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Happy Holidays, everyone! I just wanted to thank all of you for reading my blog, and sharing your knowledge and experiences in the Comments. I love the community we’re building here, and appreciate the wonderful exchange of ideas. If you have any suggestions–like topics you’d like to see covered, or features added to the site–I’d love to hear them. Looking forward to discussing minimalist living with you in the New Year! Think about the place you call home…it may be be a city studio, a suburban rancher, or a farmhouse in the countryside. It may be big, small, old, or new. You may rent it or own it, or share it with others. Whatever the case may be, it’s there…it’s yours…it keeps you safe, warm, and dry. We’re the fortunate ones—we can talk about decluttering, decorating, and organizing our homes. We can wax poetic on paring down to the bare essentials. Meanwhile, too many people are lacking the most essential thing of all: basic shelter. While we settle into our cozy beds tonight, they’ll sleep on steam grates or cold sidewalks, in doorways or under bus shelters. This holiday, please consider sharing some of your good fortune with those who truly have nothing, and donate your money (or time) to a homeless shelter or charity in your area. Many organizations—like Project H.O.M.E. in Philadelphia—provide a wide spectrum of services to those in need: from street outreach to supportive housing and job training. Through education, employment, and economic development, they strive to empower individuals and communities to break the cycle of homelessness. I think Project H.O.M.E.’s vision sums it up beautifully: “None of us are home until all of us are home.” Back in our former house, we had a plastic bin filled with office supplies. I can’t begin to recount all the contents, but know it included more envelopes, rubber bands, paperclips, staples, pens, pencils, markers, and sticky notes than we would ever use or need. The cache had slowly accumulated since our college days. And, as is often the case with office supplies, we were hesitant to declutter them–because we were sure we’d find a need for the neon highlighters or A-7 envelopes the day after we threw them away. The main problem: it’s difficult to purchase most supplies in small quantities. When we had a need for something specific, we had to buy a corporate-size stash of it. The leftovers would then be thrown into the box, “just in case” they’d come in handy in the future. So the supplies multiplied over time, following us around from state to state, and home to home. It took an overseas move to finally get rid of them. When we settled into our apartment in the UK, we intentionally did *not* replenish our stash; instead, we made a conscious decision to purchase things only on an as-needed basis. For the first few weeks, we required nothing more than a pair of scissors and a roll of tape (the latter borrowed from my travel bag, where I use it to secure liquids). Then we had need of a single envelope–but of course, had to buy a whole package. The smallest quantity we could find was a package of fifty. Three months later, we have forty-nine left. At this rate, we’ll use less than four per year; meaning we are currently sitting on at least a twelve-year supply. (!) Fortunately, we have not yet required a stapler (and the thousands of staples one must purchase to fill it). Nor have we had to buy a lifetime’s supply of paperclips or rubber bands; our strategy instead is to save the stray ones that come into our lives, so that our stash consists of two or three, rather than two or three hundred. We’ve also managed to score two large envelopes and a couple of file folders this way. When we moved here, the only office item I brought with me was a single pen/pencil combo (I was trying to travel light!). In retrospect, it would have been wise to pack a small ziplock of various supplies (a handful of paperclips, rubber bands, envelopes, etc.), to save us from having to purchase large quantities of them here. If, like us, you’re an infrequent user of such items, it’s probably better to bum a few off friends or family than hit the local Staples. Alternatively, you can split large quantities with others in need of the same item. (The latter method, however, would require some minimalist friends; others are unlikely to be as enthused over a joint purchase of paperclips!) I’d love to know if anyone has further strategies for keeping office supplies to a minimum!
