My Year of Nothing New experiment has not only altered my relationship with stuff, it’s opened my eyes to all kinds of people—and whole movements—dedicated to simplifying their lives and breaking out of joyless consumerist mindsets.
Recently, I found out about Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus—a.k.a. The Minimalists. They blog about living with less and being happier for it. At the moment, they’re at the tail end of their “Holiday Happiness Tour.” They also have a new book out: Minimalism: Live a Meaningful Life. They’ll be at Seattle’s Town Hall on December 21 and Vancouver BC’s Our Town Café the following evening.
I’ll be at the Seattle event and will report back. Meanwhile, a bit more about these guys—and their brand of minimalism.
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For one thing, they’re true converts. By their late 20s they’d both worked hard to “have it all”: six-figure jobs, big houses, fancy cars, and all kinds of expensive “toys.” By most conventional measures they’d achieved the American Dream. Yet with all that stuff, they write “we knew we weren’t satisfied with our lives.” It dawned on them that they were spending all their time working, and rather than being fulfilled by their possessions, they felt buried under them.
Seeking to regain control, they stumbled onto “minimalism,” the idea that living more simply leads to increased freedom and happiness. They embraced it—big time. They quit their jobs and commenced paring their own lives down to the bare essentials—as they define it, trading empty status and stuff for their health, relationships, passions, growth, and contributions to others. They dedicated new careers to teaching others to follow suit. Recently they even moved from their native Ohio to a remote cabin in Montana.
The principles of a minimalist lifestyle are flexible though—you don’t have to quit your job, go live in the woods, or commit to owning fewer than 100 things to adhere. The idea, as one of their mentors, Leo Babauta of Zen Habits, puts it is to shed “the excesses of consumerism, material possessions, clutter, having too much to do, too much debt, too many distractions, too much noise. But too little meaning.”
Ryan and Josh’s 21 Day Journey to Minimalism is a step-by-step guide to uncluttering your life. On Day 3, they have a “packing party,” where they box up everything in the house. Little by little, over the next 7 days, they unpack, starting with the essentials—toothbrush, drinking glass, a change of clothes. Eventually they evaluate what’s left in the boxes, including the “things you think you need,” “things you’re afraid to get rid of,” and “things you keep just in case.”
They’re ruthless—and way ahead of this archivist’s daughter when it comes to tossing family photos and keepsakes (they scan photos first). In the end, they donated, sold, or trashed a vast portion of their unused, unnecessary possessions—the idea is that you really don’t need most of the stuff if it didn’t come out of the box for a week—not to mention the stuff that’s been in boxes for years in your basement!
The genre of the blog and the books is definitely self-help, some of it a little trumped up for my taste. For example, I doubt I’ll be using “mission” in place of “career” in casual conversation anytime soon, though I appreciate the sentiment. I also found myself wondering if the Minimalists see sustainability as a motivation—cutting landfill waste and emissions and saving natural resources—along with their laudable goals of spending less and being happier and healthier. Their recommendation to purge anything that you can easily replace doesn’t strike me as particularly green—except if what they say is true: that you will find you replace very few items on that list.
That said, minimalism’s insistence on mindfulness about what we consume is right up my alley. I think it makes greener consumers of us as well—even if it’s merely a happy side effect. And the notion that increased freedom comes with shedding our consumerist habits (and trappings) resonates with me too—this has certainly been my lived experience over the past 12 months.
And just think of all the precious time there is to nurture ourselves and our important relationships when we reclaim hours currently spent shopping (surfing) for, buying, sorting, organizing, and storing our ungodly amounts of stuff.
I was a minimalist for years, and could carry every thing I owned and never owned a car. I worked as a seasonal fisheries technician in Alaska. Great lifestyle, had plenty of money to travel and rent when needed. Eventually though, “settlement” is a natural progression, and once “settled” stuff just collects, old and new.
thanks for the comment. Interesting point about settlement and stuff. Maybe the answer is smaller houses!
Merritt Scott (Rusty) Miller
Anna, I’m really enjoying these and I’m encouraging my own readers to experience them as well. It’s writing like this that puts the heart in the Green Movement and makes what is necessary feel good. On behalf of a lot of us, I know, thank you. Rusty Miller, editor, The Northstar Journal
Thanks, Rusty! I appreciate it.
I’m currently trying to convince my husband to go minimalist. Growing up, my family moved a lot, and as a young adult, I continued doing so. I was even homeless for a time. So, naturally, I became very comfortable with everything I owned fitting into a duffel bag and a guitar case. However, my husband is the opposite. He’s lived in the same house since the day he was born, and his parents are small scale hoarders. I hate having so much stuff around me. Maybe reading about The Minimalists can help to persuade him.