#ichmisteaus Challenge – Daija und die „Magic Cleaning Methode“ nach Marie Kondo


Von Natur aus bin ich eine Sammlerin. Früher habe ich jeden Flyer mitgenommen, Artikel aus Zeitungen ausgeschnitten, aufgetragene Kleidung behalten, um sie zum Putzen anzuziehen und Zeitschriften für Collagen aufbewahrt. Generell fand ich vieles zu schade zum Wegwerfen.

Geschenke des Grauens. Ein schwabbeliger Plastikball, aus dem nach 10 Tagen die Füllung quillt.
Geschenke des Grauens. Ein schwabbeliger Plastikball, aus dem nach 10 Tagen die Füllung quillt.

Wäre ich nicht immer rechtzeitig umgezogen hätte wahrscheinlich irgendwann ein Filmteam von Horrible Hoarders vor meiner Haustür gestanden. Jeder Umzug zwang mich, mich von Dingen zu trennen – nur um dann auf Flohmärkten Schätze zu finden und Schnäppchen in das neue Heim zu schleppen.

Was hat es mit dem Magic Cleaning Hype auf sich?

Lange Zeit war ich also zyklische Entrümpelerin. Eine wirkliche Änderung brachte Marie Kondos Magic Cleaning Methode. Für diejenigen denen der Hype bisher entgangen ist: beim Magic Cleaning geht es darum, die Wohnung einmal gründlich in einer ganz bestimmten Reihenfolge und über einen relativ kurzen Zeitraum aufzuräumen. Dadurch erleben wir eine komplette Veränderung unserer Wohnumgebung, die so drastisch ist, dass sie zu einer Transformation unserer Denkweise führt, was Dinge betrifft. Die Japanerin Kondo verspricht, dass man deshalb nie wieder aufräumen muss.

Tatsächlich hat dieser Prozess, der bei unserer möblierten Drei-Zimmer-Wohnung etwa drei Monate gedauert hat, mein Verhalten verändert. Ich schleppe sehr viel weniger an, weil ich die Ordnung – relativ, wie sie mit zwei kleinen Kindern nun mal ist – nicht wieder verlieren will. Ich nehme keine Flyer mehr mit, keine Pröbchen, keine Freebie. Ich kaufe auch gebraucht nur noch Dinge, die ich schön und nützlich finde. Schnäppchen war gestern – ich bin wählerisch geworden. Und dadurch nachhaltiger.

Horten aufgeben – geht das wirklich?

Ich gebe (notfalls auch schmeiße) Dinge entschiedener weg als zuvor. Früher dachte ich, es wäre umweltfreundlicher, Dinge „für den Fall“ aufzubewahren. Dann müsste ich nichts Neues kaufen, wenn ich es einmal bräuchte. Das Ding ist: wir brauchen so viel weniger als wir denken. Und mein Horten bedeutet auch, dass diese Ressourcen vielleicht woanders fehlen. Wenn ich diese Dinge nicht verschenke oder verkaufe, muss sie jemand anders vielleicht neu kaufen.

Wenn ich nun so erfolgreich aufgeräumt habe, warum mache ich bei der #ichmisteaus Challenge dann überhaupt noch mit? Sogar Aufräumexpertin Kondo geht einmal jährlich ihre gesamte Wohnung durch. Bei uns kommt vieles durch die Kinder in die Wohnung, hauptsächlich Kleidung, Spielsachen, Papier. Auch elender Plastikramsch als Mitbringsel von Geburtstagsfeiern. Geschenke. Freebies, die ich selbst ablehnen kann, nimmt meine 4-jährige Tochter gern mit.

