Closet Check Forever

I always think this is it... this is the year that I won't need to clean out my closet again. But it never goes that way. And it isn't because I'm not being thoughtful or forgetting to maintain my minimalist ways. It's because purchases sneak in. It's because the years of thinking "one more garment" will make me happy still have sway over me (it's hard to admit it!)

Some purchases I make throughout the year are very valid: a new season means warmer or cooler clothing, which means replacing worn-out pieces, or adding basic essentials. Those are necessary. But throughout the year, I receive gifts of clothing, or pieces I pick up on the fly at a thrift store or Target. Those are the ones that sneak in and sabotage me.

I have a dear friend who loves to thrift like I do. She has a habit of purchasing a clothing item from the thrift store every time she's in, and if she doesn't find something to buy, she feels like she's being kept from the joy of buying, being denied the thrill of the hunt. It's cheap and simple, after all, right?

That's where it's all wrong, though. And she knows it. She has a pile - a literal pile - of clothing that doesn't fit in her closet sitting next to her bed: pieces she's picked up over the years that she doesn't wear, and it sits there, waiting for her to donate back to the thrift store or wear it. And she does neither.

It's both funny and also sad. She knows she needs to stop buying, but she's having trouble breaking the "seeing and purchasing" cycle, and not donating what she already doesn't wear. It's vicious. And yet, how I so understand!

So it comes down to daily denying yourself. It isn't fun to hear, or for me to write, but it's the only way to be free. If you like to shop, think of it as an exercise in saying no. If you can't help but shop, or at least window shop, then go in with the mindset that you don't need any of it and enjoy looking. And if something finds its way home to replace an old piece, fantastic. 

The thrill of purchasing lasts for such a small time. And this works for large or small items. I had a former brother-in-law who purchased cars yearly because he loved the thrill of a new car. It was truly heartbreaking to see it happen because we knew each car only satisfied his hunger for a short time.

When I'm out shopping, I try to remember a few things:

1. Do I truly need this, or do I already have something like it? If not, put it back.

2. Is this item going to replace something I already have? If not, put it back.

3. Am I buying this because I need the dopamine hit to feel good? Or because I really need it? If not, put it back.

4. If I buy this, how often will I wear it? If we're talking less than once a month, then just say no. Put it back.

There are only a few clothing items we wear regularly. I dare you to test this theory! Look at what you wore this last season. A few of the same pieces, over and over, I'm sure.  We tend to wear a handful of items every season. So, why not keep with those few items and see how creative we can be with those core pieces this next season? Remember, 10 articles of clothing - five tops and five bottoms - can create 25 different outfits. That's nearly an entire month all with just a few pieces!

We need less than we think we need.

So, will I have to keep an eye on my closet forever? Probably. But I can exercise my "saying no" muscle every time I shop, only buying what I truly need and will truly wear, and keep my closet thinned out but full of life;  loved the way every wardrobe deserves.

-Heather

Wisdom in Minimalism

How much better to get wisdom than gold, to get insight rather than silver! (Proverbs 16:16, NIV).

For years, as I grew up reading this proverb, I marveled at its relevance. For one thing, it didn't feel relevant. That is the point of a proverb, though. To point out the problem and supply a better promise. But I was young when I first read it; I didn't possess wisdom. Naturally, it didn't make sense. Why and how would wisdom supersede the need or desire for money and things?

Fast forward to me turning "old," and it all makes sense now. Partly because I know money doesn't satisfy me the way I want it to; it never can. It's a forever trap of accumulating to feel better, until I lose interest and buy something else to raise my spirits. Ad nauseam.

Wisdom is what it took to show me how things really are. And what is that wisdom? Minimalism.

Things will never satisfy us. Only appreciating what we have and using what we have, with the central theme of contentment at its core, works. It's a figuring out of what we already have, appreciating that, and choosing not to need more to feel satisfied. To really be happy.

