I Love Minimalism: Why Am I Writing about Stuff?

I hadn’t expected a lesson on minimalism, but a documentary or textbook would not have had the hands-on feel this experience did.

I hadn’t expected a lesson on minimalism, but it was as good as any documentary or textbook.

Sally invited me in through the newly painted red doors and into her living room. Since I’d last seen that space, she’d cleared lots of — I wouldn’t say clutter — indecision, perhaps.

She toured me through the well-edited kitchen and bedroom, and we arrived at the closet.

Her goal had escaped her, she warned me. She had tried to purchase one white cotton shirt, an item of clothing that would pair with anything. She wanted the perfect one.

Inside, on the middle part of the bar, hung a number of white shirts — 21 of them, to be exact.

She sighed; she was not the minimalist she had hoped.

“The Minimalists”

The newest and grooviest minimalist guys (Ryan Nicodemus and Joshua Millburn) who call themselves by that moniker define minimalism as:

“A tool to rid yourself of life’s excess in favor of focusing on what’s important — so you can find happiness, fulfillment, and freedom.”

Their website says owning material possessions doesn’t make you a bad person. Problems result from the meanings we assign our stuff. We give too much importance to our things, often “forsaking our health, our relationships, our passions, our personal growth, and our desire to contribute beyond ourselves.”

Ryan and Joshua believe minimalism allows you to make decisions more consciously, more deliberately — without a cluttered mind.

In the US, minimalism is hard to achieve.

Many friends have returned from a short trips to Haiti and confided they cleaned out their closets immediately upon return.

While in Haiti they lived from their small suitcases, limited their access to mobile devices, and spent time with local people, who they characterized to be happy. The Haitians had minimal belongings in their homes. Their children played with simple objects, recycled from need and not trend. And they lived without electricity, forcing their sleep cycle to pattern the sun. More often than not, our friends commented, “Being in Haiti was the happiest time of our lives.”

This fall, my partner and I rid ourselves of many of our belongings to lighten our financial obligations and allow us to travel. Even with that effort, we still rented a 10 x 15 x 10 storage shed for our stuff.

We filled its 1500 cubic feet with things I can’t really remember — two beds, a chest of drawers, and a book case? I’m sure we kept and carefully wrapped artwork of my mother and son, and a couple of boxes of memories, which I couldn’t divest — including my stuffie, Coco.

There are some who really hate the concept of minimalism. While I traveled, I enjoyed living with limited posessions. I wore either the beige or the black pants and chose one of my three shirts based on its length of sleeves and appropriateness to the weather.

We returned to normalcy … more stuff.

Upon return, my partner and I moved with our few travel bags into the lower floor (think mother-in-law suite) of a 3-story home, using the kitchen on the main floor. We brought a few necessities for our space from what was slated to be given away from my partner’s recently-passed father.

I found myself thinking about objects in relationship to:

• convenience — with the kitchen upstairs, a hot water pot downstairs would simplify my tea drinking; or
• style — a new scarf would brighten these dark winter days; and
• boredom — where can I go today where it’s warm to get out of the house? How about Target or Best Buy?

But, we held true to the state of minimalism and didn’t buy extra objects.

And then, little by little, I noticed our “empty home” changed.

During the holdays, we had guests over who generously provided what might make our meagre existence more comforting. Silverware filled slots, bowls stacked on shelves, card tables dotted the previously empty living room. And, where did that a counter-top roaster come from? With our lack of minimalism, we served 18 and celebrated New Year’s Day.

We share a fear.

There’s a trepidation that by not having something, we will lack — we will be caught short. Just the opposite is true. There is more space in the drawers, in the room, in the mind. There is a wealth, not a scarcity, that comes from simplicity.

Knowing I can eliminate and remove excess once, I know I can purge again. While writing this blog on minimalism, I went through my kitchen drawers finding items, necessary at one time, surplus now.

I placed them in a paper bag to take to charity — three hot pads (two were enough), a specialty pan for cooking specialty eggs (a sauce pan will do as well), a cheese cutter (what’s wrong with a knife?), and a blade sharpener (an extra takeaway from my partner’s father who had seven). And, I accumulated an extra set of sheets.

As I loaded the car, I heard a knock. My friend Rhonda stood at the door, also carrying a paper bag. She announced her new minimalism kick — creating a capsule clothing wardrobe — Project 333. Was I interested to try on some of her giveaways?

Have you tried to become a minimalist? How many white shirts do you have in your closet?

Your thoughts and opinion are always welcome by scrolling down or emailing JudyO@JOHaselhoef.com.

Judy O Haselhoef, a social artist, story-teller, and author of “GIVE & TAKE: Doing Our Damnedest NOT to be Another Charity in Haiti,” blogs regularly at her website, www.JOHaselhoef.com.

Copyright @2017: If you’d like to use any part of it (up to 200 words), please give full attribution and this website, www.JOHaselhoef.com.