The Joy of Less, a Minimalist Living Guide (5 page)

What if someone offered you the Mona Lisa—with the stipulation that you couldn’t sell it? Sure, you’d have the opportunity to gaze on a breathtaking painting twenty-four hours a day; but suddenly the responsibility of one of humanity’s greatest treasures would rest squarely on your shoulders. It’d be no small task to keep her secure from theft, clean from dust and debris, protected from sunlight, and stored at the optimum temperature and humidity. You’d no doubt also have to deal with a steady stream of art lovers wanting to view her. In all likelihood, any pleasure you’d derive from her ownership would be usurped by the burden of her care and upkeep. Before long, that mysterious smile may no longer seem so charming.

On second thought, thanks but no thanks—we’ll leave her in the Louvre instead!

We’re incredibly lucky, in our modern society, to have access to so many of mankind’s masterpieces—without having to acquire and maintain them ourselves. Our cities are such amazing resources of art, culture, and entertainment, we have no need to create artificial approximations of them within our own four walls.

I learned this lesson years ago, when I was fresh out of college. I had studied art history in school, and worked part-time in a contemporary art gallery. I attended scores of exhibitions, read dozens of monographs, and fancied myself quite the connoisseur. So when I had the opportunity to acquire a print by a well-known artist, I couldn’t hand over my money fast enough. It was a big step in my young adult life—I was on my way to becoming an art collector.

The joy of acquisition waned a bit when I faced the responsibility (and expense) of having the print archivally matted and properly framed. Next, I had to tackle the issue of where to display it. Naturally, I hadn’t stopped to think how a modern work of art would look in my prewar apartment. Nor had I considered such things as lighting, glare, and sight lines. In the end, I settled on the place of honor above the fireplace. Although it clashed a little with the vintage tile work, I wanted it to be the centerpiece of my décor (I’d paid good money for it, after all!).

Once I worked through these issues, I was finally able to sit back and admire my treasure. Imagine my surprise when one day I spotted a big black bug, smack dab in the middle of my precious print! I couldn’t fathom how it had gotten under the glass of the professional frame; but there was nothing I could do but let it be. I’m not sure what it did in there, but it added its own artistic smudge and went on its way.

Nevertheless, I displayed it proudly—and carefully wrapped it up and carted it with me when I moved. My new apartment lease prohibited wall hangings, so the print acquired a less glamorous position on the floor. After several more relocations, I became decidedly less enthusiastic about hauling it around and finding places to put it. It spent five years covered in bubble wrap and stuffed in a closet before I finally sold it. From then on, I decided to let the museums handle the art, and I’d go and enjoy it at my leisure!

In fact, finding ways to “enjoy without owning” is one of the keys to having a minimalist home. Case in point: those cappuccino makers gathering dust in our kitchen cupboards. In theory, it seems convenient (and somewhat decadent) to be able to make a steaming cup of frothy java in the comfort of our own homes. In reality, the contraption is a pain to drag out, set up, and clean up when we’re finished; and to top it off, the brew never seems to taste quite as good. It’s somehow less
special
when we can have it anytime. After playing barista a few times, we realize it’s more fun to visit the local coffee shop, and soak in the ambience while sipping our drink.

In pursuing a minimalist lifestyle, we need to resist the temptation to recreate the outside world within our abodes. Unfortunately, however, trends in home design have been moving in the opposite direction: media rooms, fitness centers, and bathroom “spas” are all the rage in the luxury home market. It’s almost as if we’re going to hunker down and never leave our houses. But instead of purchasing, maintaining, and repairing all that equipment, why not have a fun night out at the movies, go to the gym (or take a walk), or treat yourself to a day at the local spa? That way, you can enjoy such activities when it strikes your fancy—without having to store and care for all the stuff.

For even less work and worry, apply the same principle to your backyard. Keep it neat and maintained, but don’t feel compelled to create a botanical extravaganza behind your house. Instead, do as city dwellers do, and take advantage of public parks and gardens. There, professional landscapers do all the hard work, leaving you free to enjoy an ever-changing panorama of flowers and foliage. It’s a great way to get your greenery fix, without having to own a garage full of lawn and garden equipment. Likewise, there’s no need to turn your yard into a five-star resort, complete with pool, tennis courts, fire pit, and outdoor living rooms when you can enjoy similar amenities (and much less upkeep) at the local community center or swim club.

If you’re particularly susceptible to buying “pretty” things, repeat “enjoy without owning” as a mantra when you’re out shopping. Admire the delicacy of a glass figurine, the metalwork on an antique bracelet, or the vibrant colors of an artisan vase—but instead of bringing them home, leave them in the showcase. Think of it like a museum trip: an opportunity to admire the beauty and design of well-crafted objects, without the possibility (or pressure) of ownership. I do the same while surfing the Internet; and to be honest, I get just as much satisfaction from looking at the pictures as I would from owning the pieces.

In our quest to become minimalists, we want to reduce the amount of things in our homes that require our care and attention. Fortunately, we have ample opportunity to do so—simply by shifting some of our pleasures and activities into the public realm. In fact, such action produces a pretty wonderful side effect. For when we hang out in parks, museums, movie houses, and coffee shops—instead of trying to create similar experiences in our own homes—we become significantly more socially active and civically engaged. By breaking down the walls of stuff around us, we’re able to get out into the world and enjoy fresher, more direct, and more rewarding experiences.

Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu, author of the
Tao Te Ching
, wrote, “He who knows he has enough is rich.”

Enough—it’s a slippery concept. What’s enough for one is too little for the next guy and too much for another. Most of us would agree we have enough food, enough water, enough clothing, and enough shelter to meet our basic needs. And anyone reading this book probably feels that they have enough things. So why do we still feel the urge to buy, and own,
more
?

