“The more we value things, the less we value ourselves”
Quote from Bruce Lee
Martial Artist, Instructor, Actor, Director, Philosopher; Founder of Jeet Kune Do
My partner’s sister-in-law is a self-proclaimed minimalist. Proudly placed on her entryway table is a sign that says, “Less house, more home.”
It’s awesome. Unfortunately you can barely see it behind all of the high-end decorative items also cluttering the table.
You see, several years ago, minimalism had a moment. And for good reason. It’s a wonderful concept. The capsule wardrobe that only has a small number of carefully chosen items that you love. A home that only has furnishings that spark joy. Drones of consumers had “packing parties,” clearing away all that useless clutter in their lives. Giving them back so much space.
Closets could breathe, kitchen cabinets were organized, and garages were no longer danger zones. Local charities thrived from this business. And frugal folk like me benefited from acquiring a few needed, higher-end items at a discounted price. Win-win.
Except most people completely missed the point.
Months later, the minimalist euphoria wore off. Closets stuffed, the kitchen cabinets disheveled. The garage, a catch-all that somehow held everything, yet nothing could be found.
So the spring clean became the thing. Great success declared whenever a closet was reorganized. Another drop-off of clothes was made to a charity. And so the cycle continues.
Because, again, most people completely missed the point.
If you’re not careful, you can mistake minimalism as a strictly materialistic, physical pursuit. And I get why. I’ve seen websites make silly claims, like: “You can’t consider yourself a minimalist unless you own less than fifty items,” or, “It’s not a capsule wardrobe unless it’s less than thirty items.”
So people kept reducing the number of things they had.
Without questioning why they had them.
That, my friends and readers, is the real magic behind minimalism. You can have a thousand books in your home and be a minimalist. The things are a byproduct of the concept.
Minimalism should not be defined by the number of things you have. Instead, we achieve rational minimalism through focus on all areas. Only allow meaningful things, people, activities and experiences into your life. These take center stage. Number of items in your closet be damned.
That’s it.
Remove the unnecessary, so only the necessary remains. And, to be honest, don’t start with your closet.
Start with your time. Then with your mind. This drives you from a rigid minimalism to a rational minimalism mindset.
What are you distracting yourself with? And how is that manifesting? Do these distractions become stressful thoughts that zap your energy? Perhaps there are activities you participate in even though they no longer bring you happiness? Or maybe, it’s manifesting itself as 50 pairs of shoes in your already over-packed closet.
Getting rid of the shoes is the easy part. But understanding the obsession behind the compulsion to purchase another pair of black flats when you already have three pairs at home – that’s where the real work lies.
Cancelling your book club meetings because you don’t enjoy them is easy. Figuring out why you don’t enjoy them and, more importantly, what does bring you happiness, is difficult. And that is the core of rational minimalism.
When I began removing the unnecessary in my life, I did not start with my time. And I did not start with my mind. I started with things.
Which was stupid.
But, it was in line with my goal at the time, which was fixing my out-of-control finances.
That’s not exactly true, I was trying to find my happiness.
After an accidental brush with minimalism, I enjoyed the freedom of having two boxes and three suitcases to my name for two years. This was not on purpose, and definitely not planned. Rather, a consequence of a job I took abroad. And without intentionally pursuing it, I discovered the freedom of having fewer things. I honed in on the things that made a place feel like home. The things that made me happy. And they weren’t designer furnishings. They really weren’t much at all. For me at that time, some flowers, a nice candle, and plants turned a sterile, impersonal room into my tiny sanctuary.
But I forgot all of that when I embraced my homeland and reimmersed myself in American culture, full of excess. I started acquiring things. Because I could. I had more money, more space to store things, and took full advantage. No more cheap furniture, clearance rack clothes. And why shouldn’t I buy a new dress for every fancy event I’m invited to? I enjoy wine. Why shouldn’t I collect bottles to show off to friends visiting?
This tendency to acquire grew into many aspects of life. I built up my collection of books, and of course had to buy new bookshelves to hold the books. Not the cheap kind, no, I had to find some with an industrial look that matched the downtown loft-style condo. And beauty supplies, from skin creams to hair products to makeups to bath bubbles and oils. My home should be my oasis, and I needed a spa-ready bathroom.
My closets became more and more stuffed with clothes. I was moving up in the corporate world, and needed to up my dress game. Then there were vacations, and each destination required appropriate outfits. I thought I’d do more yoga, so obviously I needed some custom yoga gear. Oh, and holiday outfits, like Halloween costumes and ugly Christmas sweaters.
Weekends became a consumption event… complete with rich food, heavy drink, and shopping for the list of items I noted throughout the week that I needed. Sure, I would take a road trip from time to time to visit quaint small towns in the area. But the destination was not really the goal. Exploring these destinations was second to consuming their food and purchasing their delicacies.
And when I got home from a day away, I set my acquired bounty on the dining room table and/or the kitchen counter. Gazed at the evidence of a day well spent. Treasure brought back proving that I had a good time. That I had abundance in my life.
Except, that feeling of satisfaction rarely lasted long.
As pressures at work built and I overextended myself, I spent most Sunday afternoons “getting ahead of my week.” Such a responsible adult. Cracking open that laptop to clear out my inbox, take a look at my calendar and get that to-do list of all 57 top priority items I had the following week.
