Okay, I’ll tell you. It’s a picture of the thirteen pocketbooks that I am getting out of my closet, out of my house, out of my life. Out, out, out! Getting these bags into the hands of others who want them may not make a noticeable difference in all the stuff we have in our house, but it is leaving a lovely space in the simplicity pocket of my psyche.
Each year I go through the plastic storage box of accessories in the back of my closet and apply the same criteria for keeping each treasure. The first criteria, that I might use it sometime, makes a little sense, but the second one, that I like it, is pretty pathetic. After all, I bought the bags, so of course I like them. Duh, I don’t buy stuff I hate.
But this year simplicity is driving my decisions, at least those concerning some of my material possessions, at least those concerning my pocketbooks. Quite simply, it is very unlikely that I would use any of these bags ever again. I don’t have places to go that call for nifty little outfits with accompanying pocketbooks. But more to the point, one all-occasion pocketbook is the simple way to go. It eliminates that agonizing, time-consuming task of starting each day deciding which one to use; and, it abolishes the tedious task of transferring pencils, notebooks, tissues, lipstick, etc. from bag to bag.
Pick up my simple, little black backpack and off I go.