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Eve has a problem with clutter. Too much stuff and too easily acquired, it confronts her in every corner and on every surface in her house. When she pledges to tackle the worst offender, her horror of a "Hell Room," she anticipates finally being able to throw away all of the unnecessary things she can't bring herself to part with: her fifth-grade report card, dried-up art supplies, an old vinyl raincoat.
But what Eve discovers isn't just old CDs and outdated clothing, but a fierce desire within herself to hold on to her identity. Our things represent our memories, our history, a million tiny reference points in our lives. If we throw our stuff in the trash, where does that leave us? And if we don't...how do we know what's really important?
Everyone has their own Hell Room, and Eve's battle with her clutter, along with her eventual self-clarity, encourages everyone to dig into their past to declutter their future. Year of No Clutter is a deeply inspiring—and frequently hilarious — examination of why we keep stuff in the first place, and how to let it all go.
322 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 1, 2017

I was holding on so tight to things that the circulation was draining from my hands. At what point, I wondered, do we hold on to our past so tight that we risk strangling it to death?
And that’s where this line of questioning all goes, right? Fear of self-annihilation. Fear that we—our memories—the things that tell us who we are—will all go, just as we too will one day go. Letting go of our Stuff is a little bit like death … According to recent polls, Alzheimer’s is the number-two most feared disease, second only to cancer. I believe this is caught up in our sense of self: the fear that one day we’ll forget so much that we’ll no longer be sure we ever existed at all.
We all anthologize our lives to one extent or another: photo albums, yearbooks, collections of old letters, or saving one’s wedding dress…these are all the activities of a curator rather than a user. Although Marie Kondo disapproves, I’m not about to stop collecting my own life. It has been a source of pleasure for me ever since I can remember; it helps define me.
"Ma’am, is that a dead mouse?” “We prefer the term nonfunctional vermin."

[...] it was one thing to have a messy garage or an overflowing attic; lots of people have those. However, this, I scolded myself, this was really borderline behavior. Fringe-y behavior. I needed to get it together. And I solemnly resolved, once and for all, that I would. That was eight years ago.