting our atmosphere, but they are also toxic to breathe in and touch. These materials are easily broken down in the wash and end up in our drinking water, as well as making the clothing less durable.

Yes, I am well aware that this is more information than you asked for.
 

But not only are second hand clothes vastly less expensive, but they are often better quality than new ones because if the garment has lasted long enough to be donated, then there is a good chance that it’s durable and well made.

And the longer it lasts, the longer it stays out of the landfill. 

Thrifting is reusing. Point blank. 

By choosing preloved items over newly produced pieces, you’re shrinking your carbon footprint. You’re limiting the amount of natural resources it takes to create new fabric, make the clothing, and ship it hundreds or thousands of miles to a store. Giving a used item new life rescues it from those 26 billion pounds a year going to the landfill by keeping it in circulation. 
 

When you hang onto things you don’t need, you keep them from being useful to other people.

By the way, if you think you are “paying it forward” but dropping off a load of unwanted clothes at Goodwill, think again. 

Many clothing donations never make it to the racks, and only about a third of what does eventually sells.

To really pay it forward, cut down on the amount of clothing you have by buying better quality clothes that last longer.

And just because thrifting promotes sustainability, it doesn’t give us permission to buy more than we need. We shouldn’t succumb into buying something just because it’s inexpensive.

So before buying something, ask yourself, “If I didn’t already own this puce green caftan and saw it at a yard sale for $5, would I buy it instantly with joy?”
 

Against an army of poorly made $50 T-shirts, thrifting is the knight in second hand clothing. Fast-fashion purchases may soon be something that we aren’t so proud of  – not that I necessarily expect you to start carding your own wool and felting hats – but we are all responsible for the quality of life on this planet – yours, mine, and all of Nature.

The way we do things has to change – and it may be hard on your organism.

Because if we don’t shake up the baseboards of society, and soon, we won’t like the alternative. Studying the pilot’s manual is not the same as flying.

Uphold mindless consumption by buying less and buying better, saving money for things that truly matter. Like a good wine collection.

Anyways, thanks for coming to my TED Talk on thrifting.
 

As you may have guessed by now, my goal in writing these newsletters is to help you go to bed smarter than when you woke up by altering facts of what other people have already figured out.

In other words, all my knowledge and wisdom; a borderless nation state.

And one of these is The IKEA Effect. 

You know. IKEA. The Swedish company that sells pieces of cheaply constructed furniture components, along with wordless cartoon instructions, packaged with a bag of hardware including several wrong pieces, and almost always missing one critical component.

The IKEA Effect was identified and named in a 2011 paper in the Journal of Consumer Psychology by Michael Norton, Daniel Mochon and Dan Ariely. They described the IKEA Effect as a psychological phenomenon that explains how we come to love and value the things we put in effort into.

Thus the more effort we put into it, the more we are invested in it, the more we value it. It’s a feeling that what we have made is a hundred times better than any professional could have done. In fact, it’s the best made piece in the history of the world. 

But what is more interesting, is that we think others should value it as much as we do, often widely out of proportion to their logical value. Take selling a home. I see this all the time. Someone who has worked on their home or home projects are often inclined to feel that the house is worth more than market value because of their labors of love. Because really, how can anyone not credit the time and effort it took to painstaking glue the crumbling ’70‘s wallpaper in the bathroom, to embroider daisies on the pink ruffled kitchen curtains, to build a coffee table out of recycled beer bottles, to needlepoint Canada geese flying east on the toss cushions, and to scrounge wood for scaffolding in order to hang the 6 foot macramé wall hanging? Like Chihuahuas and hot curries, this emotion often provokes extreme reactions. So the moment people are involved with their built environment, they have a totally different relationship to it. The equation: the higher the contribution, the higher the value. Interior designers know this feeling. And most of us also have a really great hair. By the way, is it possible to ever get attached to a BILLY bookcase?

IKEA also discovered a long time ago, 1943 to be exact, that people are sometimes willing to pay more for things they are involved in building, hence the 957 million customer visits yearly to IKEA stores.   

Interestingly enough, it actually is more about the completion of the task, as the effect completely disappears when the task is not completed well or not completed at all.

