The Joy of Less, a Minimalist Living Guide (4 page)

Now that you’re loosened up, let’s kick things up a notch: pretend you’re moving overseas. But don’t start dialing your local self-storage company—this is a permanent move. You can’t just stash your stuff away in anticipation of returning. Furthermore, transporting items across the globe is complex and costly; so you’ll have to pare down to what you can’t live without.

Survey the contents of your house and decide exactly what you’ll take. Would your old, beat-up guitar make the cut? How about your ceramic animal collection? Would you devote precious cargo space to that ugly sweater you received three Christmases ago, the shoes that pinch your feet after fifteen minutes of wear, or the oil painting you inherited, but never liked? Of course not! Doesn’t it feel great? It’s amazing what you’re able to ditch when you suddenly have the “permission!”

Okay, you’re on your game now, so let’s tackle a tough one: it’s the middle of the night, and you’re awakened by the piercing sound of the fire alarm. Holy smokes! You have only minutes—maybe seconds—to decide what you’ll save as you head out of the house.

Admittedly, you’ll have little opportunity for decisions here, and will have to rely mainly on instinct. If you have the time, you might grab some important files, the family photo album, and maybe your laptop. In all likelihood, however, you’ll have to sacrifice all your stuff in order to get yourself, your family, and your pets out alive. In that moment, you won’t care a whit about all those
things
that so thoroughly consumed your attention in the past.

Whew! Let’s take a moment after that one to slow down our heartbeats. Actually, we’re going to slow them way, way down…until they stop. What!

As much as we hate to think about it, our time here on earth will someday end; and unfortunately, it could occur sooner than we expect. And what’s going to happen after that? People are going to look through our stuff. Yikes! It’s a good thing we won’t be able to blush, because that could be downright embarrassing.

Like it or not, the things we leave behind become part of our legacy—and I can’t imagine any of us want to be memorialized as junk collectors or packrats. Wouldn’t you rather be remembered as someone who lived lightly and gracefully, with only the basic necessities and a few special items?

Take some time and mentally catalog your “estate.” What story does your stuff tell about you? Hopefully, it’s not, “Boy, she had quite an affinity for takeout containers” or “That’s odd, I didn’t know he collected old calendars.” Do your heirs a favor, and don’t make them slog through a houseful of clutter after your demise. Otherwise, when you peer down from your afterlife, you’ll likely see strangers pawing through your “treasures” at a giant yard sale.

All right, I promise, no more doom and gloom—this is a happy book! The point is, a jolt from our everyday routines (be it from a vacation or disaster) helps put our stuff in perspective; and in the latter case, it’s a lot better to imagine it than actually experience it. Such scenarios help us see that in the grand scheme of things, our stuff isn’t all that important; and with that realization, we can weaken the power it has over us, and be ready (and willing) to let it go.

British writer and designer William Morris penned one of my favorite minimalist quotes: “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.” It’s a wonderful sentiment, but how exactly do we put it into practice? After all, we don’t intentionally bring useless or ugly things into our homes; yet somehow, some less-than-desirables seem to find their way in. The solution: we have to become good gatekeepers.

It’s pretty straightforward, actually. Things come into our houses by one of two ways: we buy them, or they’re given to us (in other words, we get them for free). No matter what we’d like to think, they don’t slip in when we’re not looking, seeking shelter from the great outdoors. They don’t materialize out of thin air, nor are they reproducing behind our backs (except perhaps the paperclips and Tupperware). Unfortunately, the responsibility lies squarely on our shoulders: we let them in.

As you evaluate your possessions, ask how each item came into your life. Did you seek it out, pay for it, and excitedly bring it back to your house or apartment? Did it follow you home from that conference in Chicago, or from that trip to Hawaii? Or did it sneak in disguised in colorful paper and a pretty bow?

