decluttering – Living The FIgh Life

Guarding The Gate: How I Stay a Minimalist

Becoming a minimalist takes a lot of introspection. Identifying what you value the very most and letting go of the rest is hard work. Asking yourself tough questions to separate the objects you own from the emotions, marketing pressures, perceived value, and other forces that drive what we buy and own. Likewise, I’ve found that staying a minimalist doesn’t happen on its own––I have to stay focused on my values to avoid falling back into the collect-purge cycle.

For decades I spent countless hours each year organizing, culling, and disposing of (selling in a garage sale or donating) loads of excess stuff that had accumulated since the last purge. Then I’d rinse and repeat the following year. My master organizing or annual spring cleaning efforts didn’t make me a minimalist, but changing my relationship with stuff did. I became a minimalist in March of 2022––about 15 months before my wife and I downsized 98% of our physical possessions and became full-time nomads.

But how do we maintain our newfound freedom? By setting up systems and methods to prevent new items from re-filling the spaces we have worked so hard to empty. Here are my strategies for how I remain a minimalist and guard my metaphorical “front gate” preventing unwanted stuff from creeping back into my life.

I stopped shopping.

Shopping as entertainment is no longer a part of my life. Sure, I still buy an item like a shirt or shoes when I need to, but I don’t browse just to see what savvy marketers are trying to get me to buy. Instead I read, visit museums, enjoy lengthy nature walks, and lots more. There is so much to do and see without needing to go into a mall, big box store, or antique shop for entertainment. As I travel full-time, I am constantly confronted with shopping opportunities. So many museums, amusement rides, and other tourist sites channel me into their gift shops in hopes I will leave with some trinkets, whether lovely hand-crafted local items or lower-quality items imported from elsewhere. I am barraged at airports, along the streets of quaint downtowns, and sometimes on trains and buses. When a market of locally produced crafts is integrated into a historic street or festival (which is frequent), I stroll, hands behind my back, and admire their handy work––but I keep moving, looking for the food or drink stalls with a delicious local flavor to enjoy instead. Grilled corn is a favorite of mine. As I encounter the various shopping situations around the world, I remind myself of my values and buy only things that support them closely. My souvenirs are my photos and memories made, which are easily portable and I can enjoy their dividends anywhere, again and again.

I buy consumables instead of trinkets — enjoying Mexican corn in Mazatlan

I shared my minimalist values with family, friends and co-workers.

Gift giving is ingrained in our society. I enjoy giving gifts, so I can’t expect my friends and family to refrain from giving me gifts. I do politely let relatives and friends know I value experiences (eating out, visiting a museum, and travel) and consumables (homemade cookies or a bottle of craft gin) over physical possessions. I let them know about my efforts to downsize and that I value having less physical things in my life. If asked what I would like for my birthday or Christmas I no longer give the modest “oh, you don’t have to give me anything” non-answer. Instead, I help them by giving options: a gift card to a favorite restaurant, tickets to a museum, concert or sporting event, their famous pineapple upside down cake, or even something physical that I truly do need at that moment like a replacement shirt. I also model my values by giving gifts that are experiences and consumables unless I know exactly what physical object they need. While I have received a couple of gifts over the last few years where I needed to find them a new home, overall my family and friends have been gracious in recognizing and supporting my minimalist values with their gift giving.

I’m armed with responses to help turn down unwanted gifts.

As my wife and I travel, well meaning people offer us gifts. Our hiking guide to the top of Mount Fansipan surprised us with commemorative medals for completing the tough hike to the top of Vietnam’s highest peak. We thanked him profusely for carrying them up the mountain on our behalf, took a picture with them, and then politely returned the medals letting him know that “We travel light,” and “Sorry, we have very small suitcases,” and asking if the still-new medals could be given to other hikers. He totally understood and returned them to his backpack for the next hikers he guided up the mountain. In addition to a persistent “no thank you,” these simple phrases have helped us avoid most offered gifts. Giving a simple reason for why I am unable to accept an unwanted gift often helps the gift-giver accept my choice to pass on the gift.

We returned the medals to our guide so they could be given to other hikers who may wish to have them.

