I’ve been on a minimization quest for some years now.
With death-by-stuff the norm in North America, it is a quest that can take some years and quite a bit of process.
So every six months or so, I take a good look around my home, peer into the bookcases, rummage through the closets, and generally get rid of at least a box or two of stuff that I simply don’t need anymore.
With every box gone, I feel lighter and freer.
Enough is enough.
Some months ago I stayed in another’s home for a few days. It was a beautiful home. Well laid out; brick-a-brack nicely placed with multiple memories represented here and there and everywhere.
It really was quite nice, and yet at one point in my stay, as I really looked around and really took in the stuff, there was a distinct sense of panic and claustrophobia.
I remember what it was like, to care for that much stuff.
To dust that many pictures.
To clean that many items.
To manage and care and steward…
Some years back now, I had the privilege of cleaning out the home where my Aunt and Uncle had lived for 20 plus years. It was one of the best things I ever had to do, for in the process I came starkly to the reality that when we die, 97% of the stuff we have, will mean nothing.
Not A Thing.
But we spend so much time on things. So much energy on stuff. So much… I’m pretty sure it is choking out our lives.
Where there might be action we have care-taking.
Where we might have passion we have pretties.
Where we might have meaning we have must-haves.
Imagine, rather, that your home had only 1/2 the stuff in it.
Imagine your walls 1/2 clearer and cleaner than they are now.
Imagine your closets 1/2 emptier and freer than they are now.
Imagine your floor space 1/2 more open than what it is now.