The idea of corralling hundreds of loose bits and bobs into sleek, perfectly-matched containers had great appeal. I truly thought that by putting all my stuff into various bins, I could maintain a sense of order in my life. But while the containers made my house look shelter magazine-tidy, they didn’t bring me the serenity I’d hoped for. Even though everything was arranged neatly in pretty boxes (cloth-covered, wooden, wicker, plastic, etc.), it was still there. In reality, all those lovely boxes, bins, and drawers served no higher purpose than to hide my junk. At some point I realized that I wasn’t organizing my life; I was organizing my clutter. That’s when I changed strategies: I went from world-class organizer to world-class declutterer. Instead of arranging and containing things, I got rid of them. I decluttered on the weekends; I decluttered in the evening; I decluttered in the morning; I decluttered in my dreams (really!). When I wasn’t actually decluttering, I was thinking about what I could declutter next. And it worked. As my house became emptier, I became happier. With the weight of my stuff lifted from my shoulders, I felt more spontaneous, energetic, and carefree. The big payoff came when I was able to declutter the containers themselves. There’s something very satisfying about not needing any more storage! Even so, when we completed our ultimate decluttering to move to the UK (see My Minimalist Story, Part 2: The Great Unraveling), I’m embarrassed about how many containers we left on the curb. (Don’t worry, they didn’t go to a landfill; they were snapped up within minutes!) My advice to anyone who feels they need to get organized: declutter first. If you have to, declutter for a year before you start buying fancy boxes and squirreling things away. Then think long and hard before you put something into a container (especially if it’s not something you use regularly). Because once you give something a warm, cozy abode, it can be hard to get it to leave. This week the New York Post ran an article about a couple that lives in the city’s smallest apartment. Their “microstudio” measures a wee 175 square feet—only 10 feet wide, and just under 15 feet long. The kitchen is equipped with a mini-fridge and hot plate, but the couple never cooks; they use their cupboards for clothes storage instead of pots and pans. Of course, such an extreme example of minimalism made me wonder if my husband and I could do the same. My first reaction was to laugh at the thought. But then I realized that this is exactly how we lived for six weeks last summer (see My Minimalist Story, Part 3: My Life in a Duffel Bag). Most of our hotel rooms were no larger than this, and we were perfectly comfortable. Yet that begs the question…even though we could do it, would we want to? And to that, I must answer: No. Why not? Because I have a confession to make: I’m Miss Minimalist, and I’m an empty space junkie. I love empty space. Lots and lots and lots of it. The more, the better. If you’d like to know what my dream home looks like, take a gander at this renovated cement factory. (Actually, I wouldn’t want the whole house, just the room with the blue carpet and white sofas–scroll down to see the pics.) I know that many minimalists, and proponents of the voluntary simplicity movement, dream of tiny houses and cozy spaces. Do you know what I dream of? A living room the size of a gymnasium. With nothing but our mattress, two chairs, and coffee table—and tons of gorgeous, magnificent, empty space. I look around at our 800 square foot apartment, and know it’s too big for the paltry amount of stuff we have in it. But if you offered me a 2000 square foot loft for the same rent, I’d take it in a heartbeat. My empty space obsession isn’t new; I’ve been enamored with enormous rooms for as long as I can remember. When I was in college, I worked in a contemporary art gallery. Now I understand why I always felt so comfortable in that space. It wasn’t the cutting edge art to which I was attracted (as I thought at the time); it was the gallery space itself. High ceilings, white walls, more empty space than you could shake a stick at. And I particularly loved it between exhibitions, when the walls were completely blank. In the UK, I’ve found a new way to feed my addiction: touring the majestic interiors of castles and estates. Last weekend, I visited Windsor Castle, which has some of the grandest rooms I’ve ever seen. Tragically, they were covered head to toe in paintings, tapestries, gold gilt decor, and furniture that looked as if it might come to life and attack (I have an irrational phobia of chairs and tables with animal feet). I couldn’t help but fantasize about how beautiful those rooms would look if they were stripped bare—and under what circumstances I might come to live in one. I fear this disclosure may make me unpopular among other simple livers, as my penchant for oversized spaces seems antithetical to the movement’s values. But hey—we all have our quirks. And as of yet, I haven’t actually purchased a gigantic abandoned factory to renovate into a home (though I’m sure my husband fears that someday I might). In reality, I try to live as lightly, simply, and “green-ly” as possible; I dream, however, on a much larger scale. So while I love a good tiny house site as much as the next person, I’m not really yearning for a pint-sized pad. Instead, I’m drooling over outsized lofts and warehouse conversions—and (no longer so secretly) plotting minimalist makeovers of certain royal palaces. Every once in awhile, I like to analyze a category of my possessions. I list what I own, and the reasons I own it. This exercise helps me gain perspective on exactly what I have—and more importantly, why I have it. This week, I decided to take a look at my shoe wardrobe. Years ago, I determined that the best way to minimize my shoes would be to stick to a solid color. I chose black—so out went the brown loafers, the navy blue pumps, the bronze kitten heels, the silver flats, etc. (The base colors of my clothing are black and gray, so I knew black shoes would match everything.) The grand total: six pairs of shoes, which I think seems like a lot for a minimalist. However, they each satisfy a certain need, so I’m not sure how to pare down any further. Here’s the rundown: 1. Ballet flats. These are my everyday shoes in the spring and summer. Wonderfully versatile—can be worn with pants, capris, shorts, skirts, and dresses. 