I don’t let unwanted objects enter my daily routine.

For gifts of physical objects that I can’t dissuade someone from giving, I quickly find a new home for them and don’t let them become a part of my life. Just because someone gave me something does not mean I have to imbue it with emotion and sentiment. Their love for me, and mine for them, are separate from the gift itself. It is the thought that counts, not the physical object. For Christmas last year I was given a ball cap with one of my favorite college team’s logo on it. I enjoy watching that team play, but I don’t wear ball caps. But a close friend who loves that team and wears ball caps was happy to have it.

I’m wary of accepting gift bags or other “freebies.” While free stuff often feels like getting value and speaks to that inner poor college student in me, it usually doesn’t align with my top values and can quickly take up valuable space in my life. Freebies are never truly free as every object we own comes with an IOU of effort to organize, clean, and eventually dispose of it. At a recent personal finance conference I attended, I let them know in advance that I didn’t need the conference T-shirt even though it was included in the registration. Even though it was a fun T-shirt for an organization I support, I just didn’t need it. We can turn down freebies and not allow them to re-clutter our lives.

This applies to things we buy that for one reason or another don’t work as well as we thought. Finding the right clothes for full-time travel took some calibrating. For example, I replaced two cotton shirts (my long-time preference) with quick-dry synthetic shirts that I thought would travel better. But I quickly learned that merino wool shirts were the best travel clothes for me. So instead of letting the two nearly new synthetic shirts take up space in my suitcase or storage, I donated them. I saved space, both physical and mental, and let someone else find value in them.

This wallet I bought in Sa Pa, Vietnam replaced my worn out wallet my daughter gave me in 2016.

I recognize marketing strategies and resist them.

Don’t “collect all five!” And a diamond bracelet isn’t actually the only way to express devotion to a significant other. We are barraged by clever and powerful marketing tactics designed to make us feel like we have to own a product to be part of the crowd, feel complete, or avoid missing out. Recognizing these forces can help us build our immunity to them. When dumped into a gift shop after visiting a tourist attraction, I remind myself that this is by design, and that I am not obligated to look at their wares let alone buy anything. I don’t linger, I head for the exit as planned, and I enjoy the next part of my day.

This goes for online marking strategies, too. Minimizing our exposure to ads will help us resist buying stuff we don’t need. I recommend using an ad blocker on your browser. When Google stopped supporting the uBlock Origin extension, I switched to Firefox (which offers more privacy anyway). I switched from Google search to DuckDuckGo and I get a lot less ads. I also use a VPN with an ad blocker. Bottom line––using ad blockers really helps!

Guarding the gate requires some vigilance. But having systems in place to reduce exposure to our buy-buy-buy culture, declining gifts or steering potential gift givers toward what you value most, and not letting unwanted new items enter our daily routine can avoid the life-consuming collect-purge cycle and support a life of contentment. With some proactive strategies, we can maintain and continue to reap the life-changing benefits of the minimalist life.

At the nightly street market in Luang Prabang. I spent my money at the food stalls.

The More of Minimalism

Minimalism has had a profoundly positive impact on my life. I’m healthier and calmer, I have more time and flexibility with money, and I’m more content overall. In an effort to share why I have chosen a minimalist life and why it is so rewarding to me, here are my eight benefits of being a minimalist:

1. More Time to Focus on What I Value

Minimalism helped me focus on my highest priorities. By getting rid of the physical things from activities that were not my highest priorities (e.g., canning equipment, guitar and musical gear, biking gear, and old collections), I was able to shift the pieces of time spent on each of these lower-priority pursuits to my more important priorities. I now have more time to travel, be with family and friends, take care of myself, be outdoors, and follow my curiosity.

By pursuing these top priorities and letting go of the rest, I found I didn’t need 98% of my belongings and I became a different person in the process. The exact percentage isn’t important—the number will vary from person to person—but I think almost everyone’s personal belongings will significantly decrease when we focus on only those priorities that truly matter to us and let go of all the stuff belonging to lower priorities. Now I spend a lot less time researching, buying, repairing, cleaning, and disposing of stuff I don’t need. This provides me an enormous amount of time to do what I value most.

