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Journey To Love

The Awakening...

An acquaintance came to my home for the first time and wandered around for two minutes declaring that I had nice things. Thankfully, my mother taught me that I should always accept a backhanded compliment as a compliment nonetheless. Which is exactly what I did because that is not what he meant and I wasn’t fooled. My home was tasteful and minimalist for sure but as sparse as a parsonage it was not. None of this mattered because I divorced myself of all logic and reason and joined the herd and spent the next decade in a constant (and I do mean uninterrupted) state of acquisition. At my peak, I think my acquaintance would have blushed in embarrassment for me. The wheels came off this gorging of mine when I decided, for a minute, that I would relocate to South Dakota (population SD = 600,000 & my home city 600,000) and realized I simply could not. 

Transistion...

The process of purge-so-your-home-sells-for-more-money-and-I-can-buy-more-stuff had begun and had gathered strength making it unstoppable. Sixty-five percent of my gorgeous possessions which at one time I would simply have perished if I didn’t own them were carted off to storage and I wasn’t allowed to go down there to visit my beautiful, little, yummy, needful things. How did I survive you might wonder? Remarkably well, thank you. .

I Found Love...

Now my home is governed by my needs and those of my friends and family; no longer is it ruled by inanimate object d’ art. People breathe comfortably in my home, not nervously wondering if it would be their last. I have a dining room once again and not a room set to display items in awe-inspiring fashion. People no longer run from my home citing sensory overload as the immediate medical cause and they don’t view time in my place as a brief stay in the crown jewel of the Wisconsin penal system. Now “you have nice things” is meaningful because they can actually focus on something in my condo. 

  1.  Mummy was correct – to thine own self be true. Don’t live to impress and like public displays of affection – conspicuous consumption is gross.
  2. Upon seeing my space father asked, “What the Hell are you doing?” I now ask myself that question prior to taking any action.
  3.  Minimalism is not a filthy word. If anything it takes, perhaps, more effort to achieve a comfortable, welcoming, tastefully lit home where those thoughtfully selected anchor pieces are placed intentionally.
  4. Embracing Minimalism doesn’t equate to a monastic cell where all sacrifice comfort and embrace deprivation. It is all about knowing what’s in your home and why the Hell it’s there.
  5. There really is no sane reason to live in an environment where I find something in my home and think “I forgot I had this most impressive thing that makes me look like a glutton.” I’m serious, there really is no logical justification.
  6. That brings me to my final point: Gluttony is one of the Seven Deadly Sins and forewarned is forearmed.
Let me conclude by publicly announcing that I finally saw the light (for a change nothing was obstructing the light anymore). A few vintage items or a family piece or a well-done repurposed item do make a space and you won’t have to sweep up the remains of a shattered piggy bank. Why? Because I no longer believe the little-baby-Jesus wants me to consume material things with the same strength as my Dyson vacuum does dust bunnies. You can trade in a bejeweled or bedazzled (now I’m showing my age) gilded cage for a comfortable and peaceful spot that reflects your personality. Next week I’m looking at ways to begin the process to incorporate some of the precepts of Minimalism into your space. Come back next week – we’re going to have fun.

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