filling the space

Last updated on 2 May 2020

This past Sunday I organized the shoes on my closet floor. The pile looked like a footwear orgy for the homeless. Shoes tossed upside down and sideways helter-skelter. There wasn’t a matched pair and I got frustrated looking for the mate to my new New Balance 980’s which I have come to love even though my first run in them last week partially tore my Achilles. So now I’m looking for my black wingtips with the new blue laces Elin bought me so I can look cooler in jeans than anyone else at the real estate office.

I should get rid of some of these shoes, I think, as I dig and find two pair of Oakley high tops I got 20 years ago in the eyewear brand’s misadventure in footwear. I get distracted so easily that Elin’s pet name for me is “Scatter.” But I put the Oakley high tops on just to see how they look with the jeans. I realize why I never wear them. They are so hot it’s like putting fur coats on my feet in July.

So I spread the shoes over our bedroom floor and onto our bed as I match lefts and rights pair by pair. Eventually I have all my shoes mated. I ditch a couple of pairs of old running shoes and some boots I got from a friend at a footwear company. I “sorta” like them (which means I will never fucking wear them). I do not get rid of the Oakley high tops.

She almost fell off the bed in roiling laughter. “You got rid of them Mr. Minimalist.”

I do all this while Elin is away doing something for work and I am supposed to be watching the kids; it’s a good time because she won’t lecture me about discarding stuff I do need. The last time I was in a manic purging mood I dispatched so many socks I asked her if she had seen a particular pair.

She almost fell off the bed in roiling laughter. “You got rid of them Mr. Minimalist.”

Oh, yeah.

Minimalism has been on my radar for a while.  Today I read a new essay by Leo Babauta on zen habits about how advertising motivates us to feel less than. So we acquire new things based on a fantasy created by advertising. He uses Apple and clothing companies as examples of marketers who create images of beautiful people with beautiful lives because of these products. Joshua Fields Millburn, author of Everything That Remains, also recently spoke about minimalism in his essay Less, less, less, less, less…

 Here is my essay on the subject.

It’s easy to say minimalism is simply the opposite of materialism. If you reduce minimalism for simplicity’s sake, I guess it is. But boiling minimalism down to only its reverse is beyond unsophisticated. Like saying the universe is stars, dust and rock. Minimalism is a way of looking at life. It’s forced me to think about what I hold on to and why I have all this stuff in my life.

The force behind minimalism is awareness. 

Elin and I are adding onto our house, a 1400 square foot tri-level in a section of Ann Arbor called the Crescents. Our home is  situated very much in the middle of middle class. We used to feel a sense of superiority over our friends with larger homes, as if our small home was a statement about materialism. Elin’s ex used to call our house a “chicken coop.”

Now our biggest possession is going to get bigger. Our minimalist home is still minimal, only a little bigger. Does that make us hypocrites?

I have to admit I am really excited about the addition. Not because we’ll have a cool new space to decorate with more stuff. My excitement is focused on the process — the journey — of creating this space. Elin and I have been planning this for months, even perhaps from the moment

I have to admit I am really excited about the addition. Not because we’ll have a cool new space to decorate with more stuff. My excitement is focused on the process — the journey — of creating this space.

we moved in more than four years ago. Planning with her and working with the architect–I will have to write about this guy some day–to applying for and getting our building permits has been a new kind of exciting. We both gushed when we got the green light from the city to build. (Incidentally, building permits are not cheap).

Suddenly all the stuff on paper and in our heads became a series of real steps we were undertaking to get things done. Getting proposals. Speaking with the concrete contractor. The heating and air conditioning guy. The electrical contractor. My brother-in-law who is bringing a crew up to build the structure. We’ve started moving plants from the backyard to make room for the digging and building about to occur.

We are aligning all these different pieces to create a new space off the back of our home. We will be buying materials – is this literally “materialism”? – and assembling them to create a larger house.

We will be buying materials – is this literally “materialism”? – and assembling them to create a larger house.

The kids are giddy because the addition means they get to improve their bedrooms too which means a flurry of buying. For two of our daughters who share a room, the addition also means they get their own rooms. This will mean lots of new paint and some new furniture. Acquire away, they say.

I know I look like a hypocrite now. But hang with me here because I think this is where our acquisition of stuff is quite different from shopping sprees at the mall. There will not be mindless buying at IKEA or Design Within Reach. With each of our children, we will be asking for thoughtful discussion about what they really need and how there are limits. Getting a new bed, for example, might mean they have to use hand me down sheets and blankets or go without a new dresser. Or, that dresser might come from the Salvation Army.

We are trying to teach thoughtful, purposeful acquisition. That is, we are making deliberate choices about what we buy. What’s more, when we do buy we’re not focused only on that purchase but how what we buy fits in with the things we already own and if buying these things means there are other things we can let go of.  If that makes us Minimalists, then we’re okay with that, although Elin wouldn’t say she is because she doesn’t like labels.

A balance on my credit card almost always causes me more pain than is offset by the joy I get from having something new. Not always, but often.

The vast American cultural machine that pushes us to want and acquire leads to clutter–our homes, our garages, our storage spaces. More important than that, as both Babauta and Millburn point out, acquisition clutters our minds, our experiences and our attention. It also diminishes our bank accounts. Minimalism is creating space in our lives.

It’s always a battle because advertisers are often that good. I am materialistic about some possessions — my Cannondale bike, my MacBook Air, my iPhone and iPad, running shoes, several dress shirts from Limited Express, my S’well bottle. Guilty.

I try to use everything I adore everyday. I use it until it’s worn out and can no longer serve the purpose for which I purchased it. A balance on my credit card almost always causes me more pain than is offset by the joy I get from having something new. Not always, but often. It feels better not to have to worry about buying something new.

I see minimalism as being aware about what one acquires. It’s making conscious choices about what and what not to buy. If we are not acquiring things, then we can focus on experiences, and that fits in with my mission of authenticity. Elin and I are getting a bigger space and we are making hard choices about every square inch.  And the difference is the gap filling the space in my head.

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