I also save time managing all that stuff. During my years as an active duty military member, I moved houses 13 times in 20 years. By my 5th move, I had 5 sets of heavy-duty metal shelving for garage or basement storage and 6 sets of tall plastic shelves for closets, utility rooms, and attic storage. Every move I would spend hours (days?) getting our 17,000 lbs of possessions stacked and stored. Many of the boxes I never even opened between moves, but often shuffled them around to reach other boxes. I would frequently open and dig through numerous boxes trying to find something I thought I had—wasting valuable time. When I got rid of all that stuff, I reclaimed my time.

More time for camping (Flathead Lake Montana)

2. More Money to Focus on What I Value

Similar to freeing up time to do what I value most, minimalism frees up thousands of dollars to invest or spend on the things I value most. Minimalism has freed me from the desire for more stuff to manage, clean, organize, and store. I no longer buy souvenirs or collectibles. I don’t buy new clothes for each season. I don’t buy in bulk or because an item is on sale. I also don’t need to buy storage bins, shelves, dressers, and the myriad of other things I used to organize and store all that stuff. Instead of spending money on the latest single-use kitchen gadget, electronic upgrade that I don’t need (or want), or containers to hold them, I redirect those monies toward charity, family and friends, travel, our early retirement, and the other experiences and hobbies I value the most.

3. More Physical and Mental Whitespace

My excess stuff added visual and mental noise to my life. My possessions demanded to be cleaned, fixed, maintained, used, and sold. Not only did my stuff take up my time and clutter my space, it also cluttered my mind with a constant stream of “shoulds”—a mental to-do list if you will. As I became a minimalist and decreased the amount of stuff I owned, I also freed myself from these numerous unwanted mental conversations. It was calming and mentally quieter.

With my few remaining possessions I had the mental conversations I did want to have. I can say yes more often to the books I want to read, yes to more travel, and yes to more quality time with family and friends. Likewise, by letting go of lower-priority commitments, I gained invaluable whitespace between my remaining activities—time to reflect, rest, and recharge.

I now dedicate a portion of time to doing nothing—to let my mind rest. Our brains need downtime to process all of the inputs that we feed it everyday. Having time to meditate, walk in nature, or just be is crucial to our mental well-being. I have learned to say yes to my health!

4. More Calm

Choosing to focus only on my top priorities freed my schedule. I no longer stress about getting from one activity to the next or having to choose between the multitude of tasks demanding to be completed. By letting go of our two cars, for example, I let go of my driving-induced stressed persona. I disliked who I became when driving in traffic—trying to will lights and other drivers to accommodate my tight schedule. It was stress I didn’t need. Now, when I do need to drive, I build in extra time, so I can mitigate many of the potential stressors of navigating the roads with my fellow humans. By reducing and focusing my commitments, I am able to build in extra time in my schedule that results in fewer activity conflicts, fewer tight transportation connections, far less stress, and much more calm

5. More Flexibility

Having less stuff means more flexibility to do what I want and live where I want. In my old life, I had to pass over several great rental houses because my family’s 17,000 lbs of stuff just wouldn’t fit. So I ended up with more expensive and less desirable houses. But now as a minimalist, I have increased flexibility and choices. I can easily move apartments if the rent is raised too high or the owner decides not to renew my lease. I don’t need a large moving van and crew of packers and movers to move my stuff. A minivan will do the trick if moving locally or a small low-cost self-loaded U-Haul box if I am moving farther.

This benefit is particularly useful as a full-time nomadic traveler. I only have a carry-on suitcase because I don’t need many clothes and I don’t want physical souvenirs. So I rarely pay for or deal with checked baggage. My backpack and suitcase are easy to carry on public transportation, up steps, or across bumpy terrain. They are easy to pack and unpack as we move from location to location.

As a minimalist, I easily adapt to the leanly-stocked short-stay accommodations. My apartment in Chiang Mai, Thailand, for example, only has two plates, two spoons, two forks, two wine glasses, two tumblers, etc. My wife and I don’t need more. I am content to wash these few dishes each day and enjoy the calm of the uncluttered space. Minimalism has increased my freedom.