Instandhaltung

Natürlich bin ich auch nicht perfekt. Bücher sind meine große Schwäche. Reparaturarbeiten, wie Löcher stopfen, Zerbrochenenes zusammen kleben, oder auch Recyclingfähiges wegbringen, schiebe ich gern auf. Im Alltag stelle ich Dinge oft ‚mal eben‘ außer Reichweite und nicht an den Platz, an den sie gehören. Die Challenge gibt mir auch die Gelegenheit, darüber zu reflektieren, ob das, was ich besitze, immer noch das ist, was meinen Bedürfnissen und Lebensumständen entspricht.

In diesem Sinne wünsche ich Euch frohes Schaffen,
Daija

P.S. Allen, die mit einem Zuviel an Zeug hadern, und denen das Entrümpeln wirklich schwer fällt, kann ich Marie Kondos Methode empfehlen. Meine Erfahrungen könnt ihr auf meinem persönlichen Blog, liebevoller leben, nachlesen.

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Weitere Infos und jede Menge Interaktion findet ihr auf unserer Facebookseite “Finding Sustainia“ und bei Twitter unter @Finding_S.

Wir freuen uns auch, wenn ihr euch in der rechten Spalte unseres Blogs für unseren Newsletter anmeldet. So bleiben wir gut verbunden.