Let’s investigate this word “enough” a little more closely. Dictionary.com defines it as “adequate for the want or need; sufficient for the purpose or to satisfy desire.” Ah, there’s the problem: even though we’ve satisfied our needs, there’s still the matter of our wants and desires. In order to experience the joy of “enough,” that’s where we’ll need to focus. It’s quite simple, actually: happiness is wanting what you have. When your wants are satisfied by the things you already have, there’s no need to acquire any more. But wants can be pesky little things; and in order to get them under control, we have to understand what drives them.

Let’s imagine we live out in the middle of nowhere, with no access to television or the Internet, and no magazine or newspaper subscriptions. We may live simply, but we’re perfectly satisfied with what we have. We’re warm, well-fed, and safe from the elements. To put it simply, we have enough. Then one day a family builds a house next door to us; it’s bigger than ours, and filled with more things. Our enough doesn’t look like so much anymore. Then more families move in, with all different kinds of houses, cars, and things; holy cow, we never realized how much stuff we
didn’t
have! A satellite connection brings us TV and Internet, and we get a glimpse into the lavish lives of the rich and famous. We still have the same possessions as before—which with, up until this point, we’d felt perfectly satisfied—but now we can hardly help but feel deprived.

What happened? We fell victim to the classic dilemma of “keeping up with the Joneses.” Suddenly, we’re not measuring our “enough” in objective terms (is our house sufficient for our family?), but rather in relative terms (is our house as nice, as big, or as new as the one next door?). Worse yet, the problem is compounded because the bar keeps moving; once we’ve made it to the level of one Jones, we focus on the next Jones up. Let’s face it, though: there’s
always
going to be someone else who has more than us. So unless we truly believe we’re going to become the richest people in the world, it’s an exercise in futility to define our “wealth” relative to others. The funny thing is, even billionaires aren’t immune to this phenomenon; they’ve been known to try to outdo each other in the sizes of their yachts. If contentment with stuff is out of reach even at the loftiest levels, then
what’s the point?

The fact of the matter is, once we’ve covered our basic needs, our happiness has very little to do with the amount of stuff we own. Beyond this point, the marginal utility (or satisfaction) derived from consuming additional goods diminishes rapidly; and, at what economists call the “satiation point,” it actually turns negative. (Perhaps the reason you’re reading this book!) That’s why “more” often fails to satisfy us—and in some cases, can even make us less happy. Consumer one-upmanship, therefore, is a shell game; the only winners are the companies selling the goods. We’d actually be happier, more relaxed, and more satisfied people if we disengaged from it entirely.

Cultivating an attitude of gratitude is far more conducive to a minimalist lifestyle. If we recognize the abundance in our lives, and appreciate what we have, we will not want for more. We simply need to focus on what we have, rather than what we don’t have. If we’re going to make comparisons, we have to look globally, as well as locally; we have to look down the ladder, as well as up. Even the poorest of First World families are rich by Third World standards. So while we may feel deprived relative to the more affluent in our own country, we’re living like royalty compared to many others around the world.

I used to feel discontent because my house had just one bathroom. How inconvenient when nature is calling, and someone else is taking a shower! How awkward to have to share with overnight guests! Then one day a wonderful book came into my hands:
Material World: A Global Family Portrait
by Peter Menzel. It featured “average” families from around the world, photographed in front of their houses with all of their possessions spread around them. If you ever feel the slightest bit deprived, just open this book—most middle-class Americans will find they own more material goods than other First World families; and the humblest of our abodes would be palaces to the poorest ones. It’s truly eye-opening how little some people possess; I learned that even indoor plumbing is a rarity in some parts of the world. It gave me a new perspective on my relative “affluence,” and made me realize how lucky I am to have any bathroom at all!

Now that we have a better understanding of where we stand in the world (and not just compared to celebrities or our neighbors), let’s wrap up our discussion of “enough” with a little exercise. It’s very straightforward; all you’ll need is paper and pencil (or a computer, if you prefer). Ready? Go through your house, and make a list of everything you own. I know some of you are looking at this page incredulously; but no, I’m not kidding. Make a list of every book, every plate, every fork, every shirt, every shoe, every sheet, every pen, every knickknack—in short, every single object—that resides inside your home. Too difficult? Try just one room. Still can’t do it? How about just one
drawer
. It’s pretty overwhelming, isn’t it?
Do you still feel like you don’t have enough?

Mahatma Gandhi said, “Live simply, so that others may simply live.” As it turns out, this may be the greatest incentive of all for becoming a minimalist.

Now that we’re thinking globally, let’s consider this: we share the world with over six billion other people. Our space, and our resources, are finite. How can we guarantee that there’s enough food, water, land, and energy to go around?
By not using any more of it than we need.
Because for every “extra” we take, someone else (now, or in the future) will have to do without. That “extra” may not add significantly to
our
well-being; but to someone else, it may be a matter of life or death.

We must realize that we don’t live in a vacuum; the consequences of our actions ripple throughout the world. Would you still run the water while you brush your teeth, if it meant someone else would suffer from thirst? Would you still drive a gas guzzler, if you knew a world oil shortage would bring poverty and chaos? Would you still build an oversized house, if you witnessed first-hand the effects of deforestation? If we understood how our lifestyles impact other people, perhaps we would live a little more lightly.

Our choices as consumers have an environmental toll. Every item we buy, from food to books to televisions to cars, uses up some of the earth’s bounty. Not only does its production and distribution require energy and natural resources; its disposal is also cause for concern. Do we really want our grandchildren to live among giant landfills? The less we need to get by, the better off everyone (and our planet) will be. Therefore, we should reduce our consumption as much as possible, and favor products and packaging made from minimal, biodegradable, or recyclable materials.