When I returned home from said wedding I held my colander in the air and said, "Hey, I think I love you!" to it and placed it neatly back on a shelf in my cabinet and moved on to a cookie sheet. If you're keeping track at home this is item number two. I held the mess of a sheet in the air, observing its scratches and grease stains and pronounced, "I do not love you." It was a hard thing to admit, but the truth is always the best. Right, mom?
Now here's where Marie Kondo, revered creator of the KonMarie Method, and I began to part ways. In three days I had to bake treats for a "thing" at my son's preschool. I still had to KonMarie my whole house and, you know, work, feed my children, possibly shower. Was I to throw this one out now and hunt down my soulmate cookie sheet at the expense of everything else? I did have some sick time at work that I could use so I guess I suppose I could make it happen, but when I took into account the approximately 555,444,333,222,111 other things I possess, I realized this could get ugly. Did the Family Medical Leave Act cover time off for extreme home organization? No? I didn't think so. Back into the cabinet it went.
Then I started to think about the other problems with KMM that were nagging at me. All of the landfill-destined things that I didn't love. The potential cash I would need to spend to procure lovable replacements. What if I picked up a family member or a pet or, God forbid, my tweezers and realized I could love another version more? This was not going to work for me.
I still really, really, really liked the idea of only owning things that I love and have meaning. I mean let's all just picture that for a moment. Que the 80's movie cut-away to an enchanted coffee cup kingdom...
You wander into your kitchen. You have pre-programmed your favorite brewer (or, tbh, partner) to automatically make your coffee just before waking at sunrise. You pull your favorite cup from a well organized cabinet or a lovely single hook. A hook you probably found at your local independent boutique (ahem, HEIRLOOM HOUSE, ahem). The handle feels dainty and smooth in your hand. The color is serene and welcoming first thing in the morning. The weight of the cup is balanced and never causes those #awkwardmoment drips onto your shirt. And the spoon you use to stir in your favorite creamer is special too; long and silver and brought over by your great grandmother after the war back in the old country. I'm getting carried away now.
The point is this. I endeavor every day to live as consciously as possible. To appreciate my morning coffee. And let me tell you, some days it's a win if the "morning" coffee is enjoyed lukewarm at noon and sipped rather than gulped and maybe, just maybe while sitting down. A lovely spoon/cup combo helps remind me to stop and admire the beautiful life I have been blessed with. To be grateful for the opportunity to drink lukewarm coffee while my children run around me and I answer my eighth email prior to 8:00am. This life is beautiful and that coffee cup and spoon reflect that. I don't always succeed at it, but I strive for gratitude in all those little moments. Is that one of your core values? Something you strive for? If so I have an idea . . .
Let's all try to balance. Think: cute + affordability + (and in each item's own time) = LOVE.
I now apply the KMM as I move forward rather than retroactively. Everything I buy now I hold for a moment (or stare blankly at my computer screen #realtalk) and ask myself "Does the balance work for this item? Is the Love + Cost equation on point?"
For example: I can wander into Sur la Table any day of the week. Okay, when I lived in Ohio nine months ago I could wander into Sur la Table any day of the week. Can I just take this opportunity to say that Maine is not so much with the shopping? Because it's not, but I digress. While I can fall in love with the weightiest, most high functioning baking sheet in existence, I cannot justify that price tag. There is no point in loving something just to get nauseous about it when I think about what else I could have bought and loved with that money. I suppose this is also why I drive a Toyota. So, I lovingly put the 10lb, gilded and naturally non-stick, bpa- and GMO free cookie sheet down and wander over to a store that rhymes with Schmarget. There at Schmarget I find a cookie sheet. It's also non-stick and GMO free (jk'ing about that whole GMO free cookie sheet thing you know) but, sadly, it is far from weighty and gilded. Do I love it? No. Does it achieve the whole balance of price point/functionality/a pretty cute design (because, you know, it's Schmarget)? Yes. Do I put it in my cart? Yes. Do I donate my old one to a metal collecting organization that takes old metal to recycling stations and turns the money received into donations to other non-profits. You betcha!