Stumpokapow
listen to the mad man
One trend on the minimalist websites I read (personally it's not something I would do or enjoy) is to do a personal item inventory and try to discard down to a certain number. 100 things, 200 things, 300 things, whatever.
I don't personally think that's a good route to go, because it strikes me that meticulously paying attention to your possessions is the problem. I mean, minimalism isn't about not having things, it's about not being attached to things. Being attached to the things you're happy to not have is just as bad as being attached to the things that you're happy to have.
For me, the thing I've gotten most from reading naturalist or minimalist writings, is to just evaluate things. Do I already have one of these? Do I need this or is it a novelty? Would this space look better with fewer things displayed twice as prominently? Will I ever be able to fit into these jeans again? Is it the object or the memory that I'm attached to with this "heirloom"? Does it really make sense to buy a throwaway gift for my girlfriend's cousin's first birthday? Does it really make sense to receive Christmas gifts from my parents? How many shirts can I justify keeping for "sentimental" reasons? How many bottle openers do we need? Do I really need Lobsterfest mugs? Do I need place settings for 12 people--how often will I have that many people over, and even if I do, do they need ornate place settings or will they mostly be fine with regular plates?
And I keep thinking back to the idea of a teenage girl's bedroom. Tons of tchotchkes, many left over from childhood. Posters on the walls and ceilings. Enormous quantities of banal photos. Just a constant, oppressive reminder that she has absolutely no sense of self and can only understand and feel confident in her identity through the use of external prompts. Everything needs to scream "THIS IS WHO I AM / THIS IS HOW I AM", every square inch of space needs to be used.
That's terrible. It's horrible. It's the worst way to live. It's no wonder teenagers are in a constant state of misery, that's what happens when you require enormous amounts of external validation. As an adult, though, you can learn to put that stuff away. Sure, you still have things that reflect aspects of your personality or your interests, but you learn to disconnect a bit. A poster is just a poster. A thing is just a thing. You don't need them to be who you are. If they were lost in a fire, you could replace them--or not--and it wouldn't matter. Focus on caring about the things that are important.
For me, too, it dovetailed with the convenience of the digital world. I work in a digital archive so I have access to some great photo scanners. Digitizing 60 years of my Dad's photos, from his childhood to my childhood to my little sister's childhood to my university convocation and beyond... it's not the photos that mean anything to me, it's the memories. Now I have them all backed up. Having them rotating on a digital photo frame in his house gets them far more attention than they ever had stuck in a stale old album in a drawer. And if we were to lose the original albums, I wouldn't be troubled in the slightest.
And this repeats across everything; I have my games digitized, I have my movies digitized, I have my music digitized, I have my books digitized. Other than a small shelf of academic books and a few rare, unusual, or multi-hundred year old books, the rest of my books are just physical markers for the far more useful, far cleaner digital files.
I don't personally think that's a good route to go, because it strikes me that meticulously paying attention to your possessions is the problem. I mean, minimalism isn't about not having things, it's about not being attached to things. Being attached to the things you're happy to not have is just as bad as being attached to the things that you're happy to have.
For me, the thing I've gotten most from reading naturalist or minimalist writings, is to just evaluate things. Do I already have one of these? Do I need this or is it a novelty? Would this space look better with fewer things displayed twice as prominently? Will I ever be able to fit into these jeans again? Is it the object or the memory that I'm attached to with this "heirloom"? Does it really make sense to buy a throwaway gift for my girlfriend's cousin's first birthday? Does it really make sense to receive Christmas gifts from my parents? How many shirts can I justify keeping for "sentimental" reasons? How many bottle openers do we need? Do I really need Lobsterfest mugs? Do I need place settings for 12 people--how often will I have that many people over, and even if I do, do they need ornate place settings or will they mostly be fine with regular plates?
And I keep thinking back to the idea of a teenage girl's bedroom. Tons of tchotchkes, many left over from childhood. Posters on the walls and ceilings. Enormous quantities of banal photos. Just a constant, oppressive reminder that she has absolutely no sense of self and can only understand and feel confident in her identity through the use of external prompts. Everything needs to scream "THIS IS WHO I AM / THIS IS HOW I AM", every square inch of space needs to be used.
That's terrible. It's horrible. It's the worst way to live. It's no wonder teenagers are in a constant state of misery, that's what happens when you require enormous amounts of external validation. As an adult, though, you can learn to put that stuff away. Sure, you still have things that reflect aspects of your personality or your interests, but you learn to disconnect a bit. A poster is just a poster. A thing is just a thing. You don't need them to be who you are. If they were lost in a fire, you could replace them--or not--and it wouldn't matter. Focus on caring about the things that are important.
For me, too, it dovetailed with the convenience of the digital world. I work in a digital archive so I have access to some great photo scanners. Digitizing 60 years of my Dad's photos, from his childhood to my childhood to my little sister's childhood to my university convocation and beyond... it's not the photos that mean anything to me, it's the memories. Now I have them all backed up. Having them rotating on a digital photo frame in his house gets them far more attention than they ever had stuck in a stale old album in a drawer. And if we were to lose the original albums, I wouldn't be troubled in the slightest.
And this repeats across everything; I have my games digitized, I have my movies digitized, I have my music digitized, I have my books digitized. Other than a small shelf of academic books and a few rare, unusual, or multi-hundred year old books, the rest of my books are just physical markers for the far more useful, far cleaner digital files.