In Japan (where I grew up), it’s a long-held tradition to thoroughly clean the house before the new year arrives. This practice is called ōsōji, literally “big cleaning.” I remember that on New Year’s Eve we didn’t do our usual work. Instead, the entire day was devoted to cleaning and organizing the office. The intention was simple and meaningful: to clear out old dust and stagnation so fresh, new energy could enter the space.
Yesterday, I found myself doing something similar at home. I spent a good amount of time deep-cleaning ceiling fans, lamps, blinds, picture frames, and even the inside of the refrigerator. These are things I clean regularly, yet they still manage to collect dust and clutter. When everything was done, the space felt lighter, calmer, and more cared for. There was a quiet satisfaction in seeing things in order.
There is a saying in Japan: A messy room reflects a messy mind. When our surroundings are cluttered, our minds often feel the same way—scattered, disorganized, and restless. I also believe the opposite is true. When our thoughts are all over the place and we can’t sort them out, the space around us tends to reflect that inner chaos. Inner and outer worlds are deeply connected.
This is why aparigraha, non-grasping or non-hoarding, fits so beautifully as this month’s theme. At the end of the year, we clean our homes, sort through our belongings, and even take a look at what we post and consume online. We let go of what no longer serves us and make space for what truly matters. The same principle applies to the mind. Just as we clean our homes, we can also “clean” the mind and regain clarity by releasing what is no longer needed.
I’d like to share a simple practice I use for this kind of mental cleaning.
First, I sit in a quiet place for about five minutes. I don’t try to calm the mind or change anything. I simply observe what is already there. As each thought arises, I write it down on my iPad. Interestingly, the thoughts that appear within those five minutes are usually the ones that matter most to me. They might include financial concerns, planning birthday gifts for friends, a mistake I made at work, happiness from a student’s compliment, or worries about my father living alone.
After the five minutes, I gently label each thought. This step is important. I avoid labels such as “I’m doing well,” “I failed,” or “I’m bad at this.” Those kinds of judgments pull us deeper into the whirlpool of thinking. Instead, the intention is simply to observe and name what is present. For example, a financial concern might be labeled as “planning” or “worry.” Thinking about birthday gifts becomes “planning.” A mistake at work may be “judging” or “worry.” A painful past experience is simply “memory.” Worry about a loved one is “worry,” and joy from a compliment is labeled as “feeling.”
Once the thoughts are labeled, I take it one step further and ask whether each thought requires immediate action, planning for future action, or no action at all. Financial matters usually fall into planning for action. Birthday gifts also belong there. A mistake at work may need immediate action, such as an apology or correction. Memories from the past often require no action. Worry about my father might involve planning a visit or a video call. Feelings of happiness don’t require action either. They simply ask to be acknowledged and appreciated.
At this point, things start to shift. The thoughts become more objective and less emotionally charged. I can clearly see what needs my energy and what doesn’t. Instead of feeling overwhelmed, I feel focused. My energy is no longer scattered. Instead it’s directed where it’s actually needed. In that sense, this thought sorting practice makes me much more energy-efficient.
For thoughts that fall into the category of memory or feeling, I practice letting go. There is often nothing I can do to change them. They are part of who I am, so they may revisit from time to time. When they do, I gently ask myself, “Is there anything I can do about this right now?” Most of the time, the answer is no. When that’s the case, I allow myself to release the thought. If an emotional wound feels too deep to handle alone, I always encourage seeking professional support. There is strength in asking for help.
After finishing the labeling and sorting, I sit for a brief meditation. I simply focus on my breath and allow the body to be still. I take a moment to appreciate what I have in this very moment and to acknowledge my role in being useful to my family and society. Finally, I surrender to a higher power, trusting that things will unfold as they should and that, in the end, everything will be alright.
As we approach the new year, I invite you to try this “thought-sorting” practice as part of your end-of-year cleaning. Just like tidying your home, it creates space—space for clarity, intention, and a fresh start.