Happy Anniversary to Me and Marie (And Why I Owe Her an Apology)

Dear Marie Kondo,

I owe you an apology. And possibly a fruit basket.

Ten years ago, I picked up your little book because literally everyone and their mother was talking about it. Not because I thought I needed it; I was already organized, thank you very much. I picked it up because I had to see what all the hype was about. And, possibly, in my arrogance, as a way to prove that I didn't need what everyone else did.

Gulp.

The book started off well enough, but very quickly I found myself thinking "are you ok, Marie?" Throwing out your family's belongings? Having emotional conversations with your socks? Marie, honey, I thought you needed professional help, not a book deal.

And that you were writing about it so openly? Like, who has time for color coding your drawers?

(Spoiler alert: Apparently, um, me. Who knew?!?)

So there I was with so much concern that by the time I got to the method section I almost put the book down with complete relief that I was right: I did not need this system of organizing, and my life was not in need of any life changing magic.

And yet, I read on, just a bit.

And something clicked.

I did have a lot of clothes. Like, a suspicious amount of clothes for someone who works from home. Maybe I'd just try purging one closet and that folding thing you do. You know, for science.

Turns out, one innocent clothing purge led to another, and before I knew it, I had reorganized my entire way of living. And Marie? I've never looked back.

Here's the thing: you were right.

And the benefits have been so much more than some organized closets. The results really were, well, life changing.

So thank you, Marie, for teaching me the following:

Everything has a home, and everything goes home. Turns out, when you're not wasting time in the morning sorting through your closet to find something to wear, you have time for more important things. Like making that double sugar-free salted caramel almond milk latte Nespresso. Milk foam brings me joy.

My house became this peaceful, quiet, calm sanctuary. Who knew that visual clutter was giving me mental clutter? (You did, Marie. You literally wrote about it. I just thought you were being dramatic.)

I spend exactly zero minutes searching for things. Do you know how much time that is over a decade? Probably enough to learn a new language. Or at least watch Schitt's Creek start to finish again.

My clothes drawers are always … easy. Revolutionary concept, I know. But Marie, those little folded rectangles of clothing standing at attention? Pure genius. My underwear drawer looks like a tiny army ready for battle.

I can pack for a work trip in 20 minutes. Because everything is organized, visible, and I actually know what I own. No more "Oh, I forgot I had this!" moments while digging through chaos.

My morning routine became effortless. When you're not excavating your closet to find something decent to wear, getting dressed stops feeling like an archaeological expedition.

The craziest part? I thought having "a place for everything" would make my life more rigid. Instead, it made everything easier. Who would have thought that knowing exactly where your scissors live would be so liberating?

(Again, yes, you knew, Marie. But I had no clue. None.)

And the whole "Sparks joy" business? I hate shopping for clothes. I used to say "good enough" in an attempt to get out of the clothing store faster, only to have that same "good enough" sit in my closet for years until it became good enough for Goodwill.

Now? If I'm not 110% solid in my decision and I don't feel joy? It stays on the rack.

So here's my formal apology: You weren't crazy, Marie. You were just ten years ahead of the rest of us who thought we had it all figured out.

Thanks for teaching me that sometimes the most ridiculous-sounding advice turns out to be exactly what you didn't know you needed.

Forever grateful (and properly folded), A Reformed Skeptic

P.S. My sock drawer still makes me irrationally happy every morning. You did that.