I am no expert on home decluttering. In fact, I currently own three separate jars of peanut butter, each about a quarter full. They're not even different varieties of peanut butter, which might make it excusable—they're all the creamy, natural kind. Opening the doors to my tiny pantry is about as relaxing as walking blindfolded into a paintball arena: Various bags of flour, bottles of olive oil, jars of anchovies, and bulk bin sacks of freeze-dried strawberries from a decade ago threaten to topple from the precarious stacks I've constructed to keep everything entrenched.
There's no easy solution, short of using my bedside table as spice storage, or disavowing half of the condiments I regularly dragoon into sauces and dressings; I've spent a lot of time staring vacantly into my over-stuffed pantry, considering options.
And the pantry's just one of many decluttering conundrums I have in my home. Don't get me started on the stray sock bag, or the drawer where we keep batteries, passports, and, inexplicably, old ribbons and charging cords.
That's why I know an easy organizing win when I see it. Like my latest mark: the medicine cabinet. I realized it was a prime target for decluttering one recent morning as a bottle of Advil came flying off a top shelf, ricocheted against a shaving razor, rebounded on a Band-Aid box, and hit me lightly in the center of my forehead, as if to say, "Wake up—you can't live like this."
Unlike my pantry, or the Drawer of Cords and Tangled Doom, the medicine cabinet is well-suited for quick, streamlined decluttering. It's small (highly tackle-able), and contains lots of the type of clutter that has resulted from acquiring useless duplicates of the same items, versus the type of clutter resulting from a variety of different items. Plus, I look inside it every morning and every night—so, ostensibly, changing that view to a pleasant one would, in addition to making my life logistically easier, have the sort of intangible benefits that I really believe will one day lead to me having a relaxed, glowy demeanor that makes people think I always just got back from vacation.
If you've got 10 minutes, you can tackle my medicine cabinet clean-up plan, too.
Give the shelves a wipe-down; if you've got a mirror in there, wipe that down, too.
Put anything that can be consolidated (like bandages) into a single container or package, for each genre.
Get rid of anything you truly don't use—you are not going to start using it, ever (hi, adorably small shampoo bottles from a hotel stay in 1995).
All prescription bottles and over the counter medicines can hang out on the same quarter of a shelf.
Toss any duplicate or back-up products that can't be combined (like that second tube of toothpaste you preemptively bought) into a storage box in your nearest closet, or nestle it within under-sink shelving.
Forlorn, cleaned-out jam jar that lost its matching lid years ago, meet your new tenant: Q-tips.
Tiny jars left over from condiments are the perfect size to fit on medicine cabinet shelves and house essentials like bandages, cotton swaps, disposable razors, those four tubes of Neosporin, and bobby pins. This will allow you to decant items from larger packaging (like those Q-tip supplies that seem to last six years) and stow the larger packaging somewhere out of eyesight.
Stock your medicine cabinet like you would stock a hotel room with toiletries for a week or two. Giant, unseemly supply packages can get tucked behind closed doors, as you parcel out a manageable amount into one of those pretty aforementioned jars.
I've lived in apartments wherein the bathrooms lacked any closet or cabinet space—don't give up! Hang a few shallow floating shelves to make a plein-air, open-faced medicine cabinet to show off your newfound organizational skills.