13 Antworten zu “#ichmisteaus Challenge – Daija und die „Magic Cleaning Methode“ nach Marie Kondo”

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  2. ?Memories and Hopes: The Top Essays
    Of your a lot more than 200 college software essays that students sent us this yr, these – about an artist father, an affluent suburb, frugality as well as a family with no college graduates – had been the ones we liked perfect. MAY 13, 2016 Related Article
    Sarah Benson with her father, Jonathan Benson, in her father’s woodworking shop at their home in Lorton, Va. Credit T.J. Kirkpatrick for that New York Times
    Excessive School: South County Higher School College Plans: Virginia Tech
    My father takes me down to the arroyo when I am so tiny that I do not yet achieve his waist. My feet fumble across flaking desert skin and he pulls me along gently by my hand and tells me to be careful of small-scale cacti and therefore the bones of dead jack rabbits. He does not let me straddle the rift where the earth divides into repelling mounds of sand. Instead, he slips his hands beneath my arms and swings me approximately inside a fifty percent circle, his red face wrinkling into a smile.
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    The arroyo is different than I have ever seen it. It is scattered with extensive, silver puddles. Inside the pink glow of your rising sun, the sand looks shiny and slippery. Near us, green tufts of vegetation burst from the earth in unpredictable patterns and yellow wildflowers with thin stems knock softly against just about every other with the wind.
    My father tells me to wait and he steps down into the wet sand. I watch as his sandals sink deep into the ground and leave extensive footsteps. He crouches suddenly, and digs into the earth using a discarded stick. Then he stands, approaches me, and places in my hand something slimy and smooth.
    “A pottery shard,” he says, in explanation. “From the Indigenous Americans, who lived right listed here a thousand years ago. The rain washes them up. If we’re lucky, we’ll pick all the pieces of an entire pot.”
    I start looking down for the strange triangular stone and wipe the sand from its surface. He lifts me up in his arms, carries me again toward the house.
    My father gives me a book about Georgia O’Keeffe for my fifth birthday. We learn it together and he bounces me on his knee and licks his fingertips before turning the internet pages. He points in a landscape that looks like a rumpled tablecloth and tells me, “This is why we’re in this article.” I steal a flashlight and flip through the book beneath my covers at night. I touch the same glossy picture and whisper, “This is why we’re right here.”
    When I am 6 years old, the Sunday school teacher asks me what my father does for a living. I tell her he is surely an artist like Georgia O’Keeffe. I do not know that I am lying. I do not know that he hasn’t sold a piece in months. I do not know that my mother sits within the kitchen table after I go to sleep and cries when you consider that the mortgage is past due and she can’t figure out a way to tell me that this 12 months, Santa Claus just can not ensure it is.
    For Christmas, my father gives me a sparkling blue stone he found inside arroyo. I say thank you and pretend I mean it. Later, I stand in the edge of our brick patio and wind up my arm and throw the rock as far as it will go. It disappears inside the bristles of the pine tree.
    I do not say goodbye to the arroyo before shutting the car door and stretching the seatbelt across my chest. I do not say goodbye seeing that I think that I won’t miss it. We are leaving New Mexico. We are going to New York where my father will get a real job and we will become a real family. We drive alongside a cliff, the rock rough and jagged and sprinkled by using a thousand tiny diamonds. I push my finger against the glass. This is why we’re right here.
    When I am 16 years old, my father takes me back again to New Mexico and we go once a whole lot more to the arroyo. The neglected trail is extended gone now and we stumble in our tennis shoes over dried up cacti and colorless desert flowers. I am too old now to hold my father’s hand. He walks a handful of steps ahead of me and I do not see his face.
    The arroyo is bone-dry, littered with dented soda cans, beaten strips of tire and mud-stained garbage bags. Countless monsoon seasons have left the sides within the arroyo tall and smooth, except for that dried roots of long-dead plants, however lodged on the dirt, which get to out toward us like skeleton hands.
    My father crouches over and his shirt draws taut across his again. He delicately parts the earth with his fingers and searches for something that he will never choose again.
    “No further pottery,” he says. He looks at me and squints his eyes against the sun. “It must have washed far absent by now.”
    Suddenly comes to me the vague image of my father in ripped jeans, pressing a pottery shard into my palm.
    I wonder if he, too, has washed far absent.
    Isabella DeSimone on campus at Suffield Academy in Suffield, Conn. Credit Jessica Hill for your New York Times
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    My modest body and head of curly hair trotted over to the refrigerator in search of some butter for my bread. I shifted some cans of half-opened Goya beans and then the remnant of the brick of dulce de leche that had seen greater days. After noticeably shuffling, I spotted the big brown container of margarine. Carefully placing the tub around the kitchen table and readying for my “feast,” I opened the container. To my dismay, it was filled with arroz con pollo. My eyes tightened and my stomach made Chewbacca noises. Maybe I could mash the dulce de leche on top of your bread.
    My finding was not a surprise. Rather it was lesson range 73 engraved inside the book of Dominican-bred frugality. Why buy 99 cent storage containers once the products we buy presently supply them for free of charge? These lessons came in Spanish with the speed of the bull in a very bullring. It can be described as struggle for immigrant parents to successfully pass on values of frugality to their children while you are living within a developed country by using a perceived flow of plenty. But my mother’s iron will was the perfect match for those incongruences.
    For a child, things like magic, fairy tales, and free of charge MacBook features allow it to be difficult to grasp the value of money and to quantify the struggles that some families face to make ends meet. The collective hope is through hard perform in addition to a miracle, one particular ends up figuring out how to make 5 dollars out of 5 cents.