We can easily move our remaining belongings at a moments notice

6. More Kindness to My Heirs

Every possession comes with an IOU. A future debt of time to care for and responsibly dispose of the item. Having a lot fewer possessions greatly reduces the workload shifted to your loved ones when you pass away. It took my wife and I many months to sell, donate, or otherwise responsibly dispose of our household of stuff. During that process we offered many things to our kids and other family members, only to discover that they wanted very little of what we owned. By pairing down our over 17,000 lbs of stuff, we have saved our kids the hard work of disposing of these items. We saved them time figuring out what was truly important in our lives. We also updated our wills and medical directives and let our kids know where our online possessions resided and how to access them. Pairing down now is both a gift to yourself while you are alive and a future gift to your heirs. We never know when our time on Earth will be up.

7. More Kindness to the Planet

In becoming a minimalist, I have realized that I don’t need or want a second (or third) set of dishes, a closet full of rarely worn clothes, or a bevy of decor items. Having less stuff, and using the little stuff I do have for its full useful life, uses fewer of our Earth’s limited resources. If I don’t take something off the store shelf (or purchase items much less frequently), then the company isn’t going to immediately obtain the natural resources and spend the energy to make a replacement item, package it in layers of cardboard and plastics, and refill the shelf space for the next customer. Having less is a gift for the planet, which in turn is a gift to ourselves, our kids, and our neighbors.

8. More Contentment

Minimalism has helped me recognize what is truly enough—enough money, enough stuff, enough commitments. I no longer pursue happiness. According to research, sixty percent of my happiness is out of my control. It is fleeting, and it places too much weight on what I own and do. I don’t need my bed, my food, my workout, or my clothes to make me happy. They just need to do their jobs. Instead, I pursue contentment in my simpler life. Contentment allows room for both the bliss and grief that are part of everyone’s experience. Recent examples in my own life include moments of bliss at my children’s college graduations and grief for my dad’s passing, but still being content. Always pursuing happiness can crowd out sadness, fear, and grief. I have more emotional flexibility and mental clarity when my goal is contentment. I can obtain a fully contented life because I have found enough.

I am enough.

Ask Yourself Tough Questions And Let The Answers Change You

[This was first published on the minimalism and lifestyle blog No Sidebar.]

My wife and I sold or gave away 98 percent of our belongings which enabled us to achieve our goal to become full-time nomadic travelers in July 2023. In my pursuit of a simpler life with fewer things, I had to ask myself tough questions. I needed to––I was a self-described “collector of collections” and had a lot of stuff when I started this journey.

Asking myself the popular question about whether something sparked joy didn’t work for me. I found it too easy to confuse any “joy” I felt for a possession with the fleeting enjoyment of a shiny new object––that proverbial “new car smell.” Sometimes I needed to get rid of something even if I really liked it. On the other hand, important possessions I used everyday didn’t spark joy and they didn’t need to. They just needed to do their jobs.

Instead, I found that I needed to ask myself different questions depending on the item in my hands. Six tough questions helped me identify what I wanted to change in myself in relation to what I owned. When I took the time to reach my answer, I changed my relationship with each item, freeing myself to make clear-minded decisions whether to keep or let go.

1. Do my emotions connected to this item exist only because I possess it?

Many of my possessions had sentimental value. For example, love letters from dating my wife 37 years ago, awards I received during my military career, keepsakes given to me from relatives, and a lifetime of collectibles all carried emotional weight. But I found that the feelings were independent of the items––they existed in me. I could feel the achievement of my military career without keeping the physical awards and the nostalgia for dating my wife without all the letters. I found taking a few quality photos helped me detach the emotions from the physical items.

Photo reminder of some hard-to-get coins awarded to me during my military career

2. Do my family and friends really care if I let go of this thing they gave me?

When my wife and I were first married, her parents gave us the family’s upright piano, the one her great-grandmother danced around in delight when her great-grandfather brought it home in the 1930s. As a military family, we moved that 600-pound piece of musical furniture to 14 different houses. It didn’t fit in our lives, but it had the weight of family expectations––we were the keepers of a family heirloom. When we finally gave it away, we didn’t give away our memory of and love for her great-grandmother, and we didn’t lose the love of our family. I discovered that my family and friends weren’t nearly as disappointed (usually not at all) as I believed they would be when I let go of something they had given me. My guilt was self-imposed.

