The biggest problem that I have found with storage space is that I tend to use it. Of course, there’s the usual of closets and attics with their inviting capacities. Then, there’s the room under the stairs and in the basement. The usual, ready for more junk spaces that are just so enticing. And so, I end up putting more junk into them. Then, there’s the space in corners, the space beside the water heater and the furnace, the space between the exposed joists in the basement and on top of the joists in the garage. And so, sooner or later, every conceivable space becomes crammed with junk. It’s aggravating enough to simply have to look at it every now and then. But now, we’re moving, again.
Buying an old farmhouse on a couple of acres a few miles across the river in Kansas involved more hurdles than the average regional track meet. A process that could reasonably be completed in two or three weeks took two months but we got it done, sold our current house and are finally moving.
Being somewhat optimistic that we would eventually be able to move into our new home, we started getting rid of stuff in May, having a yard sale, giving some stuff away and throwing other stuff away. And, of course, moving still more of the junk to the new place. Some loads, I’m tempted to tie on loosely, and then deliberately try to hit every pothole in the highway, hoping something might fall off into the river or a ditch. A piece of junk that gets smashed is easier to throw away, you know.
I am reminded of my own maxim, though I doubt I’m the first person to come up with it: Inventory expands to fill available space.
That’s true with mental health, too. Whatever part of our minds doesn’t get devoted to thinking about the things that are good and pure and peaceful and honorable gets devoted to the junk.