By Marni Jameson / Special to The Seattle Times

If you file it away, you can find it someday.

“Mom, I need my birth certificate” — triggered the lost weekend. The minute my 15-year-old finished driver’s education, that paper…

“Although computers have helped cut down what we need to file, we will always have papers to deal with,” says Kathi Burns, professional organizer and paper-flow expert.
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“Although computers have helped cut down what we need to file, we will always have papers to deal with,” says Kathi Burns, professional organizer and paper-flow expert.

The simple request — “Mom, I need my birth certificate” — triggered the lost weekend. The minute my 15-year-old finished driver’s education, that paper was all that stood between her and her driver’s permit. (Please send any Valium prescriptions you’re not using.)

“Your birth certificate?” I repeat, stalling because thinking about where it might be hurts.

“As in proof I was born,” she says, her tone implying I have the IQ of a flatworm.

My brain rewinds years, to a time before car seats, tooth fairies, 2 a.m. calls to pediatricians and endless drives among Brownies, ballet and barns, and tries to recall where in the universe I stuck that little piece of paper that said I now possessed a live birth that would entangle me in more ways than I could imagine for the rest of my life.

“OK, but you have to help.”

She follows me to the garage. “My birth certificate’s in the garage?”

“It’s not personal. Mine should be in here, too. Somewhere.”

I scan the crammed garage, where the file cabinet landed on moving day five years ago, and has since been buried so deeply we need an archaeologist. “There,” I point.

“Seriously?”

Between us and a two-drawer lateral file lie two bikes, a broken lawn mower, an air compressor, a scooter, four pairs of skis, a set of crutches and a bale of hay. We unearth the cabinet to find it’s locked. “Swell,” I say, “finding Osama bin Laden would be easier than finding the key.”

“I bet other families don’t live this way.”

“I guarantee you, parents of 15-year-olds all over are going through the same thing.”

I spy a sledgehammer.

“Stand back.” I swing it like a wrecking ball into the cabinet’s locked face. It feels good. The lock smashes open. The top drawer rolls out exposing my past: long-expired insurance policies, failed investments, projects from three careers ago, unfinished novels, old résumés, and other papers I once thought important. “Taa-daa!” I pull out a dog-eared file that says “Birth Certificates” and feel something like redemption.

However, the moment forces me to face not only the awful condition of my personal records, but also of my office files. I then do what I always do when facing a domestic crisis: shop! This time I bring home an ugly, four-drawer, upright filing cabinet in vanilla metal.

In my office, I dump contents from all cupboards onto the floor, five years’ worth of resources and articles in every stage of revision and print. After a weekend of sorting and wrecking my nails, I fill four recycle bins, and feel that cleaned-out feeling you get after the stomach flu. I then realize: Unless I want to go through this again (never!), my habits must change.

I call Kathi Burns, owner of addspacetoyourlife.com and a San Diego-based paper-flow expert. I start by whining: “But filing takes so much time!”

“Not filing burns a lot more time,” she says.

“So you think I need to convert?”

“You think you should have to move a lawn mower to get to your birth certificate?”

As we talk, I learn ways to thin my files even more.

“People think when they throw something away, it negates their past. That just isn’t true,” she says, offering these filing tips:

Know your papers. Every paper falls into one of five categories: action (stuff to deal with soon), research and reference (stuff you’ll need later), agreements (insurance policies, contracts), tax-related stuff (receipts, W-2s, returns) and permanent records (birth and marriage certificates; education, medical and property records). Some people use color-coded files for each category, which seems neurotic. I divided categories by file drawer and location.

Create AAA filing systems. Active files for home and work go on your desk. Consider a small, space-saving vertical file. At Hand files of often-needed reference should be in easy reach. Archive files can go in a closet or basement.

Remove and replace. When the new versions of certain documents — insurance policies and Social Security and investment statements — arrive, toss the old.

Thin it. I’m a magazine junkie. Some I plan to read; others contain articles I’ve written. Burns lightened my life with this advice: Tear off the cover, tear out the article you want to save, toss the magazine. Wow. My magazine stack shrunk by 98 percent.

Trust technology. Old habits compelled me to keep a hard copy of stuff stored on my computer. But if you have a good backup system, you’re covered. Really.

Ask before you hoard. When tempted to save an article or brochure, ask whether you could easily find more current information online later. If so, let go.

Bust paper before it gets in. Open mail over the trash. Shred credit-card offers, pay stubs and other sensitive documents. File what matters. “Don’t shove papers in a ‘To File’ file,” says Burns. “That’s as bad as a ‘Miscellaneous’ file.”

Syndicated columnist Marni Jameson is the author of “The House Always Wins” (Da Capo), available through Amazon and Barnes & Noble. You may contact her through www.marnijameson.com.