This is something money - which translated into things - could never generate for me. Even though I thought it could, thought it should, and wanted it to. It was a never-ending cycle of need that clouded my vision for my life, my family, and everyone around me.

Looking back, that proverb that always needled me is all I needed to see clearly. Because getting this wisdom meant learning from mistakes, talking to wiser folks, and educating myself with what God has to say about money, friendship, and life decisions. 

As Joshua Becker says in his newest book, Uncluttered Faith, "I've found, in fact, that there are some things we simply cannot learn about ourselves until we minimize our possessions." And that's precisely what happened to me. Minimalism, and the love for slow living, which is central to minimalism as well, matured me and reminded me what true, honest, and soul-thriving living was all about. 

Here's the wisdom I've acquired (and am still acquiring) showing me how wrong I was about materialism.

Wisdom in purchases: Buy what I need, buy what I use. Of course, there will be times when I want a little fun and will purchase something fun; perhaps even something we don't really need. But on the whole, all of my purchases are extremely focused on what I can use, give, and live on. Not to accumulate. I have wasted time on buying stuff and curating collections I don't need. And when I realized all of these useless purchases wasted my time - literally taking time out of my working schedule that I can't ever get back - it changed my purchasing power and my level of contentment. As Becker also says in his book, "Contentment isn't about giving up or not wanting more. It's actually a powerful force that can lay the groundwork and provide the inspiration to reach higher heights than we ever dreamed." That is the wisdom I've gained in minimalism. There's so much power and freedom in not wanting more. 

Wisdom in time: We only get so many hours, so many days, and so many years to make a difference. What will I show when God asks me what I did for the years he gave me? Because acquiring a collection of dishes surely means nothing by that time. That was of no value other than a short amount of joy. And while there isn't inherently anything wrong with collecting - we should have joy here on earth - our lives on earth are short. We might as well make them count. As Becker mentions in his book,  "What do we really value in life? When we get down to it and search our hearts, is our greatest goal to live lives of ease, comfort, and entertainment for ourselves...?" The most worthy thing I can do with my time is to love others and show that love, every day of every hour given to me. There is a time and place for vacation and time off, entertainment and fun, but at the end of life, I'm thinking I'll have wanted to have done more for others than for myself.

Wisdom in relationships: Who we spend time with makes a difference in how we spend our time. Storing up treasures in heaven is the goal, but it can be hard to make that the goal when we're surrounded by a culture whose focus is to get our focus off of that! Choose your friends wisely; be with people who sharpen the good in you and want similar goals. Is your time spent mostly on seeing how you can spend it being entertained? While there is a place and time for that, if you're enticed only by how this world can entertain you, from television to shopping, you'll be rich here temporarily, but bankrupt for eternity when we die. From Uncluttered Faith: "As we intentionally own less, we begin to detach from the world and its empty promises." What lie is the world promising you now? What time-wasting (but money-saving!) things can you change from your life?

Wisdom takes time. We humans are slow to learn. I know this because minimalism didn't start for me until ten years ago. But it began with a love for slow living and vintage clothing, then a trip to Europe (with my great friend with only one small bag) that really got me questioning my lifestyle. It transformed the way I think, live, and love. 

It's a forever work in progress, this minimalism. I'm constantly reverting back to a consumeristic way, only to remind myself that I don't live that way anymore. Nor do I need to. But I am in love with my simple, full, and incredibly rich life. I am so satisfied.

Wisdom is hard-won because you have to fight to get it. Like anything good, it's going to take effort to keep it, too. But you can do it; you can fight the good fight when you know what you're fighting against. And learning how to treat things in our lives with wisdom may be just the start you need. 

**Joshua Becker's book, Uncluttered Faith, is a wonderful book about faith and minimalism, how intertwined they are, and how biblical the minimalistic lifestyle is. I highly recommend it, even if you're not religious. It's eye-opening and encouraging, and it will get you to think, ponder, and listen... all the beginning facets of wisdom.**

They Left Us Everything - A mini review

I recently finished a book called The Left Us Everything, by Plum Johnson. The book's writing was well done and intrigued me the moment I started it, which is always a great sign. I plowed through the 400-page book, riveted by every chapter, and it didn't disappoint.