Who of us does not have, somewhere in our home, a table, dresser or bookcase far past its expiration date – wobbly, chipped paint, missing a handle, but we just can’t quite bring ourself to throw it away.

Why?

We BUILT the thing. Maybe it was 27 years ago, but darnit, it’s our baby.

All of us feel successful, and maybe even faintly triumphant, by turning a pile of wood with pre-drilled holes into a desk. The secret that IKEA hit on 77 years ago, is to find the sweet spot; where we can enjoy “building” a desk, get a bit frustrated, but still feel in control and use at the end. It’s always a cause for celebration, even if there is a couple of screws left over or a leg on backwards.

“So what?”, we say. We silently curse the IKEA Gods and go find some duct tape. 

This year and once again, allow me to wax rhapsodic as I present my annual attempt at trying to help you through the minefield of a holiday we lovingly refer to as Valentine’s Day. A day we show love and appreciation for the special one in our life by saying – “Happy, what? Oh crap. I’ll be right back.”

That’s not to say that the only ones that forget Valentine’s Day are necessarily philanderers. Some of us are only thinking about cheating. Paradoxically, and with a straight face. February is pegged as the month of romance…idling over a candlelight dinner, proffering an envelop with a $10 Starbucks gift card, and reading sonnets.  So why is Valentine’s Day in February? Why this month? Maybe because it is usually very cold and low football season.

According to my exhaustive research, there is a particular formula to follow when ascertaining the amount one should spend on that special someone’s Valentine’s Day present. 

Simply take their monthly salary, subtract the cost of yearly medical expenses, divide this by the weekly food bill, and multiply the remainder by the number of days left until Valentine’s Day. Then throw that number out and go down to the nearest gas station to find out what they’re charging for a small bag of red licorice. This is what you have to work with.  

And the world is divided between those who pursue breakfast and those who don’t. 

Current relationship status. Made dinner for two. Ate both. I. Holiday factoid: According to legend, it was common to sign Valentine cards with the salutation, “From your Valentine“, an expression that is still used today, but not in prison.    II. Holiday factoid:  According to the 1978 Canadian census, 91% of Valentines cards (priced at colorful prices known as “insane”), many with Cupid floating around in fresh diapers with loaded arrows, are sold out 2 days before Valentine’s Day. This is probably part of an evil, coordinated plot hatched by the (NGB), notorious guilt bombers, whose evil plans is to empty the shelves just to spite last minute losers. Cause why accomplish things early when you can do them late? another startlingly statistic: For every 100 single women in their 30’s, there are 59 single guys, many of them without a criminal record. For every 100 single women in their 60’s, there are only 33 single men. But thankfully, the curve begins to flatten, because for every 100 single women over the age of 100, 100% of single guys are dead.

Here’s another startlingly statistic: For every 100 single women in their 30’s, there are 59 single guys, many of them without a criminal record. For every 100 single women in their 60’s, there are only 33 single men. But thankfully, the curve begins to flatten, because for every 100 single women over the age of 100, 100% of single guys are dead.  III. Holiday factoid: Most homes have an average of 19.3 boxes of half eaten boxes of cherry covered chocolates, some dating back to their early ‘20s.    I know, I look in their closets. Not even remotely compelling.

IV. Holiday factoid:

The average Canadian consumes 88.18 pounds of saccharine trappings every year. Which means that if St. Valentine were to get dipped in dark organic chocolate, 7 random Canadians would actually have eaten his weight inadvertently.

Not that this is information you actually need. 

V. Holiday factoid:

A red stapler is not a “heartsy” Valentines gift, a decision referred to by many geologists, as “rock stupid.” It is advised to “Put your heart into it.”, as opposed to other organs in the body. 

This also goes for those cliche chocolate-covered strawberries dressed in tuxedos. It’s February, people. Strawberries are not in season, and THEY DO NOT WEAR CLOTHES.

VI. Holiday factoid: 

Subtle hints and reminders are most effective when your partner actually pays attention to what you’re saying.

VII. Holiday factoid: I didn’t have to make up anything in the previous VI paragraphs.  And we wonder why no one claims the making of crop circles.  Lady-In-Read

Signed. Sealed. Delivered. I’m yours.