Happy Almost Christmas, Minimalist friends! It's that time of year when we are scrambling to match our budget with our gift list, then we might say screw it and spend on credit, facing the music as the year rolls into the next.
Ok, don't do that last part. It makes the new year pretty rough when bills appear in your inbox and you can barely click "view statement" without a Xanax handy. Instead consider a few things while gift giving....
Forget the obligatory gifts. The last thing Grandma needs is perfume, a scarf, or a leather case for her bridge playing cards. Instead, if she is able, take the gal out for a nice dinner, or see a play that she loves put on by a local high school. Even better if she knows some of the players. After 70 years on the planet, she requires nothing. If she really has needs, you should have taken care of them before December, anyway.
My elder offspring has been baptised in the minimalist pool since he was knee high to a grasshopper. This is not to say that he has suffered in the realm of Legos or Hot Wheels (thanks, grandparents...), but he has come to appreciate the value of doing things instead of holding things. He and his girlfriend often gift each other with tickets, experiences, or consumables, usually considering their budget-conscious lifestyles of Gen Z'ers. My greatest gift is that he (and she) appreciate the value of an experience versus another thing to dust (ok, they don't dust, but whatever...).
Often I hear people say that if you spend money, you want to have something to show for it?! I would argue that the memories and photos you have of doing a thing are definitely something to show (or post about profusely, gawd help us all), and they take up no space and pose no threat to the environment. Memories move with you and never have to be sold in a garage sale or dropped off at Goodwill.
Can't think of an experience that your recipient would like? Go give something together. My son and I watched the show where Ellen DeGeneres pays off mortgages and sends people on trips of a lifetime. He mused, can you imagine flexing on people so hard that you have so much you say, "I don't even NEED all this so imma give it away. THAT'S how rich I am!" I think we are probably ALL that rich to a degree. We all can open our heart and wallet to share what we have and don't need with others.
Here in Fort Worth, there is a community restaurant called Taste Project (read about their magic here). At Taste, you sit and enjoy their chef-prepared amazingness, then pay what you can, or what you think is an appropriate donation for what you've received. Maybe you can't pay at all. There are no prices, so it's up to you to make a donation worthy of your heart. I dare you to go and not leave with a full tummy, fuller heart, and water spilling from corners of your eyes. This would be a lovely gift for you and your recipient. Together. It's an experience your memory bank will store for you forever.
This holiday, give what you can, not what you can't. No one wants you to hate January emails from VISA because you gave him a gift. Enjoy a glass of Christmas cheer, whether it be bubbly water or grapes, and reflect on all the intangibles of the past year. It's pretty freeing.
Merry Minimalist Holidays, friends!
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
Saturday, November 30, 2019
My holiday is more (fill in the blank) than yours....
Happy Thanksgiving week, Minimalist friends! We hope you're reading this comfortably resting after a pleasant holiday and NOT rushing the Walmart aisles for the ever evolving holy grail of Black Friday shopping.
Today's blog is brought to you by the thief of joy: comparison. Teddy Roosevelt reminded us of this truth years ago, before Facebook and IG ever made it a daily challenge. I always saw myself as fairly self-actualized and content with doing things my way, yet even I find myself questioning my "enoughs" from time to time.
Is my home decorated attractively enough? Am I successful enough? Is he/she more accomplished/attractive/well-liked than I?
To ensure there are almost no moments when we can bask in our own awesomeness without intrusion of the yardsticks of others, social media is available at ALL times to offer us a peephole into others' perfect lives, then haul out our own yardstick for comparison.
Joy thief, indeed.
The holiday time posts can hit people hard on the head like the summer vacation posts do. Where in summer, we compared our paltry staycation at the local museum to your trip to the Galleria dell'Accedemia in Florence to see the David, now we can compare our aging artificial Christmas tree to your magnificently adorned pine that you and the family went to cut down together. Then there are the posts of the tree on Christmas morning, with presents trickling far past the tree skirt, illustrating lives of plenty. Well, hell, we just stuck with the "one want, one need, one fun" gift trio.
Your joy in preparation of a cost-conscious holiday for your family can dwindle if you compare. Did I get my kids enough? Is my tree trimmed well-enough to elicit enough "likes" and approval from the internet universe as well as the neighbors?
