The rage washed over me swiftly. Thumbing through Instagram at work, I paused on a serene photo of the most neatly minimal closet I’d ever seen.
“50 items!” It taunted. “That’s all I own!”
The poster went on to enumerate how few shoes, coats, and even loungewear she possesses — without a single box or bin hiding out of the frame for another season.
Face reddening with every word, I furiously began to tap out a reply, which I eventually abandoned because the neanderthal side of my brain calmed down.
The offense I felt at her post was difficult to…
Why is it, do you think, that when most things in our lives are going well, we obsess over all of the imperfections in other areas?
I certainly don’t know, because that was me a few years ago: living in New York City with a brand new tech job and a reliable, good-enough live-in relationship. Back then, you could still smooch your friends’ faces, stumble out of sticky venues, and fly 3,000 miles to see Mom and Dad just because. Things were going, more or less, great.
But life, if you’re me, is about solving problems. So naturally I looked…