time.

Minimalism isn't just about taking stock of physical stuff; it also forces an examination of the mental, emotional, and spiritual clutter we carry around with us every day. In my case, that kind of clutter has always found its way onto my calendar.

Do you remember the high school yearbook process at the end of senior year? Everyone had to submit a list of their activities for grades 9-12 to be displayed next to their name and photo in the book.  Most (normal) people had a list that looked like this: Jane Doe -- soccer 9-12, band 9-10, tutoring 12. But not me. My list was massive. The damn thing took up nearly half a page, and read more like an obituary than a list of high school achievements. She will be remembered fondly for her participation in the Jr. Miss pageant, and her contributions to the 9th grade orchestra.

Gag. I think I just threw up a little bit in my mouth.

But, you guys, I was proud of my list. I went so far as to submit a revision when I realized I'd left something off. No one in my homeroom was allowed to have a list longer than mine. I WAS QUEEN OF PAGE 37! LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

And, sadly, the queen did indeed live a long, long time. In the nearly two decades that followed, I accumulated commitments at a frenetic pace. I prided myself on never having a "free" day or night, and was usually booked out a solid 2-3 months in advance. My over-achiever schedule worked out just fine 80% of the time, but every few months I'd face a major crash, and would be forced to take a couple of sick days to recharge and start again. Come to think of it, I got sick a lot. I never gave anything 100% of my energy or focus. And, worst of all, I started hating the extracurriculars I used to enjoy.

In short, I had the same problem on my calendar that I had in my closet.

And so, it was time to minimize. Just as Scott and I had examined our possessions, I started examining my commitments. What was a necessity? Well, my job, for one. My volunteer commitment to the Big Sister program. And the two choreography projects I already agreed to for 2014. Those are all set in stone. But everything else? Pretty much optional.

Slowly, I began to delete things from my calendar. I decided not to attend a training I was considering, and instead penciled it in for later this year. I began to turn down social invitations and scale back on the number of shows I attend. I spent some time thoughtfully considering my lessons, classes, and other recurring activities. I'm not gonna lie -- I made some tough decisions in the process. But guess what? For the first time in my life, I now have "free time." And it turns out that "free time" is actually "awesome time." Free time means cooking dinner with your husband, and sipping cider on your porch as the sun sets. Free time means trying a new yoga class with a friend, or an afternoon nap with your cat. Free time allows you to be spontaneous; when a cool person you'd like to get to know better posts a last-minute invite on Facebook, it means you get to claim her spare ticket. It frees you up to revise some prose poetry, or read a detective novel, or do your laundry before it spills out of the bin and onto the floor. But most importantly, it gives you time and space to think about how you'd ideally like to be using your time and space.

For me, it meant putting theatre on the back burner for a while, and directing my energy to other things. Horseback riding, for one. I was devastated when my parents made me give up riding as a kid (it's not a cheap hobby), and swore that one day I would get back into the literal saddle. Now, with my newfound abundance of free time, I've been able to do just that. I'm into my third week of training at a local stable, and it's incredibly fulfilling. I'm so happy I have the time to explore this particular passion once a week. But you know what else is fulfilling? Coming home after work, realizing it's a beautiful night, and deciding to throw on your chucks and go for a walk with your husband. Because you can.

I did that tonight, you guys. And it was so much better than anything in my high school yearbook.