Decluttering taught me the hard way: you need both emotion and logic

I spend my everyday life in sneakers, garden sandals, and rubber boots. When I go out, I usually choose sneakers because they’re flat, comfortable, easy, and go with almost everything. Then a situation arose where I wanted something a bit more polished.

So I peeked into the secret stash in my closet. On the bottom shelf, in shoeboxes, rest the pairs I don’t need by the front door. I had a very specific pair in mind from years ago—ones that are modest in many ways: stylish but more comfortable than heels, low enough and wide enough to wear all day.

Inside those boxes, I discovered many old acquaintances. The thick, towering heels that made their debut with me in the ’90s when we first went to the opera. The black pointed-toe heels I wore to the christening of someone who just graduated from high school this spring. The dainty ballet flats that would be perfect—if not for the incessant clacking that can drive you up the wall on a long day, and even new heel caps didn’t help. Then there are the red heels: I danced in them at a good friend’s wedding on a perfectly warm summer evening. But the modest pumps I was looking for were nowhere to be found.

I began to consider the possibilities. Could I have simply forgotten them somewhere? Did they develop some mysterious flaw that made me throw them out? In the end, I realized I must have found the pair so unremarkable that I decluttered it during some enthusiastic cleaning spree.

After this experience, I’ve developed a rule for decluttering: never give up something you only have one of. It might actually be good to keep a pair of slightly boring pumps in the closet.