It's essentially about a woman (and her siblings) who have to go through their late parents' home -- one that was stuffed to the gills. For most people with aging parents, this book is relatable. 

But as a minimalist, I figured this book would be about wishing that their mom and dad had downsized before death, since it caused a lot of grief to not only go through the things, but also balance their grief alongside everything they touched. It was hard enough to deal with their loss, but having to go through endless paperwork, every closet, and the attic and basement space was an added burden.

Somewhere I read that this was a good book about "a family going through a house," and I thought it would be a great read, particularly as a minimalist and as one who loves a good estate sale. My kind of book!

Ultimately, the book was different than what I expected. It was good (get it here), and it's a reminder that we will all go through grief with our parents at some point, and many of us will have to deal with a house to go through as well. But the biggest thing I wasn't expecting the author to say, amidst a 4000-square-foot house stuffed with things to go through, is that she "thinks everyone should not have their parents downsize, but instead, as their child, go through the pain of getting rid of a house full of things."

I was flabbergasted, and just a bit confused. Didn't she dread going through the house? She told us this constantly. Hadn't she said she wished her parents had gone through the piles of paperwork? It took her something like over a year to go through the whole home. She, in fact, moved in to work on it; it was so overwhelming.

Here's what I think she was getting at: She got to relive her life, her memories, find new things about her parents, secrets and unknowns, and was glad for this. When you grieve the loss of someone, any new thing that surrounded them tells a story; it helps to form a more perfect story of who they really were. Whether it was the perfume mom wore daily, or the closet of clothes dad loved, or the piles of recipes she kept. I understand this because when someone leaves us, all we have are memories. And to tangibly hold something that meant something to them, it connects us ... we feel that they're still with us.

But, I don't think it's wise to keep a stuffed home for your kids. Most of it will be tossed, and that's what this lady ended up doing: throwing away and donating most of it. Sure, larger items, like furniture, went to siblings and grandkids, and that's wonderful. But wouldn't it have been even better if the parents had been able to give those things away with a story to the family while everyone was still alive? There's value in that; there is love in giving items away with your blessing.

Grief is hard. But going through a house of stuff is harder. If it had been up to me, I would've told my parents to take a good look at Swedish Death Cleaning and then help them do it!

It's difficult to give up a family home; to let go of every memory that every corner of the home holds. I get it. I did this with my parents a few years ago, one they lived in for 40 years, and I still think about that home. Constantly. But nostalgia keeps us from looking at the truth of a matter. Wanting to leave and needing to leave are two different things. Sometimes, being practical and realistic has to overcome memories and nostalgia. Loving your parents also looks like helping them live a less complicated life the older they get.

So, while I was in disagreement with her theory that it was good to have a houseful of stuff to go through (that weighed heavily on her and her siblings throughout the entire, dragged-out process of getting rid of a lifetime of things in the home), I do sympathize with her predicament. I would also recommend reading the book. It was eye-opening and a wonderful memoir, and clearly, she loved her parents.  

In the end, that - not the stuff - is what matters anyway.

Minimalism Comes in All Sizes

Sometimes I feel like a true minimalist; other times, I feel like a minimalist with a problem in a few areas. But what really makes a minimalist, anyway?

A minimalist lives to the utmost with less. That's it.

If I'm being honest, even as a minimalist, sometimes there are things I want, things that I have an eye on acquiring, because I do need them. And sometimes, I don't even need it and still want it. And I still acquire it.

And guess what? It's okay to do that. 

Just because you've decided to become more of a minimalist doesn't mean the "desire to acquire" will leave. Sometimes this desire takes time to fade away, and other times, it doesn't. 

Or maybe it does fade for some things, like when you realize a Beanie Baby collection is probably not the best thing to keep, but still loving your shoe collection is. I mean, at least one of those collections gets used, right?