Our homes are our castles, and we devote plenty of resources to defending them. We spray them with pest control to keep the bugs out; we use air filters to keep pollutants out; and we have security systems to keep intruders out. What are we missing? A stuff blocker to keep the clutter out! Since I have yet to see such a product on the market (and if one appears in the future, you heard it here first), we must take matters into our own hands.

Of course, we have the power to exercise complete control over what we buy; we just need to use it. Don’t let down your defenses when something slips into your cart—in fact, don’t escort any item to the checkout counter without extensive questioning. Ask the following (in your head!) of each potential purchase: “Do you deserve a place in my home?” “What value will you add to my household?” “Will you make my life easier?” “Or are you going to be more trouble than you’re worth?” “Do I have a place to put you?” “Do I already have something that could accomplish the same task?” “Will I want to keep you forever (or at least a very long time)?” “If not, how hard will it be to get rid of you?” The last question alone saved me from lugging home a suitcase full of souvenirs from Japan—because once something has memories, it’s a bugger to get rid of.

See, that’s not too difficult. All we need to do is stop and think “Why?” before we buy. But what about those things we don’t
choose
to acquire—and oftentimes don’t even want? (Gifts, freebies, promotional items, I’m looking at you!) It can be hard (or rude) to refuse them; yet once they take up residence in our homes, they can be even harder to evict.

The best defense is a good offense, especially when it comes to freebies. Learning to decline them politely is a valuable technique, which comes in handy more often than you think. Pass up the magnets, pens, and paperweights with corporate logos and accept a business card instead. Turn down the perfume and cosmetic samples at the mall (hey, wait—what are you doing at the mall?), and the miniature detergents and dishwashing liquids from the supermarket. Decline the toaster when you open a bank account, and ask for an equivalent deposit in cash (it’s worth a try!).

If you’re attending a professional meeting or conference, review the booklets, pamphlets, and other materials while you’re there; if they somehow hitch a ride in your luggage, distribute them at the office. And by all means, leave those little lotions, shampoos, and conditioners in the hotels where they belong. Unless you honestly plan to
use
them, don’t let these miniatures (cute as they may be) clutter up your cabinets and drawers.

Gifts, on the other hand, require a different game plan. I’ve found it best to accept them graciously, without going overboard on the gratitude (because if you make a big fuss, you’re sure to receive something similar next year). Yet that leaves a dilemma: what should you do with gifts you don’t want? We certainly don’t want to shove them in drawers, or the backs of our closets—we’re trying to declutter, after all!

The solution is simple: never let them settle in. Keep a donation box outside of your living space (like in the basement), and stash unwanted stuff in there immediately. When it’s full, cart it to your favorite local charity. The time delay between receiving the item and donating it (while waiting to fill the box), can actually work in your favor. For example: if Aunt Maude visits in the intervening months, you can quickly retrieve those bookends she gave you and set them out for display. Photographing the gift also works wonders: if it’s a tchotchke, snap a shot of it on your mantelpiece; if it’s a sweater or scarf, put it on and pose for a picture. Send the photo to the gift giver, and the item to charity, and happiness will reign all around.

In order to be a good gatekeeper, you have to think of your house as sacred space, not storage space. You’re under no obligation to provide a home to every stray object that crosses your path. When one tries to sneak or charm its way in, remember that you have the power to deny entrance. If the item won’t add value to your life in terms of function or beauty, hang out the “Sorry, No Vacancy” sign. A simple refusal up front will save you tons of decluttering down the road!

I hope you like quotes, because I’m starting this chapter with another one of my favorites: “Music is the space between the notes.” My interpretation of composer Claude Debussy’s words: beauty requires a certain amount of emptiness to be appreciated—otherwise, you have only chaos and cacophony.

For our purposes, we’ll put a minimalist twist on this idea and say, “Life is the space between our things.” Too much clutter can stifle our creativity, and make our lives discordant. Conversely, the more space we have, the more beautifully and harmoniously we can live.