3. If I let go of these excess clothes, do I care if people see me wear the same clothes on a frequent basis?

Subconsciously, I used to care a lot. I let marketing companies and the middle-school fashionistas of my past impact my adult behavior. Once I realized that it was really me enforcing their rules on what I should wear, I freed myself to wear what I wanted––a few functional, durable clothes. My colors are mostly gray (my daughter lovingly calls it my “groutfit”) and I’m sure I look the same in every photo, but my clothes now reflect my values and take up a lot less space.

Wearing my “groutfit” as I travel (Prambanan Temple, Indonesia)

4. Is this possession an investment or an expense?

I held the notion that many of the items I collected over the years were investments and would be worth a lot of money someday. I felt that I had to keep them until I got my perceived value for them. As I downsized, I learned in most cases my possessions were not worth what I thought they were, both in dollars and in my effort to get that money. My stamp collection (couldn’t find a buyer), coin collection (sold most for melt value), Seinfeld DVD set (garage sale price), electric guitar (sold at 40% of retail), autographed Wedgewood vase (gave to charity), Irish Belleek china (garage sale), and more were not worth even close to what was paid for them, and it would take a lot of my valuable time to get more than dimes on the dollar.

5. Can I borrow or rent this item instead of owning it?

I enjoyed collecting a fairly large bookshelf full of books, but came to realize that there are very few books––physical, digital, or audio––that I can’t get from my excellent local public library. When I need them, I can rent tools, a bicycle, a car, and a suit. And if I ever miss the sight of my old collectibles (I haven’t yet), I can visit stamp or coin shops, antique stores, and museums any time and see more wonderful collections than I ever had.

6. How do I handle new items that come to my doorstep?

Once I used the five questions above to let go of all my excess possessions, there was one more important question I needed to maintain my newfound freedom: how do I keep new stuff out? Do I add them to my inventory of items to manage? Having dealt with decades of the “collect-purge-collect-purge” cycle, sustainable change began when I stopped collecting in the first place. I stopped shopping. Oh, I still buy an item like a shirt or shoes when I really need it, but shopping as entertainment is no longer part of my life. I politely let relatives and friends know I value experiences (eating out, visiting a museum, and travel) and consumables (homemade cookies or a bottle of craft gin) over physical possessions. For gifts that I can’t dissuade someone from giving, I find a new home for it and don’t let it become a part of my life.

The answers to my 6 tough questions changed my relationship with the things I owned and was the start of a newfound freedom. I encourage someone starting this journey to find the questions that work best for you. Asking yourself tough questions to identify the underlying internal and external forces behind why you have what you have will help you hone your values and discard items that are not in alignment with those values.

This is a sister post to my post “The Metamorphosis to Becoming A Minimalist“

Decluttering My Mind: Eliminating conversations with my stuff

Before I embraced minimalism, I loved to go camping. In the woods I noticed how quiet my mind was. It wasn’t just bathing in the trees that was calming. I enjoyed not being reminded by my multitude of belongings of the many chores I needed to get done at home. Similarly, when I was in a hotel for a few days, I didn’t have mental conversations with the items in the room. The wallpaper with the lifting seam, the fake floral arrangement that needed dusting, or the floor tiles with the marks were not talking to me. They had someone else to bother. But before minimalism, my stuff at home was not so quiet.

Each time I walked past our silver bowl on our living room bookcase shelf it talked to me. It nagged “You should polish me, I don’t look good tarnished.” and I’d say, “OK, but I’m busy now, maybe next time.” My car would demand “you should wash me” or “change my oil.” My guitar reminded me “You should play me,” or “I will get out of tune and you will lose your callouses that you worked so hard to acquire.” My stamp collection scolded me, “Being packed in this box could damage the stamps.” My canning equipment asked me “When will you can some more jalapeños? Am I just taking up space over here?”