It's okay if your shoe collection doesn't become as minimal as you want it to be, or as someone else wants it to be. It's easy to assume that once you go minimalist, you'll just give up your desire for everything and become the minimalist of someone akin to a backpacker in Europe!

But that isn't the goal. The one who has the least isn't always the winner.

We're not all the same. We shouldn't all be the same. For some, a capsule wardrobe is their thing. For me, as a minimalist, I can't do it that way. I can't have that little to work with. And it's probably because I am fully immersed in a vintage clothing world (that I buy and sell and wear from). I have a small wardrobe, to be sure. It's smaller than my husband's! But it's by no means a capsule wardrobe. And that's okay.

All these ways are okay. 

I've made my closet as minimal as possible, but I will always make room for a quality vintage wool winter sweater, or a perfect pair of worn-in vintage 501s, and shoes. Don't get me started on the shoes. I will always own more shoes than I can wear (but I do rotate through every pair throughout the year. There's just more than, say, the capsule wardrobe wearer would have... by like 30 pairs.)

But the caveat is knowing when to say no. While I will make room for a beautiful vintage '40s dress in my closet, I don't need 50 of them. I keep my items minimal, but have variation, and don't keep what I don't wear. It's as simple as that. And that's where the extra funds come in now for me.

The older I get, the more I yearn for less. And here's why:

Vacations: I realize that the things I buy can instead be directed toward places to go. I want experiences now! I want to travel, see things, meet more people, and immerse myself in cultures I know nothing about.

Family: Now that my two sons are married, eventually the grandkids will come. Maybe not now, but soon. I'd rather have funds to spend on them than myself. I'll be lucky to live another thirty years in this world. My kids have more than double that. I'd rather spend it on my kids, my parents, my siblings, family, and my future grandchildren. 

Food: I went to brunch at a restaurant this last Sunday. We don't eat out a ton; we love to cook and stay home and make meals, but we probably eat out once a week. And this last week, it was brunch on a patio, with the perfect temperature and an adorable doodle dog staring at us a table away. It was perfect. And I want more of that.

The more I can spend on experiences, vacations, going to brunch on Sunday, the more alive I feel. Of course, buying a new pair of shoes can also make me feel alive, but what's the return on that investment? If it's a pair I'll wear over and over, and it's a quality pair of shoes I need, great. That'll work!

But if it's just to buy for the sake of buying, that is a royal waste of time and a poor use of my finances. Investing in a vacation with my husband or kids, or eating out with family, that's even better.

Minimalism comes in all shapes and sizes. Find what works best for you. Make it accustomed to your needs and desire for simplicity. Then figure out where you really want your money to go.

You may question that pair of shoes you impulsively bought, but you definitely won't regret dinner with your family at that perfect vacation spot. The goal of minimalism is freedom. So how much (or little) of it do you need to feel free?

Get What You Want by Saying No

I just got back from a cruise to Alaska with my husband a few weeks ago. The weather was wonderful, we ate amazing food, and saw pristine, untouched land that looked like nowhere else. We saw wildlife and passed by walls of green forests with waters tainted by a three-thousand-year-old glacier. We smelled the freshest spruce air and experienced it all on and off a boat. It was unspeakably beautiful. 

Cruising is a great way to see what you want to see, and a lot of it. It also means I know where I can get food at any time, and I know where I’ll lay my head at the end of every day. These are two constants that stay with me as I navigate and explore each port stop.

The not-so-great thing about a cruise is the quantity of food and drink. I know; it sounds like I’m contradicting myself. But it's not the availability that flummoxes me; it’s how much is available, as in, overdoing a good thing. I knew it would be trouble for me. I live a rather regimented lifestyle with my diet, yet I also knew it would be a nice change and a chance to enjoy foods I don’t normally eat.

