Taming the Junk Drawer

Oh.
We’re talking about the junk drawer.

Every home has one. That slightly unhinged, overstuffed, emotionally complicated drawer that says, “I’ll deal with this later,” and then never does.

Today, I decided we were dealing with it.

The Reckoning

The first thing I did was pull everything out. And when I say everything, I mean batteries (some alive, some spiritually expired), rogue rubber bands, mystery keys, three tape measures (why?), business cards from people I’ve never met, and what I can only assume are the original instructions to my first iPhone.

I put it all on the counter and started making piles by category.
Pens with pens.
Cords with cords.
Random hardware with random hardware.
Things that might belong to something with things that definitely don’t.

There is something wildly clarifying about seeing your chaos in daylight. It’s like when you dump out your suitcase after a trip and realize you packed six shirts and wore two.

The Great Migration

Once I could see what I actually owned, I started asking the hard questions.

Why are there scissors in here when the scissors live in the other drawer?
Why is there a screwdriver in the kitchen?
Why do I own seventeen takeout soy sauce packets when I do not, in fact, make sushi at home?

Anything that had a rightful home went back to it. No hesitation. No sentimentality. If it belonged in the office, the garage, or the utility closet, off it went. I was ruthless. Calm. Focused. Slightly intoxicated by order.

By the time I was done, the pile had shrunk dramatically. And suddenly the drawer didn’t feel like a junk drawer anymore. It felt… curated.

A Field Trip to The Container Store

Naturally, this called for reinforcements.

There is something deeply optimistic about walking into The Container Store. It’s like stepping into a temple dedicated to the belief that your life can, in fact, be segmented.

I picked up simple drawer dividers. Nothing fussy. Nothing overly engineered. Just clean lines and structure. The kind of thing that says, “Yes, you are an adult who owns matching batteries.”

Back home, I measured. I adjusted. I slotted everything into place.

Likes with Likes

And then — my favorite part.

I categorized everything before it went back in. Batteries with batteries. Pens with pens. Tape with tape. The tiny Allen wrenches that come with furniture? All together like a little support group.

Likes with likes.

If something didn’t have a clear category, it didn’t earn its way back into the drawer. That’s the rule now. We are not running a halfway house for miscellaneous objects.

When I slid the drawer closed and reopened it (because of course I reopened it), it felt calm. Intentional. Quiet. No rattling chaos. No digging around. Just clean compartments and the quiet confidence of knowing exactly where the good scissors are.

There’s something oddly satisfying about restoring order to a tiny, overlooked corner of your home. It’s not dramatic. It’s not glamorous. But it’s living well.

And sometimes living well looks less like a perfectly styled kitchen and more like knowing your rubber bands are exactly where they belong.

Tell me — do you have a junk drawer, or are you lying to yourself?

Best,

Jason