    This fervor to be frugal and purposeful is something that was passed down to me significantly like some families pass down an obsession with monogramming or Thanksgiving Working day traditions. My trailblazing family’s thrifty efforts were being legendary in our neighborhood. We started reusing and repurposing way before it was trendy. We made do with what we had and made what we had do far more in order to awkwardly swim toward the Dominican American dream.
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    The phrase “making do” could evoke connotations of stagnation and despair for some; but for me it is about understanding my situation and being proactive. The values I gained from being able to make do are unparalleled. Making do gifted me with resiliency and gratitude. Making do allowed me to internalize acceptance and to value effort.
    Lesson 978 took spot last winter. I woke up at home with numb toes. The temperature inside the house was evidently no different from exterior. I questioned my seemingly crazy mother to which she replied, “Come cuddle with me.” With closer inspection, I found my two sisters underneath the covers. The average family can spend up to $1,000 on heating their apartment, but my home is presently comforting in its private way. A smaller bed with too plenty of people in it, arms and legs perfectly intertwined. It doesn’t get considerably better than that on the cold morning.
    The laughs we exchange keep me warm, my grandmother’s advice, sigue adelante, or keeping moving forward, resonates with me, the arroz con pollo within the butter container satisfies me and our love for each and every other fuels me with drive to excel. We make do everyday and through our doing and making I know in my heart, the most popular is yet to come.
    Joe Liggio within the jogging track behind Suffern Middle School in Suffern, N.Y. Credit Bryan Anselm to the New York Times
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    The thought of achieving any sort of higher education has often been an overlooked, or just plain disregarded idea in my family for generations. I’ve come from the very long line of ancestors that labored throughout life to make ends meet, often leaving school early to take up a job and assist a struggling family. Only 1 of my grandparents even attended big school, let alone graduated. Equally of my parents made it through, albeit barely passing, yet went straight to operate, abandoning any idea of studying further due to poor finances, poor academics along with a generally poor attitude to the sort of idea.
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    Nevertheless, the thought of being the to begin with in my family to attend college remains daunting. At times, I think tasked which includes a responsibility of near-prophetic proportions, as if I’m The A single to finally bring about an conclude to the decades-old struggle of “a lineage gone unlearned.” I’ve come to accept it as a challenge. And therefore the far more I think about it, the a bit more I see it as something gratifying. It is taken years of demo, but I will emerge because the outlier for my family. I will finally conclusion the cycle for us.
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    Erica Meister describes her hometown, Northville, Mich. as reckless. Credit Laura McDermott for that New York Times
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    In 2015, Northville, the site I consider to be my hometown, was named the snobbiest city in Michigan. I prefer to describe Northville as reckless.
    The a great deal more enterprising students of Northville Excessive School specialize on the selling of three goods: marijuana, Adderall and exam answers, all goods a wide range of of my peers do not think twice about by making use of. We’re from Northville. Most of us know nothing of consequences or responsibility for our steps, on the grounds that our fathers can cover for us with cash and connections. We’ve been raised in like privilege that we sense enabled to say and do whatever we want, thoughtlessly.
    Several years back again, in the event the rap aesthetic was particularly prominent, most on the males came to school in ill-fitting jeans that sagged below their designer boxers, sporting T-shirts and necklaces that most likely price tag a lot more than the weekly income for your average person, in imitation of their favorite rapper. They carried themselves like Eminem and spewed out Jay Z verses about being raised in extreme urban poverty and racism, before parroting their parents’ views relating to the “communist” welfare programs.
    Derogatory terms for gays, the disabled and people of color are shouted inside of the hallway, right over the heads of people to whom those refer. From practical experience, I can certify that the administration does small besides halfheartedly admonish reported bullies and send them on their own way to carry on their reign of terror.
    To my chagrin, I have occasionally fallen into a similar mindset. I once asked a friend, whose family I knew was struggling, what AP tests she planned to take. She replied that her family couldn’t afford any. I had forgotten how bad her circumstances had been and had asked my question without thinking. I found myself victim to the disease that infiltrates Northville, the same carelessness I despise. Northville’s gilded bubble caused me to forget that some really don’t have the luxury of affording even the reduced price of standardized tests.
    Aside from being potentially harmful, this recklessness creates a perception of emptiness for me. Superficial, materialistic and shallow, we’re all too busy going on to the next thing, focusing on finding an A and not about learning the material, and receiving our rib into a conversation without listening to what was actually stated. Our sole aim is to keep moving. Where, how and at what charge are irrelevant questions to us, and thus we manage to remove all trace of purpose from our steps.
    My most prominent goal has always been to leave Northville behind, to locate a world in which people act consciously, aware that their steps affect others, and choose to delve deeper by asking questions and seeking legitimate answers that may differ from their minimal understanding. From the meantime, I aspire to prepare myself by being far more thoughtful, informed and, most of all, careful.
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  5. Hallo Daija!

