On it lives a variety of crap. Board games, one of those head massager things that looks like a robot octopus, a set of mini dumbbells, loose change, pine cones, an often-ignored fruit bowl, a lamp in the shape of a dachshund and my personal favourite, two amazing crocheted effigies of my wife and I on our wedding day, made by a friend.
The Five Tiers of Shit once belonged to a classmate of my wife’s when she was a student about 12 years ago. He was moving out of his student house and gave it to her. It’s been with us ever since, in four homes and counting.
The thing looks, as you might imagine from its nickname, awful. It gathers dust really easily and is at the bottom of the scale when it comes to quality. But when something lives with you for that long, it becomes, well, part of the furniture. You stop noticing it. It’s just that pile of crap in the corner.
As we’ve been getting rid of stuff, the amount of items living on The Five Tiers has dwindled, as have the amount of things on shelves in other rooms. They have gone from piled-high, to normal-looking, to now quite sparse.
So yesterday, I suddenly realised we had enough room elsewhere in the house to relocate the stuff on The Five Tiers and get that damn shelving unit out of our lives for good.
It’s now gone, donated to a charity shop which takes in furniture. In its place stands a lovely, simple floor lamp, shining a spotlight on a big pile of nothing in the corner of the room.
And don’t fear, the crocheted effigies are settling into a new home upstairs. Minimalism is all about working out what objects mean the most to you, and slinging the rest. Those little champs are here to stay.
But it’s made me think about the crap in our homes that’s been there so long, we just stop seeing it. This stuff enters our lives and with no real reason to get rid of it, we let it build up and up, moving it from house to house.
Get it gone.