We minimalists invite you over for a glass of tea in our universe. We try not to compare how minimal we are, and we are sure appreciative of your way of doing things. There isn't a rule book in minimalism; it's just come as you are. Of course, we have suggestions on what worked for us and what research shows can improve happiness and outlook. But we won't send you home feeling badly that you haven't dismantled your wall of crosses (ok, that really does need to go) or tossed all your children's artwork.
A few thoughts for you as you prepare your life for the holidays: do what you love with the people you love. Folks will admire your decor or your fabulous trip and reply to your posts "SO jelly!!" in envy, but don't let that be your motivation for doing OR posting. Better yet, skip the public display of your life, and go live it. I always try to analyze what my final thoughts will consist of if I were saying good-bye to my earthly body. It is never "I am so thankful I had 200 likes on my picture of me at the Eiffel Tower!" It's more like, "damn, I will miss enchiladas".
Look at your well worn 12-year-old couch in the living room that has seen many dog and human naps and be content with your life AND your couch (yes, this is autobiographical here). If it shows up in your posts and isn't as magazine worthy as your friend's new Pottery Barn find, skip the comparison. Sit on that couch, and ask your partner/kids about their day.
Holidays can be tough - personal and external expectations make us feel anxious about measuring up. Put that yardstick away. Go live. Stick your face in the sun (using SPF 50, of course), and be who you are. It's always the right thing to be.
Today's blog is brought to you by the thief of joy: comparison. Teddy Roosevelt reminded us of this truth years ago, before Facebook and IG ever made it a daily challenge. I always saw myself as fairly self-actualized and content with doing things my way, yet even I find myself questioning my "enoughs" from time to time.
Is my home decorated attractively enough? Am I successful enough? Is he/she more accomplished/attractive/well-liked than I?
To ensure there are almost no moments when we can bask in our own awesomeness without intrusion of the yardsticks of others, social media is available at ALL times to offer us a peephole into others' perfect lives, then haul out our own yardstick for comparison.
Joy thief, indeed.
The holiday time posts can hit people hard on the head like the summer vacation posts do. Where in summer, we compared our paltry staycation at the local museum to your trip to the Galleria dell'Accedemia in Florence to see the David, now we can compare our aging artificial Christmas tree to your magnificently adorned pine that you and the family went to cut down together. Then there are the posts of the tree on Christmas morning, with presents trickling far past the tree skirt, illustrating lives of plenty. Well, hell, we just stuck with the "one want, one need, one fun" gift trio.
Your joy in preparation of a cost-conscious holiday for your family can dwindle if you compare. Did I get my kids enough? Is my tree trimmed well-enough to elicit enough "likes" and approval from the internet universe as well as the neighbors?
We minimalists invite you over for a glass of tea in our universe. We try not to compare how minimal we are, and we are sure appreciative of your way of doing things. There isn't a rule book in minimalism; it's just come as you are. Of course, we have suggestions on what worked for us and what research shows can improve happiness and outlook. But we won't send you home feeling badly that you haven't dismantled your wall of crosses (ok, that really does need to go) or tossed all your children's artwork.
A few thoughts for you as you prepare your life for the holidays: do what you love with the people you love. Folks will admire your decor or your fabulous trip and reply to your posts "SO jelly!!" in envy, but don't let that be your motivation for doing OR posting. Better yet, skip the public display of your life, and go live it. I always try to analyze what my final thoughts will consist of if I were saying good-bye to my earthly body. It is never "I am so thankful I had 200 likes on my picture of me at the Eiffel Tower!" It's more like, "damn, I will miss enchiladas".
Look at your well worn 12-year-old couch in the living room that has seen many dog and human naps and be content with your life AND your couch (yes, this is autobiographical here). If it shows up in your posts and isn't as magazine worthy as your friend's new Pottery Barn find, skip the comparison. Sit on that couch, and ask your partner/kids about their day.
Holidays can be tough - personal and external expectations make us feel anxious about measuring up. Put that yardstick away. Go live. Stick your face in the sun (using SPF 50, of course), and be who you are. It's always the right thing to be.
Saturday, July 27, 2019
Two Weeks in the Tiny House 2019
When we're at the cabin, it's all about minimalism. It's mostly out of necessity, but it has important values that we tend to overlook in our regular lives that are replete with endless water out of the tap, refuse bins aplenty, and groceries a mile or two away.
