The Art of Subtraction

I've been doing lots of subtracting lately: from my house, my work, and from life in general. Though long overdue, it sure feels good to get rid of all this Stuff, for lack of a better word.

@ HOME

Salad spinner, anyone?

Or a gingerbread house mold,
perhaps?

My husband and I recently went crazy and made a clean sweep of our kitchen/laundry room/pantry area. In true purge form, we got rid of those things that were no longer useful and gave them away to someone who might be able to use them. After all, I'm sure someone out there needs a salad spinner and a gingerbread house cast iron mold that weighs 100 pounds!

Now you see them...

Now you don't!

What remains is much easier to organize and reconfigure into now-plentiful spaces. And I'm no longer searching for potentially expensive ways to hide the laundry room from view, because now it looks great! (At least as far as laundry rooms go.) With more space on our hands, we found places to put laundry baskets so they are tucked away, out of sight.

@ WORK

I'm cleaning house in my coaching practice as well. I've been getting rid of business ideas and goals that are no longer useful. Letting them go bye bye means that they have served their original purpose, which was to get my creative juices flowing when I felt stuck, but now it's time to discard those plans and replace them with better, more relevant intentions.

One of my newest goals is to host  more workshops. Ironically, this addition to my business has made subtracting easier. Presentations help me streamline my communication efforts, an important factor in both explaining and rendering my coaching services. For example, when I'm in the middle of a presentation I can tell from facial expressions and nods which points are resonating and which ones need to be translated and simplified. (Or gotten rid of completely, not unlike my salad spinner.) By their reactions, the participants help me determine how to narrow down my delivery to only the messages that are most beneficial.

@ ME.com

My mental Meadow 

In my personal life (which is to say, my work/life balance,) I've been chipping away at extraneous time sucks that keep me very busy but not moving forward.  I'm reconfiguring my days, particularly my mid-to-late afternoons. During that time I try to focus on what is most important to me at that point in the day, which is spending focused time with my kids. (Note that I did not say, "quality time." For me, that phrase mainly conjures up a carefree afternoon of blissfully running barefoot in a grassy meadow. And that ain't happnin'.)

So where does that precious work time go instead? My husband and I have agreed that, since I'm foregoing work during that afternoon period, I can instead have some focused, uninterrupted time after dinner while he does kid duty. That way I am doing what both my business and brain need on a daily basis: quiet time to progress.


So Where Does the "Art" of Subtraction Come In?

I find that subtracting the unnecessary stuff from my life isn't particularly simple or well defined; rather, its a delicate, ongoing dance. A painting in progress. I know that life can be fun when a lot is going on. I enjoy my life when it feels full and there's a richness and depth to my days. New ideas, new products, possibilities and a steady flow of work and clients energize me.

But then there's the tipping point. How easily my daily dance can begin to look more frenzied than focused and flowing. Stuff accumulates: there are more calls to make, emails to write, tasks to do. Laundry baskets overflow, to-do lists lengthen, toilets break down, ideal situations change and somedays it seems as if the additions outweigh the subtractions.

"Eternal Clock"

But then there's that powerful, artful tool we all have access to: awareness. Being mindful of when it's time to say "no thanks" to overextending ourselves, pausing to listen and reflect the present, or limiting electronic stimuli (take your pick!) allows for us to get centered again.  By getting in the habit of subtracting as we go, we create a satisfying and sustainable rhythm to our life, a steady, energizing beat, rather than a constantly spinning, frenzied and pointless whirlwind of activity.

Which gets me back to why I got rid of the gingerbread house maker in the first place: baking a gingerbread house from scratch does not, in any way, fit into the rhythm of my life. Even when it's at a leisurely waltz.

But who knows. Perhaps I'll have this unheard of amount of downtime just before December 25th and I'll say to myself, "For the love of All That is Good and Holy, why, oh why did I get rid of that 100 pound cast iron gingerbread mold?!!!"

Just so you know, it's really not a good
gingerbread house unless it's wired for lighting.

Hey, crazier things have happened....