Who Says You Can’t?

Pour yourself a cup of coffee, Bestie. Let's talk for a few minutes.

At one point in my life, I threw away almost everything in my walk-in closet. And when I say everything, I don't mean I finally parted with three sweaters, a pair of jeans that hadn't fit since 1998, and those shoes that had been hurting my feet for fifteen years but were apparently too beautiful to release back into the universe. I mean almost everything—clothes, shoes, things I wore all the time, things I hadn't worn in years, and, of course, all the things I was definitely going to wear again someday. As most women know, someday is apparently a very busy woman. She attends an extraordinary number of events, changes sizes regularly, and requires an enormous wardrobe.

Judging by some of the reactions I received, you would have thought I'd announced that I was getting rid of indoor plumbing. You can't do that. What are you going to wear? Do you know how much money you've spent on those clothes? Nobody gets rid of everything. That last one especially caught my attention because I've since realized that nobody does that has probably prevented more interesting life decisions than we could ever count.

I’m proof that……apparently somebody does.

Before you start worrying that I'm going to suggest we all meet here next Sunday with industrial-size garbage bags, this isn't really a story about clothes, and I'm definitely not recommending that you go home and throw away everything you own. There are probably better—and certainly more environmentally responsible—ways to handle a closet these days. What I've never forgotten, though, is how I felt when it was over. I felt free.

By the time I found myself standing in that walk-in closet contemplating what probably seemed like a completely irrational decision to other people, quite a lot had already happened in my life. There were earlier experiences and much bigger decisions that eventually led me to that closet, and I'll share those stories when the time is right. For today, you only need to know that I had reached a turning point. I was finally beginning to find answers to the questions I'd been asking about the rules I'd spent most of my life following.

The closet was full, but I was tired of almost everything in it. Some things no longer fit my body, some no longer fit my life, and some probably never fit anything except the idea I had at the time of who I was supposed to be. There were clothes I'd bought for work, clothes I'd bought for occasions, and clothes I'd bought because they were on sale—which is the fascinating financial calculation women sometimes use to convince ourselves that spending $200 actually saved us $300. There were also things I kept simply because I'd spent too much money on them to justify getting rid of them, despite the fact that keeping them wasn't magically putting the money back into my bank account.

As I stood there looking at all of it, I realized I didn't want to organize it. I didn't want better hangers, matching baskets, a color-coded system, or one of those beautifully labeled containers announcing SCARVES in case I somehow forgot what a scarf looked like. I didn't want to figure out a better way to manage all the stuff I no longer wanted.

I wanted it gone.

Of course, the logical part of my brain immediately began presenting its case. I'd spent money on those things. Much of it was perfectly good. I might need some of it someday. Getting rid of almost everything was wasteful, impractical and, depending on whom you asked, possibly evidence that someone should check on me.

But underneath all those perfectly sensible arguments was a much simpler question.

Why can't I?

I've come back to that question many times since, and I've learned that sometimes there is an excellent answer. Maybe I can't afford something. Maybe it's unsafe. Maybe I've made a commitment that matters deeply to me. Maybe my decision would have consequences I'm genuinely unwilling to accept. Those are real reasons, and part of choosing yourself is also being honest about reality.

But people don't do that isn't a reason. What will everyone think? isn't much of one either. And when another person says, I would never do that, I've learned to remind myself that they're telling me something about their life, not necessarily mine. That's one of the most freeing distinctions I've learned to make. When someone says, You can't do that, sometimes what they really mean is, I can't imagine myself doing that. Those are two entirely different statements.

So I did it. I emptied the closet, and there was something about standing in that nearly empty space that felt completely disproportionate to what I'd actually accomplished. They were clothes, after all. I hadn't climbed Everest, cured a disease, or negotiated world peace. I had simply cleaned out a closet rather aggressively, but somehow I felt lighter.

Looking back, I understand that feeling differently now. I wasn't simply getting rid of clothes; I was beginning to give myself permission to question what I was carrying and why I was carrying it. How much did I actually want? How much was there because I'd already invested in it? How much belonged to an earlier version of me? And how much was I continuing to hold onto simply because letting it go seemed too extreme? It turns out those are useful questions for things that don't come on hangers.

There were other areas of my life I would eventually have to examine just as closely—relationships, expectations, obligations, definitions of success, and ideas I'd carried for years about what a good life was supposed to look like. Some of the decisions that followed were far more difficult than emptying a walk-in closet, and some probably looked even more extreme to people standing on the outside.

Those are Coffee Conversations for another day.

What I want to talk about today is the word “can't”, because I think we use it far more often than we realize. Sometimes can't really does mean can't, but other times it means shouldn't, I'm afraid to, people will think I'm crazy, or I've never seen anyone else do it. Sometimes it simply means that what we're considering falls outside the unwritten rules we've followed for most of our lives.

The older I've gotten, the more interested I've become in figuring out which one I'm actually saying. There is tremendous freedom in discovering that something you've classified as impossible isn't impossible at all. It may be uncomfortable. It may be unconventional. It may require courage, planning, sacrifice, or accepting that some people simply aren't going to understand it. But none of those things automatically means you can't do it.

Maybe for you it isn't a closet. Maybe you've always wanted to travel somewhere but no one wants to go with you. Maybe you're considering changing careers at an age when everyone assumes you should be settling in. Maybe you want to sell the house, take the class, start the business, make a new friend, end an obligation that no longer makes sense, or spend an entire Saturday doing absolutely nothing productive without feeling the need to submit a written explanation to anyone.

I don't know what your thing is, and I'm certainly not suggesting that every unconventional idea is automatically a good one. Believe me, I've had enough questionable ideas in my lifetime to know better than to make that recommendation. I'm simply suggesting that the next time you hear yourself say, I can't do that, you stop long enough to ask yourself two questions:

Who says? And why?

If there's a real answer, respect it. But if the answer is simply that other people wouldn't understand, that nobody you know has done it before, or that it doesn't fit the life you've always imagined you're supposed to live, maybe it's worth another look. I've learned that some of the decisions that have ultimately brought me the greatest peace began with someone—sometimes even me—thinking, You can't do that.

Turns out, sometimes you can.

You don't have to do anything about it this week. It isn't about making a reckless decision just to prove that you can. It's simply about being honest with yourself about the difference between can't and I'm choosing not to. That distinction matters, because one leaves you powerless while the other reminds you that you're making a choice. And sometimes realizing that you still have a choice is the first step toward making a different one.

If this Coffee Conversation has inspired you to empty your entire walk-in closet, however, perhaps sleep on it first. If you still want to do it in the morning…..go for it.

Until next time,

Kat