It's interesting how quickly we adjust, and it makes me feel a bit guilty we aren't better doing the same things in ranchlife at home. For example, we don't run the water without purpose. We have to pump it way up the hill from the lake, then when it exits down the drain, it goes into a grey water pit that is close to the cabin. Sure, it will leech into the mountainside and eventually become lake water again, but we are careful not to overtax the pit. Similarly, we don't take showers much (or at all) or use hot water, because there is a finite supply of water in the tank (we can pump more, but that's a pain) and propane for heating. Hauling propane tanks in a boat is no easy task, and you're painfully aware of its cost when you go fill up.
We are exceptionally cognizant of our trash production. There is just nowhere to throw stuff away. You have to haul it all off yourself. Our family has become experts at what we call reverse dumpster diving or renegade trash dumping. We drag trash bags across the lake in the boat, pack in the back of the rental car, and hit a few locations (which I won't name) that have large dumpsters with open hatches. Once or twice a week you can buy trash coupons at the marina and the nice man will take your stuff. Again, it requires bags in the boat and a one mile journey, not just dragging the bin to the curb. We burn what we can when the province doesn't have a burn ban (it's dry up there, so often we aren't allowed to burn for the forest fire risk). We just try to make less trash.
We produce our own electricity as well, so we know exactly how much we use and what we've got left. Solar power is truly a gift and it's free! (after you spend a zillion dollars on the solar panels and batteries to store the sun's energy) When we go to bed, we turn off the power. Like all the electricity. We can charge phones and laptops easily during the day when the sun is high, and there's no need for any juice at night. The fridge runs on propane and if you don't open it, works just fine. In the morning we click on the power again, and we've got enough for a day of lights and cell phones.
It's pleasing to know my first world children with all their modern conveniences can adjust without so much of a whine to the minimalist comfort of lake life. They know how to hook stuff up and be frugal in their garbage production and water usage. They can live without Netflix and the XBox, and they love playing card games and building things out of the endless supply of wood the forest provides.
I enjoy knowing that at least for part of the year, I'm not a fraudulent minimalist. We only have cabin space for our family, I make coffee one cup at a time (pour over after boiling water on the stove!), and I don't bring anything from Costco to the cabin. It's a true minimalist baptism in the mountain fresh water of Canada's Christina Lake.
Saturday, June 15, 2019
Free Yourself of Free!
Happy Summer, Minimalists! We hope the weather where you are permits enjoying all the things summer has to offer, like outdoor concerts, water play, and Vitamin D aplenty (safely, of course).
Let's talk about free stuff.
I have to attend a large national conference next week, and I realized I will likely be bombarded with giveaways from a million friendly vendor booths, whose staffers are eager to tell me why I should use their type of thermometer or diagnostic tool.
How many of us have a cupboard full of logo-emblazoned water bottles, pens, and bandage dispensers, which we excitedly opened our hand and tote bag (also free) to receive? Does that makes us hoarders? Not exactly, but the clutter IS a force to be reckoned with.
You CAN say no thank you; it IS okay! When I donated blood a few weeks ago, the tech thrust a bag in my hand and said "go pick something from over there to take home too!" He gestured toward a stockpile of t-shirts, coffee mugs, and cell phone protectors. I said, no thanks, I am good and left my tote bag for the next blood donor to enjoy.
Now, to be clear, I LOVE bags. Always have. But I force myself to curate my collection. When I find one I would like to welcome into my home, another has to go. It either gets donated, or I find a friend who may have liked it and off-load to him or her (usually HER, because dudes tend to use one Adidas bag for all purposes, like their whole life).
Anyway, I rejected the kind phlebotomist's offer of rewards for being punctured with a 14 gauge steel weapon, and went home to face the myriad of other free items that already live there. A beach towel from Taco Casa, a soft-sided lunch tote from an apartment we lived in 20 years ago, the list goes on and on. Clearly, marketing research says handing people crap with your logo will encourage them to buy your stuff. So much truth, that pharmaceutical companies can no longer ply us to prescribe their magic pill with the lure of a free lunch AND post-it notes for days (we still get the consumables, but no pens or binders).
One of the hallmarks of hoarders is that they cannot surrender the free stuff, like advertisement circulars (which seem like immediate recycling fodder to me) or side-of-the-road type items. Its value somehow is amplified by its lack of up front cost.
Whereas true hoarding is a psychological illness and more extreme than just facing your daily clutter, I speak about the free-ness of things because they can become malignant. Taking up space they weren't even intentionally meant to have.
