naked notes

 

I once worked with someone I’ll call Nancy. She called me for help because she just didn’t know what was wrong with her bedroom, especially the area near her closet. Four hours later, it was clear that the main culprits were coming from inside her closet, but the aura they emitted definitely took hold throughout her bedroom.

Here was a fantastic gal—a top financial analyst, well-adjusted, happy temperament—who dressed immaculately in designer suits. She kept those beautiful suits out of the closet, hanging from the door jam, in the windows, from the backs of chairs, fresh from the dry cleaner. I wondered why they weren’t in her closet and as I asked her that question and inched my way toward the dusty cavern on the east wall of her bedroom, I began to understand why when I saw the frightened look on her face.

I spent the next couple of hours calming her, listening to her, and gently convincing her to let go of one dusty, faded, shoulder-paded shirt (I know, I know; the 80s have come back but come on! I think they called them blouses back then).  So while her gorgeously-made new suits (symbolizing her new identity) were temporarily and precariously hanging from all sorts of random places throughout her apartment, the sad, stuck, unmoved cottons and polys remained in residence in the well-shelved and bracketed (so much potential!) closet.

I convinced her to get rid of that one sad blouse and that’s all I did. Sort of. We did spend a lot of time talking about many apparently unrelated things in front of her foreboding closet of mystery and we did decide that she had a much more Asian sensibility and we determined to take all the furniture out and have her conduct her life from the floor.

The next day Nancy called to report that she had been on time for work for the first time in three years. On the same day she came home and freed all the other past clothes, and thus her outmoded identities, into big bags and carried them single-handedly down to her local Salvation Army. She returned home, nearly 50 pounds lighter and threw a party during which she and her friends moved the Armani suits into their spacious new mansion in the closet.

I’m not exaggerating about this one. I promise.

Next Time: One Dress, One Suit and One Shirt

Category: NY Organize

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