It's True ... Less IS More

Over the last few years, I merged an entire household of my belongings into smaller and smaller spaces. Lots of belongings, things I once believed that I really needed, have moved onto new spaces, outside my own, now belonging to different people. Bob the Rubber Plant has a new window in a new home, sharing space with Fiona the Ficus. Fifteen plus boxes of books now live on other shelves and are read by new eyes.

I’ve traveled to Africa and China, to off-the-beaten-path places where the luxury of excess does not exist. In China, simplicity is a way of life. Families are sardined into tight quarters and money’s tight, necessitating fewer belongings. In Africa, simplicity’s not a choice. It’s a necessity. Even basic resources are scarce, and you’re lucky if you own one pair of shoes that match.

Coming back home, after both trips, was hard. Just stepping off the plane and into the airport is jarring. Lights blast at you, advertising McDonald’s hamburgers to grab on the run, those curved neck pillows to keep you comfortable, and glossy, shiny magazines for entertainment.

It doesn’t end when you leave the airport. The excess is overwhelming and frustrating. Simple choices become so complex because there are way too many options. The tyranny of choice lurks, drawing out each decision. Store shelves are lined with row, after row, after row, of choices.

How many red kidney beans are really necessary?

Is one shampoo really that much better than the other 27 options?

Do I really need four pairs of jogging shoes?

Four pillows ... three green sweaters, the same shade … ten empty notebooks … three kinds of color pencils for artwork … seven coffee travel mugs …

How much money have I wasted? How many resources? Why?

What really matters? It sure as hell isn’t the stuff I have. I don't even remember that I have half the stuff I own. The amount of space I occupy or what I own does not define me or tell me who I am. It does not define my success.

I know this. I believe it. I purged. I keep purging. There is still more to purge. Out, out, out … again and again. Each time I take a big breath and fill a new box, and as each box travels on, I do feel a bit freer.

Hell, I even feel a bit giddy, but I still own two of those green sweaters, and I still have three boxes of books that can’t part my presence. I’m still working on it.