We owned a similar bowl that begged to be polished
(Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons)

Throughout my house, my stuff was engaging me in “conversations.” Some of them I liked. My favorite book whispered, “you will love the next chapter,” but I told it I’m too busy because I should change the oil in the car, or polish that damn bowl, or play the guitar, or clean the shed, or dust, fix, or organize all of my other things. Most of the conversations I didn’t like. I constantly “should-ed” on myself due to my self-imposed guilt from everything my stuff demanded I do.

Not only did my stuff take up my time and clutter my space, it cluttered my mind with a barrage of “talk.” As I underwent a metamorphosis to become a minimalist and decreased the amount of stuff I owned, I also freed myself from these innumerable mental conversations. It was calming.

By prioritizing what I valued most and letting go of the rest, I found I didn’t need the guitar in my life, or the canning equipment, or the stamp collection, and I certainly didn’t need the silver bowl. They didn’t support my top values of traveling the world, spending more quality time with family and friends, improving my health, learning a language, and following my curiosity. So I let them go and made physical and mental space to focus on the mental conversations I did want to have. I say yes more often to the books I want to read, yes to visiting the Sahara and Angkor Wat, and yes to more quality time with my mom (my dad passed away last year).

By following my top values and letting go of the rest, I found I didn’t need 98% of my belongings (your amount will vary). I spend a lot less time researching, buying, organizing, storing, repairing, cleaning, and disposing of stuff I don’t need. This provides me an enormous amount of time to do what I value. I also have time to do nothing—to let my mind rest. Our brains need downtime to process all of the inputs that we feed it everyday. Having time to meditate, walk in nature, or just be is crucial to our mental well-being. Now I say yes to my health.

My house is much quieter now. My mind is much quieter now. I am more content.

The Metamorphosis to Becoming a Minimalist

My wife and I sold or gave away 98 percent of our belongings. Our dream to be full-time nomadic travelers took flight in July 2023––a goal we never thought possible until we fully embraced minimalism.

In her popular book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up: The Japanese Art of Decluttering and Organizing Marie Kondo is adamant that a successful minimalist life only can be achieved if a person does the decluttering all at once and not a little at a time. My experience was the opposite.

My metamorphosis from a self-described “collector of collections” to a minimalist took over three years to achieve through several stages. Small incremental reductions of what I owned, in turn, resulted in small but noticeable increases of freedom and control in my life. In fact, it changed who I was. While a caterpillar physically changes, I evolved internally, honing my values and perspectives.

Lucky Lager puzzle bottle caps from the late ’70s — one of my many collections

Like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, I progressed through four stages to become a minimalist.

Each stage motivated me to make further (and often bigger) reductions in possessions and commitments resulting in increased white space and contentment in my life. A virtuous cycle.

Egg Stage: Start small, but discard enough to notice (and then notice!).

I started with the low-hanging fruit––I culled my closet, shoes, and some books. I disposed of enough to notice the freed up space. My drawers closed easier, my hangers had elbow room, and my shelves could breathe a little. It felt great and a little freeing to take a car load of boxes and bags to the nearby donation center.

Noticing how great this felt, I was motivated to do more. I went after our basement and attic storage areas––they were full of large plastic bins and boxes neatly stacked on shelves or in rows (reflecting years of storage management efforts). Again, I didn’t do it all at once, but I culled enough so that the empty boxes, bins, and shelf space after each round would continue to motivate me.

Decluttering enough to notice — I had spent decades buying bins and shelves to hold more stuff

In this “egg” stage, I passed over the vast majority of my possessions because they either had sentimental value (awards and keepsakes), emotional value (gifts and family heirlooms), functional value (tools, supplies, clothes), perceived rarity (collectibles), or perceived monetary value. At the end of this stage, my past self would have stopped––some culling and a car load or two of donations, creating some temporary space until the clutter returned. But this time I used the momentum from this stage as the start of true change.

Larvae Stage: Devour knowledge about minimalism and keep iterating.

Before I could tackle the “harder” possessions, I needed to learn more about the benefits of minimalism and gain tried-and-true techniques that worked for me. I read several books and blogs, listened to podcasts, and watched YouTube videos taking in many different perspectives on achieving a better life through minimalism.

