I Believe in Closet Organization

I believe in one of the most holy sects of cleanliness- closet organization. While many people take this rather small, insignificant space for granted in their rooms, and lose track of what junk they fill it with, I cherish my closet. To me, this area is storage for everything, from my grungy t-shirts to my old Raggedy-Ann doll. I consider my closet to be my Mecca, my holy ground. And while this may be a strange philosophy, it helps me regain my sanity.

I believe that the best time to indulge in closet organization is when I feel like I have no control over anything else in my life. My teachers declare a due date for when my creative process must be terminated and the assignment must be completed by. My parents decide that it is not appropriate for their daughter to have blue hair or any piercings, so they ban my self-expression. So on those pathetic days when I succumb to teenage angst, I remember something. Only I have complete say in how my closet is arranged. Absolutely no other being on the face of this earth has any control over how my closet is organized. I will choose to place my trusty, worn-out collection of converse chucks in the most accessible spot. I have the right to push the fancy, unreliable high heels to the darkest and most remote corner; among the dust bunnies and health articles my grandmother cuts out of the newspaper and insists on mailing to me. I can, and will, place boxes of my old diaries, yearbooks, and disposable camera photographs on the top shelf, because I have begun to treasure them more with each passing day. My freedom allows me to reserve a special section in the back of my closet for the remnants of old hobbies. My tennis racket rests casually against the wall, with my drumsticks and video camera stacked neatly next to each other. While I gave up on these three particular interests, I don’t dare view them as failures. In my closet, they are souvenirs of my experiences as an athlete, a musician, and a film student. They are part of my history. Since it is my closet, I can twist things my way. Furthermore, it is my right to hang up all my comfy sweatshirts, though some flaunt the logos of colleges I won’t be attending, while I let the turtleneck sweater my sister bought me for my birthday fall off its hanger and remain balled up on the floor. Who says I have to display that giant wool monster? I am allowed to make such decisions. It is my closet and I can organize it exactly as I want.

Such a feeling of empowerment washes over me after I finish the task. I step back, viewing my marvelous work, and debating whether or not to leave the doors open and display the results of an afternoon at work, or keep the doors shut, hiding my world from everyone. After cleaning my closet, I feel relaxed and prepared to face the bigger messes. So while I may never have full control over some aspects of my life, this OCD philosophy helps me cope. Yes, I understand that I sound insane, but frankly, I don’t care. I believe in closet organization.