Tolly P. Salz

Every summer, I think back fondly to my childhood—the weekly trips to the public library, or swimming and tennis lessons; the occasional jaunt to the local pool and the Highland Park Pharmacy for a grilled cheese sandwich; a hot car ride to my brothers' baseball games on even hotter baseball fields in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of June. Thirty plus years later, I'm still carrying on the same summer traditions, this time with children of my own.

I learned early on never to say, "I'm bored," for uttering these two words would guarantee some closet or attic that was sure to need cleaning and organizing. Perhaps that's why, after all these years, I've never found myself bored. At the same time, however, I also find myself—still several years later—with closets and attics that simply cannot wait for another summer to be organized.

I wonder: is it possible for someone around the age of, say, 41, to learn how to get organized? And not just during one weekend of summer boredom, but rather, on each day of her busy life?

How is it that I have advanced degrees but still have not managed the simply task of filing? I can bake (firetruck and Batman cakes are my latest specialties), I can sew (yes, I managed to make 26 superhero capes!!), and I can wash the heck out of the dishes; but put me in a room with a pile of papers, and I am completely incompetent. It's this inability to know even where to begin that makes me stack the papers up in nice little piles, put them in a box or on a shelf, shut the door, and walk away.

But here's the thing: the closets are now full. And despite my protestations to the contrary, my husband's on to me. While over the years I have managed to purge a ton, I've also managed to accrue quite a collection as well.

I remember moving several years ago. My husband (who was my fiancé at the time) questioned how a person could fit so much in one small apartment, which he later lovingly referred to as the "clown car" for its abundance of hidden spaces that stored what seemed to outfit a family of fourteen. It was these messes that were, in fact, one of the many reasons we almost didn't get married in the first place. I'm certain that these messes are one of the many reasons that on some days he dreams of divorce.

His mother was different. In fact, I both envy and long for her sense of order and cleanliness. She was a woman who would design a home and have built special places for her paperwork, her children's artwork, and the mail. She also knew how to part with the extras—and even though we don't have tons of photos or memorabilia from my husband's childhood, we don't miss what we never knew existed in the first place.

But my problem is that I do know what exists, and these photos and memorabilia from my own children's childhoods are things I would be certain to miss if I were to part with them. While I cannot bear to toss any of the original artwork, perhaps I can toss the assortment of TAKS prep worksheets? Why am I still holding on to these in the first place? Like my eighth grader will really want to go back and look at his Interactive Learning worksheet lesson 19-3, entitled "Telling and Writing Time to the Half Hour" (measuring TEKS 1.8B, Read time to the hour and half hour using analog and digital clocks). I think it's pretty safe to say that he can tell time at this point in his life.

So why can't I throw this worksheet away? And the coupons that expired in 2007? Or the catalog that I will never order from? Or the Real Simple magazines that are supposed to help clear—and not contribute to—my clutter? Houston, we have a problem. I'm not bored, but I sure could use a little help here.

Over the years I've been to The Container Store, to The Home Depot, to Lowes, to Target; I've hired organizational specialists and have even enlisted the services of a Fung Shui master. I've read countless books and articles and websites. Yet I'm still a piler, not a filer. Waiting until the dog days of summer to get organized isn't going to cut it for much longer; we will run out of room here before we know it, and in all honesty, I'm sick of looking at these mini-messes placed strategically throughout the house.

And with these degrees, you might think that I'd know better by now. The problem isn't the house or the mismatched storage spaces or the lack of an efficient filing system. The problem is me.

I want to know what it is I'm holding on to. What it is I'm so afraid to let go of. Surely, these piles of paperwork aren't bringing me—or anyone else, for that matter—more happiness. They can't exactly go with me to the neighborhood pool, nor do they express interest in eating a famed grilled cheese from the Pharmacy. They certainly don't snuggle up next to me at night after I've read them a bedtime story.

So I think it's time for a new summer tradition, one that involves large recycling bins, some big trash bags, and a few glasses of wine. It's time to say goodbye to the old and embrace the new.

I can hear my husband laughing in the background: he's heard this pronouncement before. But this time, I mean business. Just this morning my doctor informed me that I'm entering the second half of my life (sadly, this was better news than that of the facialist, who told me that the only hope for my face was Botox. Gee, thanks!). So maybe it's finally time to grow up and get with the program because at this point, I've learned something: when we finally let go of something we've been holding onto for too long, we open ourselves up to beautiful things that exist in this world.

And it's these beautiful things—these beautiful, living, breathing beings who dwell in this house with me—that deserve my time, love, and attention. Not the worksheets, not the coupons, not the catalogues, not the clutter. Just four wonderful boys who have many more summers of memory making ahead of them. And in this second half of my life, Clutter and Paper, be damned. I'm choosing to join in the fun instead.