Trading Cardboard for Clarity (While He Was Hiking Philmont)

While Jon was out hiking the rugged trails of Philmont in New Mexico—carrying only what he needed on his back—I found myself on a very different kind of trek here at home.

Mine involved cardboard boxes.

You know the ones… stacked in closets, tucked into corners, quietly collecting dust and “important things” we haven’t touched in years. With him gone, I decided it was the perfect time to start cleaning and organizing—but with one important boundary: I didn’t throw out any of Jon’s stuff.

This wasn’t about purging. It was about stewarding our space better.

So instead of tossing things, I focused on replacing all those worn, dusty cardboard boxes with sealed totes. It seemed like a small shift, but as I worked, I realized it was actually a pretty meaningful one.

Cardboard, especially older boxes, holds moisture, dust, and who-knows-what-else. It breaks down over time and becomes a perfect hiding place for allergens. From a “sick building” perspective—the kind I’ve written about here on Santini Serenity—it’s kind of the perfect storm.

And yet, here’s what stood out to me:

Even while I was cleaning some of the dustiest areas of the house, I didn’t get sick.

That felt significant.

Since the end of May, I’ve been working remotely because of allergy and sinus issues I was experiencing at the Kinnear office on my hybrid days. It wouldn’t take long—often less than an hour—before the symptoms would hit: drainage, sneezing, coughing, and this overwhelming inability to focus, even when I was just sitting at my desk doing normal office work.

But at home, it was a completely different story.

I was doing physical work—unpacking boxes, breaking them down, stirring up dust in places that hadn’t been touched in a while—and still, nothing. No flare-ups. No fog. No spiral of symptoms.

That contrast was hard to ignore, especially in light of everything I’ve been sharing about sick building environments on Santini Serenity.

It made me realize that this isn’t just about how I feel—it’s about what I’m exposed to.

And in the middle of all that cleaning and swapping out cardboard for totes, I could sense it:

There was a noticeable shift.

As I swapped out box after box, the space started to feel lighter—not just physically, but mentally too. Clear bins replaced crumbling cardboard. Stacks became systems. Hidden messes became visible and manageable.

And in the middle of it, this verse came to mind:

“For God is not a God of disorder but of peace.”
— 1 Corinthians 14:33

It’s such a simple truth, but it landed differently in that moment.

Disorder isn’t just inconvenient—it can quietly steal peace. And while clutter might not seem like a big deal, it can contribute to both mental overwhelm and physical discomfort when it affects the health of our home environment.

This ties right back to what I’ve been exploring on the blog:
Our buildings—our homes—have an impact on our well-being. And sometimes the issue isn’t just hidden toxins or air systems… but the everyday materials and habits we overlook.

For me, this was a reminder that:

• what we store matters
• how we store it matters
• and what we allow to accumulate can affect more than just appearances

While Jon was out carrying only the essentials across miles of trail, I was learning my own version of that lesson at home.

Less cardboard. More intention.
Less hidden dust. More breathable space.
Less chaos. More peace.

And maybe that’s part of creating a healthier home—not just fixing what’s obviously broken, but slowly replacing what no longer serves us… one box at a time.

Resources:

Scripture:  YouVersion Bible App

Note that I did box up some of my own items to donate and that upon returning from Philmont, Jon cleared out 20+ polo shirts from his closet.  We donate our items to Good Life Ministries who has a convenient 24/7 accessible donation center in Plain City on West Avenue near the Shell Station.