​My Stuff, My Mess, The Exit Strategy (aka, Let's Not Leave This For "Sandra")

Alright folks, let's have a little chat. A slightly morbid, but ultimately liberating chat. We're going to talk about death cleaning. Yes, you read that right. It's exactly what it sounds like: decluttering your earthly belongings as you approach the big… well, you know.

​Now, before you picture me in a moth-eaten shroud, dramatically tossing porcelain dolls into a bin (though, honestly, the clowns ARE creepy), let me assure you, I'm not packing my bags for the great beyond just yet. But my time spent cleaning headstones and monuments always gets me thinking. What happens to all the stuff? What would "Sandra" have had to deal with?

​Sandra, bless her cotton socks, is a sweetheart. But she also once spent a week trying to figure out how to operate my vintage VHS player. Imagine her wading through your collection of National Geographic magazines from 1988, your box of tangled Christmas lights that haven't worked since Y2K, and the sheer mountain range of half-finished craft projects. The horror!

​That's when the concept of "döstädning" – Swedish for "death cleaning" – really clicked. It's not about dwelling on the grim, it's about being considerate. It's about leaving a manageable, even pleasant, legacy for the people you care about, instead of a chaotic archaeological dig of your life.

​Let's be honest, we all have that drawer. You know the one. It's a black hole of mismatched socks, instruction manuals for things we no longer own, and those tiny Allen keys that come with flat-pack furniture and then immediately vanish into another dimension. Multiply that drawer by the number of rooms in your house, add in the attic, the basement, and that shed that's slowly being swallowed by ivy, and you've got a potential biohazard zone for your loved ones to navigate while they're also trying to process their grief.

​The beauty of death cleaning, at least in my slightly warped perspective, is that it's… empowering! It's a chance to take stock of your life, reminisce over those dusty photo albums (maybe even finally label them!), and decide what truly matters. Do I really need seven different spatulas? Probably not. Does someone else deserve to find that beautiful hand-knit scarf I haven't worn in years? Absolutely.

​It's also strangely freeing. Getting rid of the clutter – the physical and, by extension, some of the mental – feels like shedding a skin. It's making space for the present, even as you acknowledge the inevitable future. Plus, let's be real, who wants their last act on earth to be remembered as "the person with the suspiciously large collection of Beanie Babies"? (No judgement if that's you, but maybe consider rehoming a few?)

​So, where do you start? Don't panic and try to change your entire existence in a weekend. Think small. Tackle that dreaded drawer. Go through your closet and be honest: have you worn that sequined top since the Spice Girls were a thing? Probably not. Donate it! Someone else will rock it.

​Maybe start with your digital life too. Do your loved ones know your passwords? What about all those random files on your computer? A little digital decluttering can save a lot of future headaches.

​The point isn't to erase your life, it's to curate it. It's about leaving behind the treasures and letting go of the… well, the junk. It's a final act of love and consideration, a way of saying, "I cared about you, right down to the dusty box of commemorative spoons."

​And who knows? Maybe in the process, you'll rediscover something wonderful, a forgotten memory tucked away in a shoebox. Or maybe you'll just feel lighter, less burdened by the weight of all your stuff.

​So, join me, friends. Let's embrace the (slightly morbidly funny) art of death cleaning. Let's make life a little easier for poor Sandra, and for all the Sandras out there. And who knows, maybe we'll even find that missing Allen key along the way. Just don't expect me to know what it goes to. Some mysteries are best left unsolved.