The Journey of a Thousand Miles
. . . begins with a trash bag

By Jeanne Marie Laskas
Sunday, January 8, 2006

So, last year my New Year's resolution was to roll over my two previous years' worth of broken resolutions and basically do a complete overhaul and turn myself into a better person.

Yeah, well, that didn't work. I am standing here with my back to 2005, and I don't see anything better about me.

This year, I am trying something different. This year, as I look at the blank slate of opportunity that is 2006, I have decided to take just one small thing, one aspect about myself that needs work, and work on it. I have a list here that I won't bore you with. Pick one thing. That's the key. Break it down. Meet one small goal in 2006 so that in December, as you gaze onward toward 2007, you can know, really know, that change is possible even if it must be incremental. You see where I'm going here? Do the decade plan! Small success followed by small success, and 10 years from now we can all be better people.

So, Slobsville. I am a slob living in Slobsville. This is what I want to work on. Why am I such a slob? Frankly, I think it's because my sister Claire is so very neat. Two people who grow up together inevitably polarize. Claire was a science and math person. I was a lunch and recess person. Claire was studious, the kid always raising her hand in class with the right answer. I was, um, philosophical, the kid busy noting cloud formations in the sky outside and thinking about getting a speedometer for her bike. Claire was pretty and perfect and a star athlete. I was . . . a mess. Oh, God, I'm sliding down the misery chute. Stop! Stop asking why you are the way you are. It doesn't matter. If you want to make a change in your life, just: Make a change.

So, in 2006, I am going to become a neat person. The first step in becoming a neat person is to go through this house, room by room, and pitch. Pitch out the junk. I am walking through my house wondering where to start. If I start in the living room, I know what will happen. All the junk I try to pitch won't seem quite pitch-worthy and will end up in a pile in the family room. I need to start lower on the junk chain. I need to grab a trash bag and go where the junk is more obvious. My office. What the heck is all this stuff? Why do I buy a new piece of software, install the software and save the box? It's a commitment problem, I think. I just don't quite believe that this program and I have a real future together, which is ridiculous. Oh, dear. I'm standing here with a trash bag and an office strewn with trash, and I am analyzing my relationship to an empty box.

Oh, dear.

New plan. I am not going to clean my entire house, or even my entire office. Break it down. Small success followed by small success. That's the key. I will, then, focus my attention on one small space: my desk. I see there are many items that can be pitched. Here, for instance, is a pair of reading glasses I got at Target with lenses that turned out to be way too strong for me. Looking through these glasses gave me actual motion sickness. Now, someday, my eyes may need correction this strong, so should I save them? Or perhaps I should donate them to charity? One of the two rubber nosepieces is missing, but I suppose there are nosepiece replacements you can buy. Um. What the heck am I supposed to do with these things?

The phone rings. Thank goodness, because I was really getting stuck there. It's Claire. Oh, great. She asks me how I'm doing. "Good," I lie. She wants to know if I have my mom's recipe for noodle pudding. "Me?" I say. I am the one member of the family least likely to own a recipe box. "I know it has, like, pineapple in it," I say. She says never mind. I ask her if she's making any New Year's resolutions.

"Me?" she says. "If you want to change your life, you should do it every day, not once a year."

What a very terrible idea. I imagine living like this, every day in the trenches of the battle to pitch or not to pitch. I tell Claire about the reading glasses. I tell her I want to become a neat person. I ask her to please help.

"Pitch the glasses, sister," she says. "Pitch them and be free."

I take her advice. I throw those glasses into the bag. Wee-hoo! It's liberating, all right.

"Throwing out is fun!" she says. "It's addicting, isn't it?"

Uh, no. "Look, I'm done here," I say. I explain about my resolution. "I've made one incremental change. I'm done until 2007." There is silence on the phone. A long silence. "Hello?"

"How is it that you always make me want to hang up and go clean my closets?" she says.

Well, wow. I feel so . . . proud of her neat house. I am a better person! This is working out just fine.

Jeanne Marie Laskas's e-mail address is post@jmlaskas.com.