6. Dopamine mining my closet

I am fairly certain I have undiagnosed attention-deficit disorder. I often struggle with executive dysfunction and, because I live alone, I tend to give in to the temptation of procrastination, making it difficult to follow through on intended tasks without an overwhelming amount of effort.

That effort looks like this: I write things on my wall calendar with check boxes to mark. I try to start my day early so I can have time to relax in the evening, guilt-free. I stay up late, clinging to a fledgling thread of motivation that hits me at 10:00 p.m. for absolutely no reason. I will FaceTime my friends and do “body doubling” or “mirroring” to stay accountable and on track. So far this year, that friend has been Heidi Cannon.

Heidi is a NYC-based stylist. We know each other, as of now, only through our phones. Still, it’s been a beautifully blossoming bond that results in hours-long FaceTime calls—calls that simultaneously validate one another’s delusions and bring each other back down to earth.

Between these numerous FaceTime calls on a Monday—when both of us had fully open schedules—Heidi was moving her wardrobe into a new room in her loft apartment. I decided I ought to finally clean out my closet. Why not? I had the time… and I desperately wanted to distract myself from vaping cravings. (I’m almost three weeks no vape, by the way!)

I started pulling every hanging piece of clothing out of my closet, tossing them onto a pile of freshly washed clothes lying on my bed—another motivation tactic to get me to fold them. Alone in the silence of my room, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the task I had arbitrarily assigned myself.

“Fuck. Why did I do this???” I thought and then later lamented aloud when I answered Heidi’s video call.

In her Libra-ness, she soothed my neurosis and encouraged me not to give up—explaining that it would be the ultimate gratification once I used my handheld wireless vacuum on the piles of dust and cat hair that had accumulated over the last four years. I would no longer have to wipe them off my black clothing and shoes, and I’d actually be able to find the pieces I had in mind for a potential outfit.

Slowly but expressively, my wardrobe began to transform over just a few hours. I let go of pieces that no longer served me—items that carried energy from past Margarets I have evolved away from. It was a thoughtful process, not done in a brash attempt to purge. On the contrary, I considered the potential of each piece I might have overlooked and tossed in the giant garbage bags as a crucial part of an outfit I had yet to conceptualize with Heidi’s help.

I hung up my vintage T-shirts—the ones I typically dug for in the basket of folded fabric piles—because they needed to be front and center. Since some are nearing twenty-five years old, they also deserved better care. I organized by clothing type and hung everything up in a way that gave me a full sense of my wardrobe.

Suddenly, I was hyped about getting dressed. It wasn’t until I completed this full reorg that I realized I had been missing the dopamine rush of putting together an absolute heater of a fit. It’s given me a new motivation to get out and participate in my big, quirky, and beautiful life.

It’s my kind of butterfly effect. If I’m excited about the clothes in my closet, I’m more likely to say yes to gallery openings or dinner with an old friend. I’m more likely to be excited for work at my part-time job and will clock in with a positive mental attitude that emanates throughout every interaction I have while on my shift.

Heidi has received outfit pictures ever since. After all, she’s a stylist and when I’m getting dressed I feel a bit more empowered to experiment and wear something out of my ordinary to see what combination of colors, textures, and materials I can come up with next.

It seems I’ve yet again tricked myself into dodging the executive dysfunction using a well-crafted outfit as the carrot hanging in front of my nose. When I take in my outfit in my full-length closet door mirrors, complete with considered accessories and complimentary makeup, I can feel the affirmations are pulsing through my bloodstream: “I am stylish, I am creative, I have wonderful friends, Los Angeles is my favorite place, I love my family, I am talented, everything is going to work out for me.”

I hope I can maintain this new sustainably-sourced dopamine flow. At the very least, I’m looking extra fly in 2025.

Margaret