But, as the week progressed, the amount of food I ate staggered me. I normally don’t eat much breakfast, but here I was sitting down to a fine dining breakfast because I could. I had extra drinks, extra rolls with each meal (when I normally don’t eat bread!), dessert with every dinner and sometimes every lunch. It was fun. Vacation is a time for going off the diet! But, it’s also an outrageous way to live. 

By the end of the week, I remember sitting down in pain, watching people walk by as we headed back to our starting port of Seattle. I was so full! And I realized that I would have to go back to my old diet not only because I needed to, but also for my health and to feel better. Being too full all the time was physically hurting me. 

I’m sure everyone who passed me was full, just like me, because we wanted to get our money’s worth. But was it worth it? I knew that to get back to feeling normal again, I was going to have to say no. Say no to foods that don’t work with my autoimmune disease, say no to foods to get back to my normal weight, and say no to sweets that I had so religiously avoided for years. 

I thought about that and realized it was the answer to getting everything I wanted. Say no. If I wanted to write that book, I would have to carve out time every day and say no to other things during that time. If I wanted to be in shape, I would have to say no to sitting and instead move. If I wanted to be a minimalist, I would have to say no to bringing excess into my home.

This mindset goes against a book I read about saying yes to everything. An introvert started saying yes to everything (mostly social things), for a year, and doors opened for her. And that’s great! Especially when you’re used to saying no. 

I can appreciate the concept, but in the end, saying yes to everything doesn’t work for me; it doesn’t make me feel whole or healthy. I say yes to what works in my life, but I can’t say yes to every commitment, or I will burn out. 

Saying no is in the best interest of my health and well-being, especially as a minimalist. We can’t do it all without suffering the consequences. If I say yes to every social commitment, it means I’m saying no to something else. Period. There’s no way around that. Same with bad versus good food, or buying versus not buying.

So, why say no? Here are a few reasons why I have to say no to most things in my life to get a few good yesses.

I’m saying no to excess: Imagine if I said yes to everything I wanted. Every piece of clothing, every fun pair of shoes, every book, every new piece of house decor. My home would be overflowing. As it is, it’s still overflowing, and I practice minimalism. There comes a point when I have to say no, not only because I don’t need it, but to say no to the desire to consume. We’re used to this: the desire to purchase for the sake of purchasing. We can live with less. We need less than we think we need, and it starts by walking out of the store with nothing extra, closing the app, and, perhaps, not shopping online at all.

I’m saying no to bad health: Saying no to dessert, saying no to second helpings, saying no to a breakfast I don’t normally eat, these are all the things I need to do to keep myself in my best health. Nothing wrong with having a treat, but if I want to remain healthy as I age, there is no way that’s attainable by eating whatever I want, whenever I want. I will have to say no and say no a lot to foods that won’t help with this. It’s not fun to think about, but it’s the only way to good health.

I’m saying no to laziness: No one wants to be reminded that we fight against laziness, but it’s in our construct to want to do the easy thing, to take the wide gate, to go down hills, not trudge up them. I took up running again, after a few years off, and wow does it show! I’m slow, it hurts, and I have no idea if I’ll ever be as fast as I was before. So, what’s kicking me out of bed twice a week to do it? The only thing is me knowing that I have to fight against aging to stay healthy. No one else will do it for me. We atrophy what we don’t use. Mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically, it’s up to me to keep those muscles strong.

Saying no is not fun, it’s not easy, and usually, there is little to show for all the effort… until later. But, little by little is where it’s at. It’s the slow accrual, like interest, that seems inconsequential at the time, that becomes a huge investment reaping dividends. For me? Those rewards are good health, the minimalistic lifestyle I long for, and a disciplined life.

While this cruise was spectacular, and I’m all for going off the normal diet on vacations, there is a reason I say no most of the time: it’s no to excess, it’s no to bad health, and it’s no to laziness. Fighting against my human self is something I have to do daily, and with every small choice I make. And simply by saying no to the donut and yes to the walk, or no to the pair of shoes I don’t need, that’s where I win… one step at a time.