It seems to be a fall and spring tradition, like setting your clocks backward or forward an hour. Twice a year, my refrigerator seems to speak to me, telling me to look inside, really look inside, and decide what to part with.

I heard the voice just this past weekend. After swinging the appliance door open and shut so many times, asking myself “When was the last time I changed the filter on my Brita pitcher?,” I knew the time had come again to remove all the contents of my refrigerator and take a good look. Cleaning your refrigerator is a little like a psychic cleaning. You can see everything you’ve put in, everything you’ve used, and everything you wanted to try but lost interest in.

Isn’t my life full of such things? Things that I have held on to for too long or things that I reached out for enthusiastically and abandoned at least as quickly? What could cleaning my refrigerator tell me?

Chucking some items right away was a no-brainer. I threw out a half-empty box of chicken broth left over from some recipe experiment. It was way past its expiration date. I proceeded more cautiously with a miniature Tupperware container filled with two tablespoons of tomato paste. Without benefit of an expiration date stamp, only the evidence of some gray fuzz growing around the surface, I held the opaque mini-tub at arm’s length as I spooned the contents into the garbage and ran the hottest water I could coax out of my pipes over it.

While by no means a child of the Depression, I clearly understood why these spoiling items took up residence in my refrigerator. I so completely do not like the idea of waste. I wanted to use everything that passed through my kitchen. I wanted to believe that, eventually, I’d find some new purpose for the last two spoonfuls or last four ounces of anything. I didn’t want to think of myself as thoughtless or frivolous, but the truth is that as a cooking for one person, using the contents of every jar or box I opened within four days was not realistic. Not everything in life can be re-purposed.

It was obvious that the glass shelves needed a good wiping with a hot, soapy sponge.

I couldn’t figure out how to take the shelves out, so I kneeled in front of my apartment-sized, frost-free and practically crawled in. I was able to get my vegetable drawers out to be cleaned in my double basin sink, but my deli drawer, like the shelf it was anchored to, seemed immoveable so I would fold and unfold myself for frequent walks to the sink where I refreshed my sponge. Damn, I thought, bending over or kneeling for kitchen cleaning used to be much easier.

When it came time to wipe down the side doors, I took out all my condiments and lined them up on my counter near my hand-me-down microwave. I had to use the scratchy side of my sponge and the hottest of hot water to rub off droplets of sticky, msg infused flavor enhancers. What the hell was I doing with a thimbleful of Sweet Baby Ray’s Barbecue Sauce? For how long had this bottle been in there? There wasn’t enough to coat a carrot stick. And these folksy patterned topped Ball jars, only two fingers full of apple butter or peach preserves — considering my low carb consuming consciousness, I couldn’t imagine spooning any out let alone ingesting the toast that they would be spread on.

Then I thought about how they were homemade. One-of-kind. They were gifts. I hate to discard anything that was given to me, or anything that was the result of someone’s skill or passion. I love the idea of tasting, wearing, or even just regarding anything that’s one-of-a-kind. But the sides of my refrigerator, where I kept my condiments, had turned into a poster appliance for regular recycling. Each jar of someone’s great aunt’s pickles may have been occupying the space I needed to try out the mango-salsa or marinated mushrooms I’d see at the farmers market from time to time.

Do not waste is an all right mantra, I suppose, but Keep what you’ll use is probably a better one, or Make room to start fresh. Maybe that’s really the point.

When it comes to cleaning out your refrigerator, or your psyche, making space for what delights you over what has simply fed you, is no small thing.