This Relationship Doesn’t Bring Me Joy

You were right: I’ve been closed-minded. After you donated a stack of my late aunt’s books to make space, I finally understand the value of tidying up. Sadly, I’ll be getting rid of more than my old Meshuggah CDs.

For years I’ve been like the bull-headed curmudgeons on tv, stubbornly clinging to things I didn’t need. Then a soft-spoken guru’s favorite acolyte decided to show me the way. Every time you thanked one of my college sweatshirts before binning it, I came a little closer to seeing the light. Now we can both show new people proper folding technique. Separately.

With KonMari, I can tell the difference between clutter and a necessity with a glance. My roommate, who contributes to the rent, is a necessity. My partner, who loops Netflix shows about well-dressed frauds instead of looking for a job, is clutter. It’s time to pour love into your phone number, thank it, and put it away.

I’ll admit, I was skeptical when you said my bigotry against Shinto philosophy kept me from understanding Marie Kondo. It was a curious thing to hear from someone that said I should “totally dye my knaps like Lil Yachty” and thought Megyn Kelly got a “raw deal.” Now I see that every object has a spirit. There’s a force within my new Tinder profile that I should nurture and respect.

It’s been lovely listening to you summarize one of the most widely-circulated reality tv shows in America. It really has. But to maintain a minimalist lifestyle, I have to move on before you discover The Masked Singer. You’ll find your things in a meticulously organized box by the back door.

Thank you.

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