Space: it’s not anything, really, but we never seem to have enough of it. The lack of it distresses us to no end; in fact, we’d do almost anything to have more space in our houses, more space in our closets, and more space in our garages. We remember having larger amounts of it sometime in the past, and its disappearance is cause for concern. We look around with puzzled expressions and wonder, “Where did all our space go?”

We have fond memories of how it looked the first day we moved into our homes; oh, all that glorious space! But what happened? It’s not nearly as impressive as we remember it. Well, our space didn’t go anywhere. It’s still right there where we left it. The space didn’t change; our priorities did. We focused so much of our attention on stuff that we completely forgot about the space. We lost sight of the fact that the two are mutually exclusive: that for each new thing we bring into our homes, a little bit of space disappears. The problem: we put more value on our stuff than on our space.

Here’s the good news: space may be easy to lose, but it’s just as easy to reclaim. Get rid of an item, and voilà! Space! Get rid of another item, and voilà! More space! This is fun! Soon, all those little spaces add up to a big space, and we can actually move around again. Take advantage of all that newfound space and do a little happy dance!

What we need to keep in mind (and which is way too easy to forget) is that the amount of stuff we’re able to own is limited by the amount of space we have to contain it. It’s simple physics. No amount of stuffing, scrunching, pushing, or pulling will change that. Seal it up in “magic” vacuum bags if you want, but even they have to go somewhere. So if you live in a small apartment, or you don’t have a lot of closets, you can’t bring home a lot of stuff. Period. Otherwise, you’re going to have a problem.

By the same token, we don’t need to fill all the space we have. Remember, space is of equal value to things (or greater, depending on your perspective). If you live in a four-thousand-square-foot house, you don’t
need
to acquire four thousand square feet of stuff. If you’re lucky enough to have a walk-in closet, you don’t
need
to pack every inch of it. Really! In fact, you’ll live and breathe a lot easier if you don’t.

We talked a little bit about the value of containers in the introduction, and how they hold the greatest potential when they’re empty. When we want to enjoy a pot of tea, we need an empty cup to pour it in. When we want to make a meal, we need an empty pot to cook it in. When we want to do the tango, we need an empty room to dance it in.

Likewise, our houses are the containers of our domestic lives. When we want to relax, create, and play with our families, we need some empty space in which to do it. Alternatively, we can think of our homes as the stages on which the dramas of our lives play out. For the best performance, we must be able to move about and express ourselves freely; it’s certainly no fun (nor particularly graceful) if we’re tripping over the props.

We also need space for our ideas and thoughts—a cluttered room usually leads to a cluttered mind. Say you’re sitting on your sofa, maybe reading a book or listening to music, and a truly profound thought captures your imagination: perhaps you’ve had an insight into human nature, or are on the brink of uncovering the meaning of life. You’re deep in thought, solving the mysteries of mankind, when your gaze falls on the stack of magazines on the coffee table, or the broken sewing machine in the corner. “Hmm, I really must attend to that,” you think; “I wonder if there’s time before dinner…” Your mind immediately takes a detour and your train of thought is lost—and with it, your legacy as a great philosopher.

Of course, you don’t have to be channeling Aristotle to appreciate an uncluttered environment. Even activities of a more mundane variety benefit greatly from space and clarity; for instance, it’s much easier to give your full attention to your partner or toddler when there aren’t a million doodads around to confuse and distract you.

In fact, that’s the greatest thing about space: it puts the things (and people) that are truly special to us in the spotlight. If you owned a beautiful painting, you wouldn’t crowd it with other décor—you’d hang it on its own, with enough space around it to show it off. If you had an exquisite vase, you wouldn’t bury it in a pile of junk—you’d put it on its own pedestal. We need to treat what’s important to us with similar respect; which, in effect, means removing all the other stuff that’s not so important.

By creating space in our homes, we put the focus back where it should be: on what we do, rather than what we own. Life is too short to waste fussing over stuff. For when we’re old and gray, we won’t wax poetic on the things we had—but rather on what we did in the spaces between them.