Stuff and I haven't always had a harmonious relationship. As a kid, I read a lot of books- and the ones I liked best seemed to involve children who owned about 10 very special things that were constantly referenced through the entire story- I suppose that's where my obsession with culling my possessions began. I wanted to be able to cherish the likes of a few items, such as my articulately over described set of pencils or my signature backpack.
I donated bags of books and toys to charity, wore only one pair of shoes for three years and turned experience like shopping and birthdays into traumatic inner tug-of-wars between what I wanted and what my principles would allow. My life was being controlled by my possessions- exactly the predicament minimalism was supposed to avoid.
Slowly, I started to curate my life like a movie, rather than a book. I arranged my things like a set designer- keeping and collecting items that reflected who I was, and culling things that didn't. In the end, I realised that I'm not always going to be young, I should own and wear the clothes I'd like to while I still can. As for my stuff, it's the same principle- if I love it and I'll enjoy owning it, I think it's worth keeping it.
I don't deny that minimalism sure works for some people. However, so long as my stuff isn't weighing me down, I quite fancy living in a little museum of me.
xx
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