    Diese beiden Sätze gefallen mir besonders gut

    „Und mein Horten bedeutet auch, dass diese Ressourcen vielleicht woanders fehlen. Wenn ich diese Dinge nicht verschenke oder verkaufe, muss sie jemand anders vielleicht neu kaufen.“

    Interessanterweise wird derzeit überall entrümpelt. Ich mache auch gerade bei einer Challenge auf FB mit, miste aber bereits seit Anfang diesen Jahres aus.

    Mir hilft der Gedanke schon sehr, dass andere Menschen meine Dinge noch brauchen können. Jede Woche kommt ein großer Sack mit allerlei Nützlichem Zeug in den Kostnixladen, teilweise verschenke ich auch was über FB.

    Marie Kondo habe ich auch gelesen und fand das Buch sehr inspirierend.

    lg
    Maria

    • Liebe Maria

      wie gesagt bin ich erstaunt, dass Du noch etwas zum Ausmisten findest 🙂 Schliesslich hast Du schon so viel reduziert – Plastik und Co.
      Die Idee mit dem Kostnixladen finde ich super. Ich habe bisher nur wieder aussortiert aber noch nicht weiter gegeben, weil ich mir unsicher bin, wohin. Wahrscheinlich wird es eine Mischung aus Freecycle und Charityshops. Ich möchte ja auch, dass die Dinge genutzt werden, auch wenn sie schon „pre-loved“ sind, wie man hier so schön sagt.

      Viel Erfolg Dir noch.
      Daija

  6. Ich bin ein Messie, der sich im Zaum hält. Wir sind ja nicht einfach Faulpelze, die nicht aufräumen, da steht mehr dahinter, Verlustangst zum Beispiel. Wegwerfen bedeutet echt Stress, aber den kann man in den Griff kriegen indem man für jedes neue Teil ein altes aussortiert. Wenn ich mich also von keinem T-Shirt trennen kann, gibts kein neues. Und Monatsaufgaben: im Mai jeden Tag eine Zeitschrift (bei mir Nähzeitschriften) in den Papiermüll.

    • Liebe Renate
      Du hast Recht, hinter dem Horten steckt mehr. Für mich war es ein jahrelanger Lernprozess, und ich glaube auch, dass es für die Generation meiner Eltern (Kriegs- und Nachkriegskinder) noch weit schwieriger ist. Und manchmal sind kleine Schritte, wie Du sie beschreibst, der richtige Weg.
      Bei mir musste es eine grosse Aktion sein, auch um zu merken, dass nichts Schreckliches passiert, wenn ich Dinge los lasse. Ist aber Typsache.
      Herzliche Grüße
      Daija

    • Danke, Renate, für diesen weiteren Tipp! Erst was Neues kaufen, wenn man sich von etwas trennen kann. Das finde ich sehr gut und hilfreich. Und ja, auch Zeitschriften gehören zur Mai-Challenge. Bei mir sind es Kochzeitschriften. Die besten Rezepte schneide ich aus, die kommen in einen schönen Ordner und die Zeitschrift dann in den Papiermüll. Ich muss sagen, dieser Prozess ist so als hätte ich auf einmal einen Haufen neuer Kochzeitschriften bekommen. Ich konnte mich schon gar nicht mehr erinnern und hätte die guten Rezepte wohl nie wiedergefunden.

  7. Eine Woche? Anna, das ist ja kaum zu glauben. Da bist Du weit entscheidungsfreudiger als ich. Ich stimme Dir zu, vor dem Baby das Leben einfacher zu machen ist der perfekte Nestbau.

  8. Oh ja, Daija, danke für Deinen Post. Ich habe das Hörbuch von Marie Kondo beim Ausmisten gehört und es hat mir sehr geholfen. Ich habe eine Woche gebraucht. Allerdings nicht nebenbei sondern mit viel Zeit. Es war die erste Woche meines Mutterschutzes. Einfach perfekt, einen neuen Lebensabschnitt so einzuleiten.

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