There are many different approaches to minimalism. While I gleaned some valuable ideas from most of them, Fumio Sasaki’s book Goodbye, Things: The New Japanese Minimalism resonated most with me. This book provides specific techniques for minimizing every type of possession. While I found he went a bit further than I did in my downsizing, I appreciated his thorough approach to the subject.

Finding the right voices that teach and inspire you is an important step in advancing your minimalism skills. I felt stronger knowing there is a supportive community and that I wasn’t alone in wanting the benefits of owning far fewer possessions than most citizens of developed countries.

As I learned new techniques and challenged my mindset, I iteratively returned to my closets, drawers, shelves, and storage with a fresh perspective and continued to make progress.

Pupa Stage: Ask yourself tough questions and let the answers change you.

As I advanced in my pursuit of a simpler life with fewer things, I needed to ask myself tough questions about who I was, what was important to me, how I let external pressures drive my internal decisions, and what were my expectations of the things I owned.

Asking myself Marie Kondo’s famous question about whether something sparked joy didn’t work for me. I found it too easy to confuse any “joy” I felt for a possession with the fleeting enjoyment of a shiny new object––that proverbial “new car smell.” Sometimes I needed to get rid of something even if I really liked it. On the other hand, important possessions I used everyday didn’t spark joy and they didn’t need to. They just needed to do their jobs.

Instead, I found that I needed to ask myself different questions depending on the item in my hands. The six tough questions below helped me identify what I wanted to change in myself in relation to what I owned.

Do my emotions connected to this item exist only because I possess it?
Do my family and friends really care if I let go of this thing they gave me?
If I let go of these excess clothes, do I care if people see me wear the same clothes on a frequent basis?
Is this possession an investment or an expense?
Can I borrow or rent this item instead of owning it?
How do I handle new items that come to my doorstep?

This photo is all I need to relive the joy of meeting
Warren Miller and watching his ski movies as he narrated them

These questions exposed my underlying beliefs, emotions, and societal pressures I attached (often subconsciously) to my possessions and impeded my ability to let them go. The answers to my 6 tough questions helped me change my relationship with the things I owned, freeing myself to make clear-minded decisions whether to keep or let go, and was the start of a newfound freedom.

I examine these six questions in more detail in this sister post.

I encourage someone on this journey to find the questions that work best for you. Asking yourself tough questions about your possessions to identify the underlying internal and external forces behind why you have what you have will help you hone your values and discard items that are not in alignment with those values.

Adult Stage: Ready to fly

I became a minimalist long before I pared down to the amount that I needed to meet my nomadic travel goal. My mindset and values completed their metamorphosis about 8 months before my belongings and commitments reflected that change.

Getting rid of a lifetime of possessions in a responsible way (selling, recycling, re-homing, donating, etc.) takes a lot of time.

The upper side of our major “everything-must-go” yard sale

For example, my wife and I culled, scanned, and then disposed of all physical photos except our small wedding album. It took days of hard work, but we are now enjoying the fruits of this labor by having immediate searchable access to over 7,000 photos. We enjoy and share these old photos far more than we ever did when they were stored in albums and boxes in the basement.

The lower side of our major “everything-must-go” yard sale

It was at this stage where I was able to tackle the hardest downsizing as I had the mental tools and fully understood my values in regards to my possessions. The emotional, sentimental, societal, and other belief barriers were no longer preventing me from taking action. Scanning in our hard copy photos ourselves and taking nicely laid out photos of keepsakes, awards, our kids school artwork, and other emotional and sentimental items (e.g., my bottle cap collection and autographed Warren Miller program) helped ensure I retained a record of the memories that these items represent and why I was keeping them. Looking at these and our other photos helps me reap a bigger memory dividend––the best return on investment we can achieve in life.

My wife and I completed our downsizing in July 2023, and now we travel the world full-time with a backpack and a carry-on each. My wife Launa shares poignant observations from our travels on her blog at Launa At Large where you can sign up for her thought-provoking electronic postcards. We love our freedom and the calming white space that minimalism has brought to our lives.