Member-only story
‘Stuff’ Is Prison And I Wish to Be Free-ish
How I embrace minimalism to reinvent myself after every move
Time to pack for my ninth move.
The flat, once a bright space, was now a cluttered mess. Sunlight struggled through the dusty windows, highlighting a stack of forgotten things.
Books piled high, like unopened presents, held stories lost to time. The clothes, once sparks of joy, now felt like faded photographs. Gadgets, silent on the shelves, mocked their forgotten promises. The air, thick with “stuff,” pressed down, a weight on my chest.
But it wasn’t always this way. In my early twenties, freedom came easy. A suitcase held all I owned, and the world was my oyster. Every new city was an adventure, every experience a treasure.
But somewhere along the way, the tide began to shift. Maybe it was a unique lamp from a London second-hand shop, a high-tech gadget promising the latest innovation, or simply the allure of having a curated, stylish home. Slowly, my possessions began to multiply, and my once light suitcase morphed into a mountain of stuff.
Staring at that mountain, a spark of my old self ignited. I craved the lightness I used to know. Back then, minimalism wasn’t a trend, it was a way of life. Just the essentials, experiences in my memory…