2. Walking shoes. Black slip-on Merrells that function primarily as my travel and sightseeing shoes (or anytime I plan on walking more than a mile or so). They’re also my everyday winter shoe when I’m not wearing my boots. They’re versatile in the sense that they’re super comfortable, yet attractive enough to wear to a nice restaurant. The only drawback is they can only be worn with pants. 3. Knee high boots. I wear these constantly in the fall and winter with tights and skirts/sweater dresses. They’re slightly more frivolous than the first two pairs, but still play an important role in my wardrobe. 4. Office heels. Professional-looking heels appropriate for both work and dressier (but not formal) occasions. I wear these with skirts, suits, pants, and day dresses. 5. Dressy heels. Fabric sling-backs suitable for cocktail and more formal dresses. I wear these to weddings, parties, formal dinners, and cultural events like the opera, symphony, etc. Although I wear these the least of all my shoes, I’m always glad I have them when I need them. 6. Hiking shoes. These are a new addition to my shoe wardrobe, purchased for rambles in the English countryside. Unfortunately, my walking shoes were not up to the task (and would have been quickly ruined by the rain and mud). While I was reluctant to acquire another pair of shoes, they’ve enabled me to explore the gorgeous UK countryside with my husband. At this point, I have to come to terms with the fact that my lifestyle requires a certain variety of footwear. If I owned only ballet flats, I wouldn’t be able to go hiking, or walk long distances while traveling. If I owned only walking shoes, I wouldn’t be able to wear skirts or dresses. Furthermore, neither pair is appropriate for business suits or formal attire. If I was a hermit, I could certainly manage with a single pair of shoes. However, while I’m a big proponent of minimalism, I don’t believe it should detract from my experience of life. Therefore, I hope my little discourse on shoes (which may appear somewhat trivial at first glance) illuminates a more important point: that minimalist living is not so much about living with as little as possible—but rather, as little as possible to meet your needs. (Note: I also started a thread on this topic over at The Simple Living Network; please see the excellent discussion there if you want to read more about simplifying your shoes!) Ask any minimalist what they want for Christmas, and I guarantee they’ll say “nothing.” However, if you’re set on buying something anyway, I’ve compiled a list of gift ideas in keeping with their lifestyle. (If you’re the minimalist, you may want to pass this post along to friends and family!) So here it is—the Top Ten Gifts for a Minimalist (or What to Give Someone Who Doesn’t Want Stuff): 1. Amazon Kindle. Yes, the Amazon Kindle 2. Scanner. It’ll help the minimalist in your life declutter their documents, and can also be used for digitizing photos, postcards, letters, magazine articles, and any other stray scrap of paper lying on their desk. Two to consider: the NeatDesk Desktop Scanner 3. iTunes gift card. If they have an iPod, they can always use some digital music. 4. Gourmet items. Minimalists prefer consumables to stuff. A bottle of fine wine, a box of nice chocolates, or a selection of fine cheeses will be appreciated and enjoyed—without generating any clutter. 5. Luxury bath items. A bar of artisan soap, or luxurious lotion, is another lovely “consumable” gift. Choose something that they’d like, but wouldn’t necessarily splurge on for themselves. 6. Tickets. Minimalists also prefer experiences to material things. If it’s consistent with their interests, tickets to a cultural (symphony, ballet, opera) or sporting event make an ideal gift. 7. Restaurant gift certificate. Pick their favorite restaurant, or new hot spot, and treat them to a nice dinner out. 8. Gift membership. Give them a year’s membership to a museum, zoo, botanical garden, or other cultural institution. They’ll get free admission and other VIP perks. 9. Charitable donation. If your minimalist is passionate about a certain cause (or just generally philanthropic), make a donation to their favorite charity. 10. Nothing. Hey, it’s probably what they asked for anyway—so why not make them happy, and make your life a little easier? I’d love to hear any further suggestions! If you’re a minimalist, what would you like to receive? |
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(Photo: 
(Photo: 
I used to be a big fan of organizational items. Although I wasn’t much of a shopper, a trip to The Container Store or Organized Living never failed to excite me.
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(Photo: 
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is another gadget—but it can replace entire shelves of books! Personally, I love the information in books but hate the physical format; they take up too much space, they’re bulky to carry, and they’re heavy to ship. I dream of having my entire library in digital format someday.
and the 
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