Of all the options available on Netflix, late one night during the weekend, I chose Hoarders.
A part of me thinks the extreme disarray of others makes me feel like I’ve got my shit together.
Narrator: He doesn’t.
In my home, you won’t find things piled to the ceiling. You can walk in and out of my bathroom with ease.
But as others collect “things,” I collect thoughts.
I am a hoarder.
The more I watched, the more I felt an odd connection to the subjects of scrutiny.
Consuming and collecting was easy for them, so they just kept doing it.
Throwing stuff away? Damn – that’s really hard.
The old jukebox? Might flip it.
An expired can of dog food? Might use it.
There’s a slimy (no pun intended) defense for holding on to everything.
I’ve got the same problem.
A consumption problem.
New newsletter? I’ll read it.
Book recommendation? I’ll buy it.
Podcast? I’ll listen to it.
A peak inside my head would look a lot like a home inHoarders, cluttered by outstanding ideas and thoughts.
I live by the same defenses.
I might need this some day. I don’t want to be criticized for putting pen to paper on this idea. “I’m not an expert.”
I need to declutter my mind.