So as you de-clutter, take NO shame in donating those mugs and string backpacks. I apologize to businesses everywhere for not sporting your swag and advertising for you for free. Better yet, just say no thanks next time you're at a venue where booths are offering up something you have to carry home. Remind yourself that YOU'LL be the one charged with finding an eternal resting place for those items. Don't work that hard.
Let's talk about free stuff.
I have to attend a large national conference next week, and I realized I will likely be bombarded with giveaways from a million friendly vendor booths, whose staffers are eager to tell me why I should use their type of thermometer or diagnostic tool.
How many of us have a cupboard full of logo-emblazoned water bottles, pens, and bandage dispensers, which we excitedly opened our hand and tote bag (also free) to receive? Does that makes us hoarders? Not exactly, but the clutter IS a force to be reckoned with.
You CAN say no thank you; it IS okay! When I donated blood a few weeks ago, the tech thrust a bag in my hand and said "go pick something from over there to take home too!" He gestured toward a stockpile of t-shirts, coffee mugs, and cell phone protectors. I said, no thanks, I am good and left my tote bag for the next blood donor to enjoy.
Now, to be clear, I LOVE bags. Always have. But I force myself to curate my collection. When I find one I would like to welcome into my home, another has to go. It either gets donated, or I find a friend who may have liked it and off-load to him or her (usually HER, because dudes tend to use one Adidas bag for all purposes, like their whole life).
Anyway, I rejected the kind phlebotomist's offer of rewards for being punctured with a 14 gauge steel weapon, and went home to face the myriad of other free items that already live there. A beach towel from Taco Casa, a soft-sided lunch tote from an apartment we lived in 20 years ago, the list goes on and on. Clearly, marketing research says handing people crap with your logo will encourage them to buy your stuff. So much truth, that pharmaceutical companies can no longer ply us to prescribe their magic pill with the lure of a free lunch AND post-it notes for days (we still get the consumables, but no pens or binders).
One of the hallmarks of hoarders is that they cannot surrender the free stuff, like advertisement circulars (which seem like immediate recycling fodder to me) or side-of-the-road type items. Its value somehow is amplified by its lack of up front cost.
Whereas true hoarding is a psychological illness and more extreme than just facing your daily clutter, I speak about the free-ness of things because they can become malignant. Taking up space they weren't even intentionally meant to have.
So as you de-clutter, take NO shame in donating those mugs and string backpacks. I apologize to businesses everywhere for not sporting your swag and advertising for you for free. Better yet, just say no thanks next time you're at a venue where booths are offering up something you have to carry home. Remind yourself that YOU'LL be the one charged with finding an eternal resting place for those items. Don't work that hard.
Tuesday, March 12, 2019
40 Bags in 40 Days 2019!
Hello Minimalist friends! Since it's spring and Mardi Gras has passed, of course it's time for decrapifying! We've blogged about this for a few years now (ahead of the KonMari trend, btw), and we hope you're traveling on your journey to be a bit less cluttered.
40 Bags in 40 Days was begun by our friends over at White House Black Shutters (click here to check it out) and I think it's a great way to start to declutter. Each day, you can get rid of clutter in one bag, one drawer, fill a box, whatever speaks to you. No strict definitions here, but it's a great reminder to tackle projects that aren't so huge. Like the whole garage. Or the storage room.
If you forget a day? There's no demerit. We just want to celebrate each step as you venture toward living intentionally with a little less than before.
You know how when you pack for a trip, you consider what you will need, and pack that only (well, maybe just an extra shirt or pair of shoes but...)? You're packing intentionally, giving thought to what's necessary so your bag is light and not cumbersome.
For what ever reason, in life, we don't live that way on the daily. We hoard and plan for doomsday. We have 10 of something when one or two will do. When we run out of room in our main living space, we colonize other closets, the basement, or, God help, rent a storage room to keep the crap that we just may need someday.
It brings me joy when I hear of friends/readers who have taken the 20/20 rule to heart, ditching any "just in case" items that can be replaced for $20 or less in 20 minutes from home. It's a HUGE step in getting the small space-occupying things donated/recycled/trashed. It's keeping things on your living space that are useful, and whose use you actually enjoy and maximize rather than just store.
Use the spring's energy to create new habits of not bringing more crap onto your home and make your space peaceful and useful. The Minimalists have a great podcast on developing habits, which you can find here. It's episode 165.
