Cleaning Out One's Room

"The more you have, the more you have to lose." –Bruce Lee

Artwork by Alex aka YouArtNow on Etsy

I want to revisit an idea that I touched on briefly in the past: the value of subtraction in one’s life—that is, the deeper gain that comes from loss. When I say “loss,” I mean the intentional loss of junk or baggage, whether it is in one’s room or in one’s mind.

I am writing from the perspective of someone who has exhibited mild hoarding tendencies. My family, like many families, has hoarded and passed down photos, trinkets, and miscellaneous junk—all in the vain hope of trying to achieve some sort of emotional security or continuity. The desire to achieve this security or continuity is understandable, but it is like trying to hold onto water.

Here is a quote by Shunryu Suzuki that I have cited before:

You should have a general house cleaning of your mind. You must take everything out of your room and clean it thoroughly. If it is necessary, you may bring everything back in again. You may want many things, so one by one you can bring them back. But if they are not necessary, there is no need to keep them…

Before you put something in your room, it is necessary for you to take out something. If you do not, your room will become crowded with old, useless junk.

This teaching seems to jive with what I have heard directly from my Zen teacher, Richard Collins, who describes Zen meditation as a “practice of loss.” He recently gave a two-part talk on the “tyranny of things” (the notion that our things can own us more than we own them, especially when we are attached to and identify with them). He said that this teaching applies to both material and immaterial things.

In the latter category, Zen is a prime example. One can build an identity as a “Zen practitioner”—just like one can build an identity around jiu jitsu, martial arts, film, creativity, and all sorts of other immaterial things. Over the years, I crafted an identity as a filmmaker, and in more recent years I integrated jiu jitsu into that public identity.

In terms of material things, I have already acquired quite a few after being in my new home for a few weeks. For instance, I have gone down a rabbit hole of Japanese-style artwork—including lots of cats. I even went out and bought a TV on the same day that my teacher had spoken about the “tyranny of things.” The irony!

I have made an effort to “clean house”—physically and mentally—a few times in recent years. I had to sift through and discard plenty of old stuff when I made a cross-country move in 2024. At the same time, I had to take an accounting of and clear out plenty of mental junk as well, and that process is ongoing.

When I try to clean out my mind, I often find more stuff to fill it up with. About a year ago, I was consuming podcasts, audiobooks, and articles focused on productivity and self-improvement. Think Andrew Huberman, James Clear, and Ryan Holiday. This sort of content can be beneficial—I have echoed or directly quoted it in Zen Jitsu.

However, I realized at a certain point that I was over-consuming this type of material—I was leaning too heavily on a search for external answers until I finally realized that I needed to search inwardly.

Around this time, I got back into formal Zen practice and met my teacher Richard, who spoke about the “practice of loss.” That phrase resonated with me instantly; it spoke to my desire to take stock of and let go of my accumulated physical and mental junk. In my search for external answers, I had often just added to the mental junk pile.

On the other hand, the writings of Charlotte Joko Beck and Pema Chödrön had helped me realize just how much I needed to “let go” and release some of that junk—a process that begins with patience and compassion toward oneself.

As I have written about in past articles, I have slowly come to realize that letting go means more than just throwing stuff out. You can’t just make it all disappear. In fact, when it comes to the baggage of the mind, you have to observe and work with all of it. This does not mean to ruminate or chase after one’s thoughts; it does mean to dispassionately observe the coming and going of thoughts as one would observe passing clouds on a cloudy day.

When you can sit still and observe yourself in a non-grasping, nonjudgmental way, then you can slowly begin to observe the mental clouds with detachment and perhaps even curiosity. I have made the mistake of wanting to transform my mind into a perfectly clear, unblemished sky—free from anxieties, doubts, or uncertainties. However, that is not how the human mind works—it is never a clear blue sky for too long. Freedom lies in being able to gracefully shift with the mind’s weather.

Circling back to the Suzuki quote, after a period of trying to “clean house” physically and mentally, I have realized that it is okay to bring some things back in. I can bring back some of the podcasts, for instance, as long as they bring me joy and meaning. I can admire the Zen cat paintings that I bought online. I can even have fun watching stuff on my new TV, after a year of not watching any TV at all. (Lately, I am enjoying the neo-noir camp of Tokyo Vice on HBO Max.)

In the past, I have sometimes gotten so deep into a passion—whether it was filmmaking, jiu jitsu, or meditation—that I lived a quasi-monk lifestyle and sequestered myself. Now, however, is the time to go out into the world and enjoy it; as we say in my Zen lineage, the whole world is the field of our practice. After all, we are lay people—not monastics or mountain dwellers.

In New Orleans, and especially in the neighborhood that I live in, the world is at my doorstep. Within a short distance from my home, one can find the rumble of St. Charles Avenue (with its centuries-old streetcar), the hubbub of Magazine Street, the debauchery of the French Quarter, or the lovely greenery of Audubon Park.

Cleaning out my room—physically and mentally—has been and continues to be a valuable, necessary exercise. That being said, I am ready to bring back or even add a few things. If the whole world is the field of our practice, I am ready to play the field, have fun, and take life seriously without taking myself too seriously.

As my Zen teacher Richard recently put it to me: “enjoy and lighten the Way.”