Clear drawers, clear mind: A Japanese approach to anxiety

I installed a set of clear drawers recently to keep the things I reach for most: medication, supplements, those small daily essentials, in one visible, accessible place. My husband is always a little amused when I come home with yet another organizing tool, but for me, there’s something genuinely calming about creating visible order. Sliding those clear drawers into place and seeing everything arranged inside felt like a tiny exhale. It reminded me so much of Japan, where organizing isn’t just tidying, it’s a form of gentle care, a way of making life feel smoother and less overwhelming.

That small moment made me realize how much I rely on order to soothe my mind. Not perfection. Not a Pinterest-level aesthetic. Just the grounded, everyday comfort of things having a place, and me knowing where that place is. It’s amazing how seeing what I need, clearly, simply, quietly lowers the background noise in my mind.

From there, I found myself thinking about how this instinct has been with me for years, long before the clear drawers, long before I ever talked openly about anxiety. It’s something that began taking shape when I lived in Japan. Back then, I noticed that whenever life felt overwhelming, I would start clearing spaces. A countertop. A drawer. A corner of a room. At first, it was just intuitive, something my hands did before my mind caught up. But I always felt better afterward. Lighter. More grounded.

So when Marie Kondo’s KonMari method arrived and swept the world, it felt surprisingly familiar. I didn’t feel like I was discovering something new, I felt seen. Someone had finally put words to what I had already been doing to calm the fog that sometimes settles in my mind: removing what weighs me down, and choosing to keep only what sparks that tiny lift in my chest. Joy, relief, clarity,they’re all forms of the same emotion.

Living in Japan deepened that understanding through other concepts I didn’t have names for at the time. One was danshari: refuse, release, separate. It helped me understand that clutter isn’t just physical. It’s the mental loops, the “just in case” thinking, the invisible collection of obligations we never stop carrying. Learning to let things go, physically and mentally, became a quiet act of self-protection.

And then, one of my favorite lessons: ma, the space between things. The idea that emptiness isn’t lacking, it's breathing room. It’s what gives shape and meaning to everything around it. Japan taught me to appreciate not just cleared surfaces, but the feeling of space itself. When there is room around me, there is room inside me too.

Now, instead of closing the post with a reflection, here’s an invitation:
If you’re feeling even a small hum of anxiety today, try choosing one tiny space: your bedside table, your bag, a drawer you haven’t opened in a while. Straighten it. Clear it. Create just a bit of ma. See how it feels to give yourself that little patch of calm. Sometimes the smallest bit of order is enough to soften the whole day.