Minimalism, but for people who like things
I actually really enjoy having things that I really enjoy.
As I stack another pair of pants on top of my pants tower, I can’t help but wonder: “Was my minimalism phase all for nothing?”
I used to make the pilgrimage to Goodwill, like a reverse communion, and leave my bags like offerings at the donation door. I’d blog about how good it was for the soul to have fewer things, all while miserably rationing my cell phone data because internet was not minimalist.
Eventually, I pared my shoe collection down to six rather ugly, and only mildly practical, pairs. Because, and I emphasize, I believed I was being good.
See how happy I was with my donation bags? (Narrator: “She wasn’t”)
The truth is, I’ve always been a collector. These days, I sit atop a small mountain of shoes—some of the most impractical you’ve ever seen—because each pair evokes emotion. My clothes, too. I could tell you where I got each piece, why it still draws me in after all these years, and the places I’ve been as I’ve worn it.
The issue is not so much the buying as it is the keeping. I know I need to get rid of a modicum of stuff for my own good, but everything I own has so much of myself woven into its fabric. Folding my clothes and dusting the trinkets on my shelves is a religious experience, a connection to who I’ve been and who I am.
I suppose it’s okay to hold on, to embrace in place of consuming. But it’s also okay to let go when it’s time—after all, my moment with minimalism helped me make a life-changing move.
And that’s why I look back at that floral dress-wearing girl above with a full heart and plenty of gratitude…
because I’m so glad I kept that dress.
Next Steps: Drink a glass of water, put on that blazer you’re obsessed with, and make yourself a tidying plan for the weekend because the pants tower has GOT TO GO.