Meaning Through Minimalism
This post was originally published May 30, 2024.
What sits at the bottom of a cardboard box?
In 2018, I realized I had too much stuff. More makeup than I would ever use. More books than I would ever read. More stuffed animals than I had room for under my bed. I was planning to move, and I didn't want to take it all with me.
I found a small subgroup in YouTube's beauty community called “project panners.” The idea was for the person to use every last drop of their foundation, blush, etcetera. Trying it myself was eye-opening. For anyone who's ever used blush regularly, you know there's a lot of uses in one compact. Years worth of use.
From there, YouTube's algorithm introduced me to a similar, more expensive concept: Minimalism. Years later, Marie Kondo would take the world by storm, but before her, I discovered The Minimalists. Through their podcast, I learned all about decluttering, where to donate different things and when it was time to let go. I learned of different people, their stories with minimalism through eating, therapy, mindfulness, and more.
This is when things got interesting because I realized that minimalism doesn't end with the removal of physical objects. At least, it didn't have to. When I separated the things I used from the things I don't, I found a third category: the things that held meaning beyond use.
I wasn't going to part with the doll my grandmother had gotten me from Japan, the stories I wrote when I was six, or my favorite book that I only reread parts of once in a blue moon. These were the things that sparked joy. These were the things that reminded me of my values and the important aspects of my life.
Don't get me wrong, I got rid of most of my things. When I finally moved, I had no trouble packing it all in my car. My surfaces are typically bare and my rooms are full of space.
But there is still something that hangs in emptiness. Thoughts that wiggle into my brain. Thoughts I'm forced to acknowledge because there's nothing left to distract me.
Minimalism, for me at least, is not a lack of things, but an abundance of purpose. Just as I let go of my physical possessions, I've learned how to let go of these thoughts too. I got a cat, I'm developing a sense of community, I write, and slowly, I heal.
I still hear them, but they don't sit in my heart like clutter on a shelf anymore. I actively pick them up, dust them off, and do something with them.
Now there's more room in my life for other thoughts.
I am happy.
I don't think about minimalism as much anymore. I don't consume media surrounding it, and buying fewer things has left little for me to declutter. Instead, I think about intention.
I did not expect meaning to be the last thing I pulled out of my cardboard box, but I am grateful that I left so much space for it in my home.