It wasn’t just my day job. I signed up to volunteer at organizations at work. Sure, I didn’t really want to sign up for these. But the exposure would be good for my career. So I joined four groups at my company, adding to my priority list.
To be more involved in my community, I joined committees in my district that weighed in on different causes. Some I was interested in. Others I was not.
Then there were the yoga classes. Nice, simple vinyasa yoga was a favorite. But I convinced myself that “hot yoga” would be both relaxing and help me lose weight. I found a high-priced boutique yoga studio and dragged my custom yoga bag, yoga mat, yoga mat towel, yoga pants and top to the studio. So I would stretch and balance in agonizing heat twice a week. Telling myself how good this was for me, how much I should enjoy the tranquility that came with nearly losing consciousness holding downward dog in a humid, 100+ degree room.
Looking back, from the minute I woke up until the late evening, I was almost always scheduled. I was busy. Had things to do. These made me a productive member of society, things I could put on my resume, or share at that next expensive dinner with half friends that I only kept in touch with because they had high status careers and useful connections.
My overly full schedule was trying to fill an impossible void. Personal relationships were shallow at best. My health was poor due to high stress and bad eating habits, in spite of crazy hot yoga and the occasional fad diet. And my obligations were just distractions from a feeling of emptiness and unhappiness.
When I had a scheduled break from my overly scheduled life, I acquired things. Things that brought a momentary fix. But not true fulfillment and happiness.
So I left my things behind and started fresh.
Left that downtown loft condo, with its custom furnishings. I packed about a dozen boxes – mostly books, board games, and memorabilia. And two suitcases with the clothes I needed. Oh, and a few paintings I purchased that I absolutely loved.
On a Saturday afternoon I moved these items to my new, empty, modest one bedroom apartment. Later, I took a trip to a big box store, got an air mattress, some wine, and some haphazard kitchen supplies. You know, when you go without a list and think you absolutely need a can opener, but forget to get forks?
And there I was. No longer surrounded by mounds of useless things. Not tied to a relationship that was making me unhappy. Able to focus on the important thing. Money.
My finances were out of control, and through serious analysis and budgeting I got them back in shape. Or at least, on the right path. This did give me a better sense of control, but had an immediate consequence. A really bad one.
A month into a strict budget, I was more miserable than ever. I didn’t have my things, no expensive nights out or weekend getaways. No fancy yoga classes. Just me, my air mattress, laptop, and a couple of bar stools. All I had was a job that was getting more stressful by the day. And there was nothing to distract me from that.
The realization of just how shallow and one dimensional my life had become was staring me in the face. Every day. No distractions.
Without the distractions, I had to face my issues. The things that made me unhappy. And discover how to add joy and happiness into my life.
This is when the real work begins. It’s when it began for me. This is when I discovered rational minimalism.
I held off getting a TV for ages. Instead I got a library card and started reading in the evenings. Or researching things online. Reducing work stress became a research topic of interest. I cancelled all of my commitments. No more council committees – I didn’t enjoy them anyway, discovered the dreadfully slow engine of government was just depressing to watch. I stopped participating in all extra work activities. Only committing to the essential. Sundays were no longer used as a day to “get ahead,” so whatever dropped, dropped.
I was bringing in my lunch daily and taking a very short, actual lunch. Left work promptly at 5:30. Sometimes, a soulless, corporate shell of a human would schedule the 5-6pm meeting. I would not go. I had another commitment. The gym at my apartment was my priority everyday after work now. It gave me a great way to work off the stress and acknowledge the end of my workday and beginning of my time. Sometimes, me missing meetings upset people at work. I did not care. Of course, I politely apologized and explained that I had a personal engagement I could not move. Same for the dreaded 8am meeting – sorry, busy.
And you know what happened?
I got promoted.
Apparently, my attitude and productivity improved. At least this was the feedback from managers and peers. As I removed my corporate career as a top personal priority, instead stacking it up against other necessary habits like brushing my teeth, I became more laid back. Only allowing myself to focus on a couple of things every week made me more productive. I didn’t have twenty pots in the fire. I had two. And unlike others, the meals in my pots came out perfectly – not underbaked or burnt up. I was more present in meetings with my customers, my bosses, and my employees.
As I got more comfortable letting go in the corporate space (and ironically, getting more responsibility and a promotion), I spent my time embracing new experiences. Putting myself out there and making friends. Enjoying moments for what they are, opportunities to relish in an experience and make personal connections with those around me.
I started working out. Began cooking delicious food at home and sharing with friends. Discovered a love of local theater and art. Reacquainted myself with old friends. I discovered nearby state parks, and the oasis of nature and beauty they provided.
And I didn’t need all of those things I thought I needed. Meals were cooked using one pot and one frying pan. Nights enjoying the city were spent in the same clothes I wore to work. No special gear needed to enjoy nature, just some good shoes and plenty of water.
Without the distraction of all of those things, I stumbled onto a more fulfilling life.
That’s what happens when you embrace rational minimalism. Without all that crap distracting you from the things making you unhappy, you have to stare right at them. And you’ll probably do something about them. It won’t be easy… if it was easy, you probably would have dealt with it a long time ago. And it probably won’t happen overnight, but you can slowly chisel away at the things that zap your energy. That take away your zest for life. Every day you’ll get a little more of that spark back.
Every day will get just a little bit… just one percent better than the day before.