Minimalist Chronicles: Part 1 - Detaching from Things

I began my massive declutter in August, shortly before my 36th birthday. There was no single particular impetus for change. I just looked around my residence and perused my belongings and concluded that almost none of them were purchased out of necessity. Practically all of them were purchased from a variety of external factors:

• The fear of missing out (“athleisure” is the newest trend, don’t mind out on what everyone else is wearing!)

• Vanity/the need to impress (buy a car and show the world you’re worth something)

• The fear of being incomplete (marketing tools used to tell you that your life will be worse without it and you’re just one purchase away from being complete)

Shortly before I began my declutter, I imagined my death. That’s a dark thing to imagine. I imagined it nonetheless and thought of what I was leaving behind. What did I see in this vision? Material things, acquisitions, and a mess of stuff for friends and family and loved ones to sort through. But what are the things, compared to the person? What is stuff compared to memory? I had read Everything That Remains by the Minimalists before, but the book’s message was just now being absorbed into my skin. Maybe it’s a lesson I needed to experience to learn.

What do I really want to leave behind? Hopefully a lot of nice memories (and some memories that are just “memorable”) and some undiscovered stories. Said stories would be well-hidden, but some soul may find them, hand-written and locked in a cellar, or drifting in a bottle somewhere out at sea, or by accident by finding this blog, written by some anonymous person, somewhere out there in the universe.

Clothes I have sold in the last two months:

• 13 pairs of pants

• 12 tee shirts

• 4 button-up shirts

• 3 jackets

• 8 pairs of shorts

I do not miss any of them, nor do I feel guilt or shame for having bought them in the first place. At some point in time I made a purchase because I felt a certain fear-based way. I later realized that I made a mistake. You live and you learn. Onward march. Life’s too short to dwell. Cells are constantly dying and being born. People can change at any time of any day of any year.

The closet is much lighter, and I have no intention of replacing the things I sold.

What do I want to get out of this?

I want to re-shift the focus of my thoughts. We only have so much time to think. I want my thoughts to be maneuvered away from buying and towards experiences and connections. There is a lot of world to explore and a lot of things to do. A lot of risks to take. Connection and experience deserve much more time than consumption.

Things are just things. They do not think, feel, or validate. There is never enough of them, and there is rarely a deficiency of them. We don’t need to buy much. Go down the rabbit hole, and you’ll realize that you don’t need to buy anything.

The closet is lighter. Let’s see what’s next.

Minimalism: the Perfect Number of Possessions

“The best thing is to possess pleasures without being their slave; not to be devoid of pleasures.” Aristippus, 435-356 BC

What is the perfect number of pants for a minimalist to own? I read this question on forums a lot. I’ve even typed it in the Google search engine a few times. Surely whatever I own now cannot be the ideal number.

Chasing is ingrained in us. If we are not racing to a pinnacle, it seems we are racing to a valley.

By searching for this question, I read accounts of several triumphant minimalists who manage to live with only one pair of pants.

I compared myself to these minimalists. “I have several pairs while they are fine with one… how do I declutter? Do I have too much, or too little?”

The problem for me was not that I owned too many pants, but that I felt the need to compare my belongings and standards to another’s. That I felt the need to move one direction or another to fix my relationship with things.

Ironically, such a mindset stems from the same source as maximalism. It involves a chase, and it presumes that one’s current state of being cannot be satisfactory.

A chase for less is as pointless as a chase for more if the parasite that is the consumerist mindset is not removed from the host. Because ironically, chasing places one’s thoughts on the very thing that shouldn’t be prioritized: stuff.

What is the perfect number of pants to own? The answer is what I have now, unless what I have now is causing legitimate life issues. Maybe what I have isn’t sufficient for work, or isn’t acceptable for my social gatherings, or simply doesn’t fit anymore. Then it’s time for a replacement. And the replacement should be affordable, and intentional, and used to the bitter end.

I consider myself “maximal” only in that I like to enjoy ”stuff”. I have summer pants that are breezy and winter pants that are cozy. I have loose pants and slim fitting pants. I have pants for winter running and cycling. I’ve used every pair. At the end of the day, it’s just fabric.

The perfect number of pants will be different for each person. The nomad living from a backpack may answer, “one”. I’ve been that nomad. The banker with a wardrobe of business suits may answer, “fifteen”. The point is the function, not the quantity. I’ve been closer to that lifestyle as well.

My purchases are intentional enough, so I don’t think about the number of things in my closet. I am not an ascetic, nor do I find asceticism alluring in any way. It is true that the things we own can enslave us if we let them, but they can also enhance us if their primary use is to help us go places.

The key, for me, is a shift in mindset away from a common “minimalist” branding that focuses on quantity (“check out my empty room, is yours this empty?”) and more towards an objective mindset that focuses on efficiency. If “stuff” serves a purpose, let it serve. I’d rather be served than serve another; serving something material sounds like hell.

Of note is that one’s base level of happiness does not seem to increase from the act of being served, or from the peacocking of one’s own status. It is a dopamine rush, an injection of heroin, and it does feel good for a moment. But the drug depletes quickly, and the depletion rate accelerates over time. In contrast, being enslaved, or in service, or indebted, will always exacerbate one’s base level of misery.

Base happiness seems to grow more like a tree, requiring carefully planted seeds, a steady yet moderate amount of water, and a lot of time.

At some point, we will think about our stuff. Maybe we have to consider our possessions in order to resolve a deeper issue within ourselves. In considering our possessions we ask ourselves, are we actually using our purchases or letting them collect dust? If a coating of dust forms on our shirts, if moths eat away at our sweaters, then our purchases were obviously not intentional. Why? What part of advertisements was it that sucked us in? Are we chasing a pinnacle or enjoying a process?

The key, for me, is to avoid a chase, whether it be up or down, left or right, forward or backward. Stay put, enjoy what’s here.

“The white rabbit is a slave to the queen.” - Tom Hodgkinson