What we keep when we throw away an object
(updated July 2026)
I stumbled upon The Magic of Organizing by Marie Kondo by chance, in a department store. It was probably the right time: my apartment was starting to get seriously cluttered and I didn't really know where to begin.
I read the book in a few hours. The method wasn't magical. It didn't allow you to fold objects to make them invisible nor to pack them better into the back of a closet. The idea was much simpler: an object must be used or truly matter to us. Otherwise, maybe it’s time to let it go.
Marie Kondo's version was sometimes quite brutal. An object unused for several months? Out. A book bought a long time ago but never opened? Out too. I still prefer to give, sell, or recycle what can still be useful rather than directly filling garbage bags.
But the result remains the same: you must get objects out of your home, not just move them from a closet to a box that will go to the basement.
That's where I am quite bad. I always had a tendency to accumulate gadgets, books, letters, and memories about which I didn't really know what to do. They weren't useful, but throwing them away gave me the impression of removing a part of what they represented.
The passage on gifts particularly struck me. A gift can leave without rejecting the person who gave it to us. It brought us pleasure when we received it. It has already fulfilled its role. We don't need to keep it forever to prove our gratitude.
Same for memories. An object can remind us of a person, an era, or a younger version of ourselves. But the memory doesn't really live in the object. It just serves as a shortcut to access it.
I had a rather radical demonstration of this idea with an old trunk filled with letters and belongings from my childhood. I had trouble getting rid of it, so I left it in a damp cellar, postponing the decision.
The cellar decided for me.
When I found the trunk, the dampness had destroyed a large part of its contents. Everything went straight to the trash. It was a shame, but my memory didn't disappear with the moldy cardboard.
Since then, I try to distinguish the objects I keep because they still have a place in my life from those I keep only because I never made the decision to get rid of them.
It's not really organizing. It's more about choosing what we still accept to carry.