Cover

Dedication

For Jerry

1

SATURDAY

EMILY HARLOW WASN’T convinced that her sock drawer sparked joy. Her socks had once been a jumbled mess, stuffed in the top drawer of the mahogany bureau she’d inherited from her grandmother. She’d tried to follow the decluttering guru’s mantra, keeping only those socks that “spoke to her heart” and arranging them so that they stood at attention, paired and folded just so (starting at the toe) and sorted by color. Months later, bright and early on this muggy August morning, as she stood in her sunlit bedroom in shorts, a tank top, and flip-flops, the message those socks whispered to her heart was more about privilege than joy. Who on earth needed so many pairs of socks?

Still, sock-sorting had been life-changing. On a whim, as she’d done it she took a sequence of snapshots, then assembled the stills into a stop-motion video, a herky-jerky animated progression showing the transformation from chaotic to tidy, with a few socks saluting the camera in the process, and ending with a selfie of her grinning as she deposited a bag of discards in a Goodwill collection bin. Dissolve to a final shot of her newly ordered sock drawer.

Watching that video did spark joy. She’d posted it on Instagram. Thousands of views and shares later, the Boston Globe ran a human-interest story on Emily and her sock-sorting video. A local morning TV talk show invited her on. And before she knew it, she had people reaching out and asking her to help them declutter their drawers and closets and film the process.

That had been just before the school year ended, at a time when she was susceptible to any excuse not to go back to teaching the next fall. Once upon a time, she’d loved teaching. Loved setting up her classroom in September. Sorting her supply closet and stocking it with reams of paper and art supplies. Meeting twenty-five fresh-faced third-graders and introducing them to the wonders of fractions, the solar system, and Charlotte’s Web. But after eight years of the East Hartwell school system’s relentless focus on tests, along with well-meaning parents who valued grammar and spelling over creativity and problem-solving, teaching itself no longer spoke to her heart. Not in the uncomplicated way that her sock-sorting did.

The outpouring in response to her video and the prospect of a stream of clients willing to pay for help decluttering their living spaces felt like a minor miracle. In short order, Emily had tendered her resignation, barbecued stacks of lesson plans and grade books, and given away a ton of teachers’ guides and school supplies. She hoped she’d never have to smell another erasable marker or staple another corrugated border on a bulletin board.