Today’s Morning Buzz is brought to you by Sheila Shockey, Founder, CEO, Futurist, Shock Talk Podcast Host at Shockey Consulting and artist/gallery owner 80 Santa Fe in Downtown Overland Park, Kan. Follow Sheila on LinkedIn and Instagram, and Shockey Consulting.
- What I’m watching: March Madness baby – Go Houston!
- What I’m listening to: Grateful Dead – headed to the Sphere in Vegas soon!
- What I’m working on: An “Elected Officials’ Masterclass” to build leadership and consensus building skills, and remodeling a Mid-Century Modern home.
As I blow out 60 candles this year and pack boxes with my partner Bill, I’m facing a mathematical reality: Our combined 120+ years of existence equals exponential accumulation of “stuff.” Enter my salvation: Margareta Magnusson’s “The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning”—a delightfully unsentimental guide to ensuring your loved ones won’t curse your name while sorting through your lifetime collection of questionable purchases.
This charmingly blunt Swedish octogenarian (or nonagenarian—she coyly places herself “somewhere between 80 and 100”) introduces us to “döstädning”—literally “death cleaning”—with all the warm pragmatism of someone who’s outlived enough friends to know exactly what postmortem chaos looks like.
Despite its morbid-sounding premise, this book sparkles with life-affirming wisdom. Magnusson’s approach is less, “prepare to die” and more, “live thoughtfully enough that death isn’t followed by your children discovering your embarrassing collection of labeling systems, complete with a color-coded legend explaining your container categorization methodology and containers purchased to organize your containers, which themselves are stored in larger labeled organizing containers.”
Through witty anecdotes and no-nonsense advice, she poses the essential questions: What possessions actually matter? Which items tell your authentic story? And most crucially—do you really want your grandchildren finding that?
With Scandinavian directness (maybe that is where I get it—I am Norwegian) and surprising humor, Magnusson reminds us that unburdening ourselves isn’t just considerate housekeeping—it’s liberation. Every discarded knick-knack creates space, not just in our homes, but in our relationships and mental landscapes. It’s Swedish minimalism with a mortality twist: making room for living by acknowledging its inevitable end.
But wait—there’s more! Beyond personal decluttering, Magnusson’s philosophy offers unexpected insights for governance and community building. Her approach to household management translates brilliantly to civic leadership, challenging us to ask: Are we maintaining bureaucratic clutter simply because “that’s how we’ve always done it”? Are we leaving future generations a well-organized municipal inheritance or an administrative nightmare?
The principles of *döstädning* invite leaders to:
Create with legacy in mind—designing systems meant to evolve, not entangle.
Embrace clarity and transparency—properly labeling the metaphorical junk drawers of government processes.
Cultivate community dialogue—having those necessary conversations about what to preserve and what to discard before crisis forces the issue.
Death cleaning isn’t about erasing history but curating it—preserving what reflects our highest values while compassionately releasing what doesn’t. As Magnusson wisely notes, “Someone will have to clean up after you.” Whether in our homes or city halls, that’s a profound responsibility—and an opportunity to show both foresight and kindness to those who follow.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have several decades of mysterious cables and chargers to sort through before Bill and I merge our respective collections of “might need someday” items into one (hopefully smaller) pile.