As a kid, I wasn't really a minimalist. I would keep things that I didn't use and didn't love, storing them in my tiny closet and setting them up on my waist-high bookshelf. After all, South America didn't have a Goodwill so it's not like I could clean out and donate what I didn't want. That means my friends and sisters were the ones who got my hand-me-downs and what they didn't want just stayed in my room.
Although I was keeping most everything at that point, it still didn't add up to much so when we moved back to the USA for me to go to college, everything I owned fit in a dark green duffle bag. I had next to nothing, but what I did have, I organized over and over and became known for my skills in tidying up all the things. I'd organize my friends' closets, my sisters' bedrooms and my mom's kitchen anytime they'd let me. I loved it.
It wasn't until a few years ago that I ever heard the word "minimalist". Until then, I had just been a really great "organizer", but once minimalism started to become a thing, I let it become
my thing. These past few weeks, I've spent some time wondering over what got me to that point in the first place and I don't actually think it was any one thing or an over-night decision, but 30 years of a certain lifestyle that eventually got me there by default.
Always on the move. I've packed up, moved and unpacked
37 times. I'm only 33. My mom has even told me that I'm missing some moves in there, so it's actually somewhere over 40 moves. That's a lot. The older I've gotten and the more times we've moved, the more I've hated having stuff and can't seem to ever truly settle in at any one place. To me, when I see all my "stuff", I end up seeing it all as just a bunch of crap that I have to one day pack. And I don't want to get too comfy in any apartment, cabin, house (or any other crazy place we've lived) because I know I'll eventually be moving. So, somewhere along the way, it became easier just to not own or get attached to any personal items or certain place.
On a tight budget. Growing up as a missionary kid meant we didn't have tons of money for wants, though we always had everything we needed. I remember going to dance class and my friends having the new Tamagotchi pets and Country Apple Body Spray from Bath & Body Works and feeling left out and awkward that I didn't have the same things as the other girls. Don't get me wrong, I'm probably better off as an adult for it. Once I grew up, though, and started working, I was shocked that money didn't go as far as I dreamed it would as a kid. And when we have had extra money, Nick and I have spent it on travel instead of furniture, decorations, clothes, TVs, cars and all the other things that are fun to buy. So, over the years, it became second nature to skip stuff and use our limited income on getting out of town.
However, after loosing our baby in October, and coming back home to a 3,000 sq ft home with hardly anything in it, it felt too empty and I felt too alone. I saw it was tidy, but not cozy.
So, last night, as we watched Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, I became interested in how Harry found The Mirror of Erised and saw his parents standing beside him in the reflection. He became obsessed with the life he wished he could have and sat staring into the mirror until he finally was caught and got this warning from Dumbledore:
"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live".
Although I don't believe I've forgotten to live (I've had a pretty amazing, very full life so far), I do feel like I can find myself stuck on certain dreams. Or maybe they aren't even dreams, but an odd mixture of wants and worries...
"What if we don't stay in this house?"
"What if we move to Greenville?"
"What if we live overseas again?"
"What if I buy this piece of furniture and then can't use it in our next home?"
"What if this cute jacket doesn't hold up and turns out to be a waste of money?"
"What if I spend this money today and then can't take a spontaneous trip next month?"
"What if I turn into a hoarder and Nick's aggravated with the amount of stuff we own?"
"What if I love it here but have to move one day?"
"What if I put a lot of time and energy into this place and then it burns to the ground?"
I could go on and on. But, I think, deep down, what has been fueling my obsession with minimalism may be simply that I'm scared and have been "coping" by owning nothing. Staying unattached (to both people and possessions) has created a false sense of freedom...as if I'm protecting myself from loss by having nothing to loose. But, whether I'm a minimalist or not, loss will always be unavoidable.
Apparently, I've got a lifetime of dreams built on hopes and fears and I'm tired of dwelling on it all.
So, I've decided that
I'm going to get comfy where I live. I'm going to treat my home like I'm staying, finally settle in and stop worrying about whether I'll have to pack up and one day move. It's not today. I'll cross that bridge when (and if...) I get to it.
And I've decided that maybe
this is a season of less travel and more home. Instead of spending all my extra money on getting out of town, I'm going to enjoy some homemaking for a while. I've already bought a new photo frame for a few baby photos and two bright-red stools for the kitchen.
I think minimalism suited me well for a long time by helping me deal with my life in my 20s. But, now I'm well into my 30s and I'm ready for a change. Or maybe it's that I'm ready for
less change and more stability? I'm not even sure really. But, for once, I am where I am and that's all I know. Though I'm not planning on becoming a hoarder, I'm taking a step back from my minimalist lifestyle and returning to what I loved as a kid: organizing.
Instead of worrying about living with less, I'm going to take pleasure in living with purpose.
