Notes

Minimalism
uhr herren

I struggle with stuff. As I use food to protect me emotionally, eating as building a wall around me, I use stuff as a second layer of protection. If fat is my castle wall, then stuff is the moat around me. Either should be enough to block out the emotional barbarians banging at my door. I call it stuff because it’s the most accurate word to describe my obsession with objects. I try to stuff more into my life, more books, more clothes, more containers, more baskets, more shelves, and cupboards. I stuff myself with food and objects to feel safe. We try to fill our lives in the hope that it correlates to emotional fulfillment, but it never works.
Accumulating large quantities of things, stuff, objects, knick-knacks, curios is comforting. Surrounding myself with things gave me a temporary sense of relief; I have everything I need. This sense of calm would remain for a while. I am content, running out of something isn’t possible, I’ve stocked up. The Aesop fable of the grasshopper and the ant is often told. The grasshopper plays all summer, while the ant works hard and stocks food for the winter. When the cold weather comes, the grasshopper has nothing to eat for the winter. The moral of this tale, though ambiguous with a close reading of the story, is often articulated as stocking up, storing for a winter day. Resources are scarce, and we never know when tragedy will strike. But this is an obsolete expectation in our time of excess, public safety nets and industrialization. The belief I’ve held, as has many, if I work hard, prepare, make everything perfect and surround myself with more, I can avoid tragedy.
Tragedy can’t be prevented. Floods, hurricanes, wildfires, and earthquakes are not mitigated by an abundance of stuff. In reality, more stuff just means more than burns, more that falls from high on shelves, more to clean up after the tragedy has passed. Perfection can’t stop a disaster. Stuff can’t prepare for every catastrophe.
I blame capitalism for the accumulation of stuff. Businesses and the media sell the lie that we need more, newer, better, cleaner, fresher items. This story makes sense in a capitalist world. Contentment and simplicity do not support the manufacturing and sale of stuff, only scarcity does. Businesses work hard to create a feeling that we never have enough. And this isn’t just having a more expensive car or newer house, but it permeates to all parts of the economy. We are never beautiful enough, so we need more potions and lotions to make ourselves pretty. We are not fashionable like our neighbors, so we need more clothes. We even have an industry of organizing our stuff so that we can stuff more stuff into our lives. Capitalism sells us the lie that we never have enough, so we need more, more, more if we have a chance at happiness.
I believe the lies, every day. The more stuff I have, then I will be happy. The happiness is only temporary if I’m lucky.
I used to believe that if I could preserve everything around me, all of my memories would freeze, solidify in a kind of eternity, immortality. If I saved everything, they would be a slab of granite, impenetrable to the elements, to time, to entropy. Documenting my life gave me a sense of purpose and stability. Holding every gift that everyone ever gave me was noble. I preserved a movie ticket stub from the time I saw the original X-Files movie at midnight with friends on opening day. I held onto a ceramic cat that a cousin gave me, laying on it’s back up in the air, and it is stomach saying “gum parker,” which I didn’t use because the concept is disgusting. For years I held on to all of my high school notes and work, thinking that if I ever lose my memory, it’s all there for me to go back to, but I never did.
I’m a recovering pack rat, never a hoarder, but someone who held on to more than I needed. My nadir of stuff was when I moved to Texas, then California with only the stuff that I could fit in my Saturn. Even then, there was a lot of stuff that I didn’t need. I brought with me a microwave, baking dishes, utensils that I never used. I was so poor that the only reason I brought these things with me was because I didn’t think I could afford them, but it turned out I didn’t need them. I rented a small room for about three years in a townhouse where I never cooked or used the kitchen except for the refrigerator. I owned almost nothing, just my computer, some clothes, bathroom products, a few essentials. And I was happy. All of the books and DVDs and papers and things that I left behind, I didn’t need. Now I have more space. I don’t buy stuff as often to guard myself; it’s mostly about convenience.
I have learned a lot of ways to make parting with objects easier. Some are mental tips, some are emotional, some are physical and tricks to reduce the amount of stuff that I have. Here is what I’ve learned:
Would I Pay to Store This? I’ve collected boxes, containers, papers, and items that I might need sometime in the distant future, just in case. I ask myself if I would pay to store this stuff. Most of the time, the answer is no. I would pay to keep my Legos, and some other personal items, but for the most part, the answer is no. If I won’t pay to store it, then does it have value? Probably not.
Someone Else Could Use This There are a lot of people in need in the world. If I’m not using it, why keep it? I think donating items is very satisfying. I think of a family or an older person or a child who could use something that I have. If a shirt doesn’t look great on me, I can extend some goodwill into the world by giving it to someone who needs it. Towels, sheets, spatulas, charging cables could all help someone out.
Someone Else Might Love This Some items I do want to keep for the memories, but most I don’t just care. It helps to think that someone might love what I’m giving away. Imagine a retro 90s t-shirt, or a classic movie, or an old video game. All of these items could be bright a lot of joy to a collector or an enthusiast. Maybe someone will turn an old necktie into a costume. Maybe someone will use old magazines for a school project. I can’t use it, but imagining another person loving the item helps me to move on.
Does It Spark Joy? Marie Kondo, the author of the hugely famous book, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, recommends asking yourself “does this item spark joy?” If it doesn’t, get rid of it, helping prioritize items. Why would I want to be around objects that don’t spark joy, or worse, cause negative emotions?
Everyone Holds on to the Same Collectibles In the 90s, I bought a lot of comic books with variant covers, foil-lined, with holograms, poly-bagged, with collector cards. The comic book industry sold a story, but also, the idea that this might be the new Spider-Man #1. Millions of books were sold and collected under this premise, making it worthless. All of those books that I bought all trade for about the same price. For something to become a collectible, rare item, it must have two attributes, rarity (or low supply) and high desirability or demand. If you’re holding on to something in the hopes that it will increase in value over the years, chances are many others are doing the same, thus decreasing the rarity of the object. Even if you do hold on to something rare, future generations might not value it. The cost of preserving an object for years, storing it, moving it, keeping it safe, might be higher than selling the items.
I Can Get It Again If I get rid of something mundane, like a utensil or sheets or towels or underwear, I can always get it again. If it’s not a precious curio and I’m not using it, why not release it into the world and let it find another home? If one day I need something similar, it’s almost guaranteed to be there.
It’s Just Stuff I remind myself frequently that it’s just stuff. It’s not a memory. It’s not an emotional connection. It’s not safety. Stuff can be anything that takes up our time and energy. I force myself to take a deep breath and think about my feelings towards it. Do I feel like I’m shuffling something from one place to another? Does it bother me, make me feel fat, or stupid, or weird? Am I keeping it because I never wore it, or I never needed it, or I had a different expectation from it? Does it get in the way? Are objects overflowing from shelves, and drawers and bins? It’s just stuff, taking up space. I am more than my stuff.
I’m in the process of culling all of my items. It’s a long process and surprisingly emotional. It’s hard to let go of some items, and that takes some time. Every time I remove something from the house I have to go through a grieving process. It gets easier as the days pass. I’m hopeful that items will help a financially-strapped college student, a single mother, a teenager at Halloween, a collector, an artist. The work is challenging, but I feel a burden lift, a sense of freedom when I release items into the world.▪️
The Mayday Project is a personal, total wellness plan. These essays will track my progress and development of the plan. Please follow for tips, ideas, inspiration and what not to do when you’re changing your life.
If you liked this, please click the 👏 to encourage others to read it.
Sign up at Tiny Letter to have This Charming Rant delivered directly to your inbox.
Further Reading:
Goodbye, Things: The New Japanese Minimalism by Fumio SasakiI am drawn to minimalism for several reasons. I like the efficiency of a minimal lifestyle, decluttered, clean and open… medium.com
Marie KondoMarie "KonMari" Kondo runs an acclaimed consulting business in Tokyo helping clients transform their cluttered homes… tidyingup.com
The MinimalistsIn this episode of The Minimalists Podcast , Joshua & Ryan visit Edmonton and record one of their favorite episodes… www.theminimalists.co

Here's my website: https://replicauhrende.com