We are (not) our stuff
Before you read this post, take a few minutes to think about who you are.
A reader, a writer, a thinker. An artist. A worker, a parent, a friend. Someone who expresses their creativity through clothing, or jewelry, or decor. You’re a great cook. A sporty guy or gal. A dog person. A coffee connoisseur.
If you’re like me—and I suspect you are—you have many identities. And you have a lot of stuff that supports your view of yourself.
You have books about writing, cooking, meditation, and art. You have paints, pens, pads, and maybe an easel. A ukulele, a banjolele, and a guitar. You keep thoughtful gifts and cards containing words of affirmation. You have framed photos of your kids when they were their most adorable. You’ve got dog toys, leashes, and things for the dog to chew on. Muffin tins, quiche pans, a French press, and a moka pot. An old Nespresso in case your fully automatic espresso machine goes on the blink.
You have special clothes—and all the accoutrements—for concerts, picnics, the beach, and camping. Outfits you bought for work but no longer need. Clothes that no longer suit you or fit, but were expensive. Skis. Yoga mats. Weights. Multiple bicycles. And a wind trainer, though you prefer to ride outdoors.
Now take a few minutes to think about what you actually use. What you really wear. And when you last used—or noticed—some of that stuff that surrounds you.
Compared to most Americans, I’m almost a minimalist. I’ve never lived in a large home and I regularly purge my material things. I have no yearbooks, parental hand-me-downs, or sentimental keepsakes. But, HOLY HELL, I still have a lot of stuff.
I’ve packed up and moved three times in the last 20 years, and now I’m doing it again. My life—as a semi-retiree with a partner who also has time to play and explore—is about to be radically different. So It’s time to take a good look around.
Whether you’re spring cleaning—yes! let’s all do that—cutting back on work, or planning a major move, there are just two questions to ask.
Who are you now? As we age, life changes and so do we. But our egos can’t let go! Before impulsively taking a carload of stuff to the Goodwill, we might want to sit down for a few minutes (or days) and think about where we actually are in life. Especially during a major life transition, it’s possible to not know. As I lean into the future, I’m trying not to look back. Consciously purging means holding onto a few things that could make me happy when I have time to use them. I can always toss them in the next round.
What’s most important? Minimalism has been around since 300 BC and the Stoics, who believed that happiness came from needing less rather than owning more. But to be a modern minimalist, we don’t need to deprive ourselves of clean clothes or delicious food. We get to decide what matters most. And then we can curate our lives—and our living spaces—around those values. By deciding what to keep and what to toss, we can focus on presence over absence.
In his book Goodbye, Things, about Japanese minimalism, Fumio Sasaki confessed to having been a natural hoarder of knickknacks he thought made him an interesting person. Once he realized that much of his stuff had been accumulated for hobbies he no longer enjoyed, he was able to give it away. Now, when he wants to try something new, he finds a communal space where he can access the tools and materials he needs—without buying anything. This way, he feels freer and more sure of who he really is.
As I look around my house—again—I’m feeling less and less clarity about my future self. Without a job-job, I’ll be free again to be and try and do whatever strikes my fancy. So maybe I need a cleaner slate.
Sure, it could be dumb to give away the yarn and the needles, only to find I’m keen to knit a sweater. But if that happens, I’m sure I’ll want the freedom to choose a fresh pattern that flatters my changing body. I’ll want to make it in my new favorite color. So I’m ready to let that stuff go.
But maybe I’ll hang onto the guitar.
