It occurred to me while cleaning out my closet the other day that I should toss out most everything. It wasn't that the clothes no longer fit (although some were a tad tight), but they had more than outlived their usefulness. Hanging inside several garment bags were three St. John suits worn for book tours and other engagements, a favorite maternity dress bought for me in Paris by my husband, several sparkly cocktail outfits, a Diane Von Furstenburg jersey wrap, a bag of panty hose, and eight pairs of high heels. This was the wardrobe of a public person, not of a cloistered writer who lives by the sea. If truth be told, I really need nothing more than jeans, sweaters, Birkenstocks, and for that rare occasion, an Eileen Fisher ensemble. Keeping the other stuff felt somehow like clinging to a past.

I began stripping the hangars and tossing my outdated wardrobe into a garbage bag feeling as though my world was becoming instantaneously uncluttered. I kept thinking, I'm not her anymore, and it felt so good. This simple task symbolized the cleaning out of an old life to make room for a new one.  

For sure, it had been a heady decade with me running fast and playing multiple roles: being a grandmother, caring and adoring an aging mother, getting used to having a semi-retired husband, embracing an unexpected memoir writing career and with it enlarging my circle of very unfinished women.

Even so, there was a certain poignancy that overcame me as I stared at the empty closet and realized how much was over. The publishing world had become precarious and electronic, making navigation through its murky waters strange and difficult.  

Although it was a blessing that my mother was relieved of her suffering and died one day in May, it has been hard to let go of her.

The grandchildren, who once could be mesmerized by my

magic were quickly growing up and moving into their own worlds.  

And I, horror of horrors, am aging!  

January is, after all the season to throw out the old and welcome the new, is it not? Haven't I been blessed with a tabula raza (blank tablet) on which to write a new script?  

As I head off to a nearby thrift shop with multiple bags piled high on the back seat, the word simplify comes to mind. I have no desire for a new wardrobe or a new chaotic life. The "space" in my closet is urging me to make more "space" for me. Just now I will be content to take a cleanse for the health of my body, find some quality time in nature to calm my edgy spirit, and while I'm at it, search for new avenues to energize my mind. Suddenly there is clarity where once there was confusion.