When it doubt, throw it out. Or donate. Not just talking clothes here.

I’m getting new carpet this week. Paying for things like new carpet, or water heaters or tires…necessities to your quality of life and safety, in the case of tires, decidedly do not bring me joy.

Surprisingly, installing new carpet is not as depicted on the Empire Carpet commercial. Perhaps you have seen it…the Empire guy enters the room, and, as he apparently has super human strength, he is carrying an entire bolt of carpet by himself. He shakes the carpet out like a beach blanket, and as he does, all the furniture in unison pops into the air a foot to make room for the carpet. False advertising. Furniture, outside of that in Linda Blair’s bedroom, does not levitate. And certainly not in unison.

“Sorry,” the carpet sales guy tells me. “And,” he says, “you are going to have to clear the floors of the closets.” He says this like he has just eaten cottage cheese about four days past the sell by date. His face is contorted. He’s also been in my closet to measure it. I opt not to apologize for the wreck that is my closet floor and instead just avert my eyes in shame and acknowledge that I know it needs to be cleared for the installers. (Admitting there is a problem is the first step, right?)

As with everything in life, I choose to see the opportunity. To clear, clean and purge. Much has been written lately about Marie Kondo’s “KonMari” method of organizing and de-cluttering. In a nutshell, as you touch each item you own, you ask yourself if it brings you joy. If it doesn’t, you thank it for its usefulness and say goodbye.

It’s not dissimilar from what I tell my daughters when shopping for clothes. In order for me to buy something, they have to love it…how they feel, how it makes them look…or we don’t buy it. Pre-emptive fashion joy, if you will.

So, I support the concept, much as thanking inanimate objects that I no longer love is a little weird to me. “It’s not you, purple cowl neck sweater from the first time cowl necks were popular…it’s me. I hope we can still be friends. And I hope whoever picks you up at Goodwill buys the matching legwarmers, too. I’d hate for you guys to be separated.”

At one point, this sweater (and hairstyle) would have brought me joy. I will thank 1983 for its usefulness and say goodbye.

What brings you joy is an important question…that extends beyond the floor of the closet.

Why not declutter the rest of your life in the same manner, starting with relationships.

If you live by the motto that life is too short to drink cheap wine, as it is possible I might, it’s certainly too short to waste with people who bring out your own “I ate bad cottage cheese” face.

At times I feel like Dorothy when she is being held captive by the Wicked Witch. I don’t have an Auntie Em or the ruby slippers…but I do have the feeling that I am sitting with a very large hourglass. With each grain of sand goes a bit of my most precious resource…my time. (Anybody else just hear the voice over: “Like sand through the hourglass, these are the Days of Our Lives.)

I have less than six years before the last of my daughters leaves for college. And I will spend every possible moment I can with them, even it it means doing things I would never choose for myself, like watching “The Bachelor” or driving to 7-11 for Slurpees or eating at the Olive Garden. Because those are a few of the things they like. And time with them brings me joy.

In the last two weeks, I recommitted to finding windows for people who make me better for having spent time with them. Two dinners, a week apart, both spur of the moment. Bob Seger was right when he wrote, “see some old friends, good for the soul.”

These dinners were instructive when I got a text over the weekend from someone who decidedly does not bring me joy. Largely because our conversations generally are an infomercial. About him. A friendfomercial. I get his usual answer to the “how are you?” question: “I’m great. Changing lives. Going on a speaking tour. Probably going to be Knighted at the end of the month.” (Slight writer’s embellishment. But only slight.)

“We should get together soon,” he texts.

“Yep,” I say. With a “I just ate bad cottage cheese” emoji.

I mentally thanked him for his usefulness. And said goodbye.

And that brought me joy.