On minimalism

I recently finished reading the book on Minimalism by Fumio Sasaki. it strikes me as just the perfect introduction to the concept. Just like the last book of his I read, I really appreciate his writing style (albeit translated from its original japanese). He has a way of being brutally honest while still being gentle. It's sort of the firm - yet caring hand we need from time to time.

He's also unafraid to show how much of a flawed human he is. By openly admitting where he's begun and how he's changed (and is still changing), he normalizes the activity (goal?). For myself, that dramatically increased the book's relevance and relatability.

The concept of minimalism isn't new to me, of course. I've read a few books on the topic already, my favourites being the esteemed Mari Kondo's "The Life-Changind Magic of Tidying Up" and the lesser known (but equally esteemed) Margareta Magnusson's "The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning". Of the two, I more readily recommend the latter because it is just so grounded. It takes a certain type of person to embrace Kondo's concept of "spark joy" and well...the talking to your belongings bit. I felt silly trying it myself, but for what it was worth- I did feel a bit more mindful about my posessions following it. Nonetheless, I recognize it isn't for everyone- Swedish death cleaning can be.

But back to Sasaki's book. I really appreciated the way he spoke about poessesions and identity. This was something that I hadn't encountered with the other books. Conflating interests and purchases with identity is something I'd done unconsciously. "I want to be the type of person who is interested in X " vs. "I'm interested in X". This had often led me to buy a lot of books, tools, and knicknacks in the topic, without really putting in the time and energy to actually practice it. it also meant a descent into somewhat of a hoarding tendency. These things would remain as hidden tasks that would drain me every time I saw them. But for one reason or another, I would continue to put them off. All the while, continuing to accumulate MORE knicknacks. It were as if the mere act of purchasing these would endow me with the knowledge/skill in the topic. Or perhaps there was this one specific rare/expensive/complicated thing I needed to get my hands on before I could start. Of course that never came, because just as soon as I got one object- the goal posts would change again. It was a never ending cycle of consumption. What was it fueled by? A desire to not look or acknowledge something deeper in the purchases. Maybe I had just lost interest. It's ok to be a person who's lost interest in photography if your identity is not tied to being a photographer. It isn't ok when it is. It becomes stressful as hell if you lose interest in photography if your itendity is damningly attached to it. it becomes a scurrying hike up and down Mt. Stupid. Desperate to prove to others (and maybe in a larger sense- yourself) that you're a "thing-er" Except you do -everything- but the actual activity. Because the activity is hard. But the funniest thing about this is the folks who actually do the thing, don't really care if they're called a "thing-er"- i.e. a photographer is going to continue taking photographs regardless of what folks call him.

When Sasaki points this out, I felt seen in a way not many books have done. It also let me revisit my posessions and reevaluate them based on these questions. I've been slowly decluttering and asking myself why I hold onto the things I do. Some of them are things I no longer find useful but keep because I paid a high price for them. Some are there because they remind me of who I used to be (even though it brings back bitter memories). I got rid of a box of things over the weekend. I will probably continue to do so the rest of the year.

Will I ever become a minimalist living out of a backpack, sleeping in a sleeping bag? Unlikely. Am I finding that there is a sense of relief and joy when i throw away old things that no longer make me happy or work well? Yes, absolutely.