The Mins

Living more with less

“Are you prepared to walk away from everything?”

These are The Minimalists, Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus. And the dewy-eyed school girl in the middle is me.

I wasn’t in love with the men. I was in love with their idea: Minimalism. When I share their posts on Facebook I expect everyone to get as excited about their messages as I am. Since many aren’t, I wonder if it’s because the antiquated idea of minimalism is a turn-off. If minimalism meant paring down to a single place-setting to use at my collapsible table that doubles as a desk, a single uncomfortable chair in the corner that is also the rack for my only coat, bare walls, and one all-purpose pair of shoes, I wouldn’t have subscribed to the concept either.

But that’s not what minimalism means to me (though in a strange “if I were single and brave” kind of way, I admire it).

When I discovered The Minimalists in an article online a few years ago, it wasn’t the promise of a life with less stuff that sent me beelining to Amazon to order their book Everything That Remains. It was that they used the concept of minimalism to reclaim every facet of their lives, and looked happier than I had felt in a long time—or ever.

I’ve always been enamored by the idea of total transformation. They had the formula: all I had to do was look for the excess. Beyond clearing piles of clutter in the basement or pruning my dresser drawers, where was the mental, emotional, and spiritual baggage piling up? What outdated thoughts and habits kept me locked in unfulfilling jobs and damaging relationships, or remain riddled with debt and feeling like a stranger in my own skin?

If we really think about it, we collect far more than just “things.”

When we shed the excess we make space in our lives to live purposefully. If we aren’t as distracted by mounds of crap piled in the closet (you’ve probably heard that the quickest way to clean your house is to get rid of most of what’s in it), or stressed over lives that no longer feel like ours, suddenly we have the time and energy to pursue our passions—and the clarity to discover what they are—and shift our attention to the pastimes and relationships that truly bring us joy.

Ultimately, to me minimalism means freedom. Freedom from stuff, unnecessary obligations, toxic people, debt, bad habits…all of it. But only if we let it.

My brand of minimalism is a constant game of trimming the fat. Can I cut ties with all the toxic people in my life, for instance? Probably not. But I can take a serious inventory of my relationships and limit the ones that cause me stress or pain, while also recognizing the people who make me a priority and doing the same. Is my basement completely void of boxes, or have I pared my clothes down to a capsule wardrobe? No, but I have condensed my “sentimental” items to a single tote, and have completely altered the way I buy and retain clothing and accessories—a practice which also saves money. Or have I quit all my bad habits and landed the job of my dreams? Not yet, but I am taking a closer look at my life choices, and finally left the job that wasn’t right for me anymore.

It’s a work in progress. Trim, trim, trim.

If nothing else the idea of minimalism is a starting point to evaluate what serves us and what doesn’t. What keeps us stagnant and what liberates us from the chains around our wrists. I would consider myself a successful minimalist if I could look around at my life—and everything and everyone in it—and stand behind my choice to keep every single piece.

And have the courage to expel that which I can’t.