Minimalism
An alien concept to me ... until recently.
I’ve been flirting with it for several years, unable to embrace it fully. It’s everything I’m not . I don’t do things by halves . I’m more of a maximalist tending to do things in spades and yet the idea has grown on me gradually. The more I read about it, the more I’ve been daring myself to go the whole hog.
Nothing like a global pandemic to force you into sorting out your priorities though . And so I find myself in the middle of yet another major clear out , telling myself that I don’t ever want to have to do this again . This really is the very last time.
Last week I read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning in one sitting. Marie Kondo hadn’t persuaded me but this book made more sense. It’s not something I want to leave to the boys after I’ve gone. That’s what pandemics do to you - sharpen your focus on your impending death . Sounds morbid I realise but it’s true.
It has been utterly overwhelming and yet cathartic. I am left with a deep sense of shame at the thousands of pounds I have wasted on material possessions that were purchased in the pathetic pursuit of happiness and yet left me feeling miserable. I must have been looking for some form of therapy to heal something lacking in me . The futility of my addiction has left me reeling with sadness.
In a moment of hideous clarity the other day , it dawned on me that the thought of any more reckless accumulation of worthless ‘stuff’ had become abhorrent. I would never again experience that adrenaline rush that only shopping seemed capable of providing . It actually rocked me to the core. How on earth would I fill that void that I had so obviously been trying to fill for all those years ?
How sad and how very pathetic.
The process of sweeping away the spoils of a campaign of consumerism that must have been going on for decades involved a million decisions. Each and every single one was painful and exhausting .
I’d like to think that once I’d started it became easier but it didn’t or at least it hasn’t yet although the scales have begun to lift from my eyes. I have now confronted the reality of my addiction and it has truly sickened me.
So here I find myself , sitting up in bed, gone midnight, unable to sleep, feeling compelled to write this down. I’ve a long way to go still but this time, I may just get there.
I’ve been flirting with it for several years, unable to embrace it fully. It’s everything I’m not . I don’t do things by halves . I’m more of a maximalist tending to do things in spades and yet the idea has grown on me gradually. The more I read about it, the more I’ve been daring myself to go the whole hog.
Nothing like a global pandemic to force you into sorting out your priorities though . And so I find myself in the middle of yet another major clear out , telling myself that I don’t ever want to have to do this again . This really is the very last time.
Last week I read The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning in one sitting. Marie Kondo hadn’t persuaded me but this book made more sense. It’s not something I want to leave to the boys after I’ve gone. That’s what pandemics do to you - sharpen your focus on your impending death . Sounds morbid I realise but it’s true.
It has been utterly overwhelming and yet cathartic. I am left with a deep sense of shame at the thousands of pounds I have wasted on material possessions that were purchased in the pathetic pursuit of happiness and yet left me feeling miserable. I must have been looking for some form of therapy to heal something lacking in me . The futility of my addiction has left me reeling with sadness.
In a moment of hideous clarity the other day , it dawned on me that the thought of any more reckless accumulation of worthless ‘stuff’ had become abhorrent. I would never again experience that adrenaline rush that only shopping seemed capable of providing . It actually rocked me to the core. How on earth would I fill that void that I had so obviously been trying to fill for all those years ?
How sad and how very pathetic.
The process of sweeping away the spoils of a campaign of consumerism that must have been going on for decades involved a million decisions. Each and every single one was painful and exhausting .
I’d like to think that once I’d started it became easier but it didn’t or at least it hasn’t yet although the scales have begun to lift from my eyes. I have now confronted the reality of my addiction and it has truly sickened me.
So here I find myself , sitting up in bed, gone midnight, unable to sleep, feeling compelled to write this down. I’ve a long way to go still but this time, I may just get there.
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