On NBC’s sneaky-smart sitcom “The Good Place,” Eleanor Shellstrop finds herself in the afterlife. Having spent her life as a selfish person, she is accidentally sent to heaven and must keep that error from being detected, all while accumulating enough “points” through good deeds so she can earn her place. Without spoiling too much – and by all means, put down this column and catch yourself up if you have not seen it – the latest episode reveals that almost no one ends up in “the good place” anymore these days, and Eleanor believes the system is rigged.
Michael, a dapper supernatural being aiding Eleanor who is played by Ted Danson, pulls up two souls’ points tallies to get the bottom of the problem. A man in a long-past century gives his grandmother a dozen roses for her birthday and is awarded positive points. Yet a second man, this one in modern times, does the same – sends his grandmother roses – but ends up negative. The roses were grown with pesticides, the phone used to order the roses was made by exploited laborers, and in the end the good done by the deed is overwhelmed by bad.
“The bad place isn’t tampering with points; they don’t have to,” Michael says. “Because every day the world gets a little more complicated and being a good person gets a little harder to do.”
In the present day, in our reality, Washington, D.C., popular hoagie chain Taylor Gourmet filed for bankruptcy late last year after its founder attended a small business council hosted by President Trump – even though Obama had also visited the chain to highlight small business issues. On “The Good Place,” it is jokingly revealed that the act of “eating a sandwich” awards +1.04 points toward admission into “the good place.”
These days, though, that sandwich is damning — it counts as condoning Trump, a major “bad place” move. Nowadays, choosing a brand of athletic apparel involves declaring one’s views on kneeling during the anthem. Buying razors means deciding whether to support a brand that proudly condemns “toxic masculinity.”
There are countless indicators that people in America are feeling increasingly stressed out by the political climate, with a sense that it is pervasive and inescapable. And with Americans increasingly feeling that their every mundane choice has political and moral weight, it’s easy to see why. It’s harder to find joy in a complicated world.
All of which may have a little something to do with the success of the latest television smash hit, Netflix’s “Tidying Up with Marie Kondo.” If our world is ever more complex and stressful, Kondo’s approach to keeping one’s home is the opposite. In each episode, Kondo aids one household in bringing order to chaos, streamlining and simplifying by discarding any items that do not “spark joy.” Unlike so many reality shows, Kondo is not an iron-fisted taskmaster driving hoarders to tears as she fills dumpsters with their trash. She is no Jillian Michaels of cleaning. Instead, she is a serene presence, a cloud of cool light that descends upon a home and invites its occupants to prune thoughtfully.
That pile of books you will never realistically read? If they remain, they only remind you that you have not yet read them. Instead, thank them for their service and let them find a new home. The sweater that no longer fits, or the kitchen gadget you never use? Allow yourself to say goodbye. This is the HGTVification of the paradox of choice, where complexity breeds anxiety and simplicity unlocks peace and joy. Watching others find that joy has been contagious; thrift stores across the U.S. are seeing more donations in the last two weeks as people follow Kondo’s lead and streamline their lives.
Americans are drawn to the tranquility Kondo’s method promises, and I suspect its allure is particularly strong at this moment precisely because it provides respite from a deeply complicated and stressful world. At a time when it feels like every decision we make is weighty, the choice to keep the ill-fitting sweater or the broken blender is blessedly not. In paring back, we give ourselves the luxury of having fewer things to be anxious about. People are looking for simplicity in a complex time, and maybe something as small as a well-organized sock drawer can offer a little piece of heaven on earth after all.
