Over the last few weeks, Bart and I have spent a great deal of time cleaning out sections of our apartment in order to make room for some baby stuff and to increase the amount of storage space accessible to us.
Of course, Bart and I are pretty minimalist to begin with - we don't like to have a lot of stuff and we're both quick to throw things away or send them off to Goodwill. We got rid of a bunch of stuff when we moved from Texas and even more when we arrived in Boston, and now we're finding even more things to part with. It's a good feeling.
This week's project is the giant bookcase in our entry way (displayed in all its glory here).
We realized that if we cleared off the last two levels, we could put in about ten baskets in which to store baby items, toys, games, and other various things that need a home.
Which meant a serious weed through our books.
Look, I know this is an abomination to some people - the idea of getting rid of books for any reason is just horrifying. And certainly there are some books that I will not part with for any amount of space. The hard back set of Little House books my mom bought for a quarter each at the local library when I was six. The Louisa May Alcott series that Bart's dad kindly found the missing piece of and sent to me. My copy of These is My Words, which I feel certain I'll reread many times over the coming decades.
But there are so so many books that we simply will never read again. Books that we've never read or wish we hadn't read or don't have any use for. Books that we can obtain from any public library should we ever DESPERATELY need them again.
And books that we then don't have back up and unpack every time we move (which will probably be many more times over our lifetime). Books we don't have to dust or store or shove aside for new, more beloved books.
All books are not created equal. Just by virtue of being a book doesn't mean a particular volume is worth keeping.
Which is why later this week, Bart and I will be hauling some 150+ books to our local library's book sale. And then come home to our gloriously unstuffed bookshelves.