Comment and share any pics if you are rocking the 40 Bags in 40 Days decrapifying! Spring into spring with your intentional living and good luck!
40 Bags in 40 Days was begun by our friends over at White House Black Shutters (click here to check it out) and I think it's a great way to start to declutter. Each day, you can get rid of clutter in one bag, one drawer, fill a box, whatever speaks to you. No strict definitions here, but it's a great reminder to tackle projects that aren't so huge. Like the whole garage. Or the storage room.
If you forget a day? There's no demerit. We just want to celebrate each step as you venture toward living intentionally with a little less than before.
You know how when you pack for a trip, you consider what you will need, and pack that only (well, maybe just an extra shirt or pair of shoes but...)? You're packing intentionally, giving thought to what's necessary so your bag is light and not cumbersome.
For what ever reason, in life, we don't live that way on the daily. We hoard and plan for doomsday. We have 10 of something when one or two will do. When we run out of room in our main living space, we colonize other closets, the basement, or, God help, rent a storage room to keep the crap that we just may need someday.
It brings me joy when I hear of friends/readers who have taken the 20/20 rule to heart, ditching any "just in case" items that can be replaced for $20 or less in 20 minutes from home. It's a HUGE step in getting the small space-occupying things donated/recycled/trashed. It's keeping things on your living space that are useful, and whose use you actually enjoy and maximize rather than just store.
Use the spring's energy to create new habits of not bringing more crap onto your home and make your space peaceful and useful. The Minimalists have a great podcast on developing habits, which you can find here. It's episode 165.
Comment and share any pics if you are rocking the 40 Bags in 40 Days decrapifying! Spring into spring with your intentional living and good luck!
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Letting Go to Welcome a New Season
Winter's ending, according to Pennsylvania's little Phil, so soon it will be time for the advent of spring cleaning. Here at the ranch, we don't wait for spring to tidy, but we like to ramp it up in spring all the same.
Now that Marie Kondo has a show in wide release on Netflix, it seems the whole world is abuzz with her lexicon of sparking joy and thanking houses for service. Tidying has become quite the trend. I know my minimalist friends have been on the tidy and decrapifying bandwagon for forever, so we can sit back and muse at her disciples as she tries to lead the masses.
In case you're wondering, Cowtown Minimalist has a few critiques of her concepts. Firstly, EVERYthing cannot spark joy, Marie. It just can't. This idea leads your flock to Container Store to buy more storage for those Precious Moments figurines (still creepy). That is NOT minimalist; it just means your boxes match.
Giggly Marie and her translator do not enlist the help of giant dumpsters for these folks (like the Hoarders chiefs do), and I think they should. Stacking 10 pairs of jeans neatly does not solve the problem of too much stuff, although admittedly, I now fold my yoga pants like she does.
The season of spring brings enthusiasm to minimalists of all kinds. Trim off the dead limbs that no longer serve, and encourage new growth. New growth is hard sometimes when seasons change. Divorce, death, kids growing up and moving out. It's hard to have the confidence to move forward when your roles become less defined.
Kids growing up, for example, is a season met with both joy and sadness, all balled up into one unfoldable fitted sheet. The joy, of course, of a job well done. The kid(s) is ready to join the adult world and leave your tutelage, and you are hopeful you'll get a pay raise when you're no longer the financial back up for said child. There is sadness, however, when you look at that box of legos, that shelf full of participation trophies, that stack of papers from second grade. What do you do with it all? It represents your life and your masterpiece. All that stuff is accoutrements from a job you no longer have. It's how you have self-identified for many years. Mama. House CEO.
There are new roles to fill. And bless them, they require less stuff! Roles like support system when the new job isn't what it seemed to be, or travel companion to see sights of the world that their history books lauded so long ago.
Embrace this change of seasons by letting go of the stuff that we've stored in glass cases, knowing that its absence doesn't diminish your previous role. Your children readily leave it behind, off to start their new lives without their trophies and legos. They know that stuff doesn't define their past, and their future will be full of different stuff, hopefully less stuff.
Welcome life's new seasons, for they encourage growth and discovery of new adventures and angles. Let go of things that don't serve you or your current role.
40 Bags in 40 Days is near approaching, so let's get ready to throw open the windows and throw out the crap!
Now that Marie Kondo has a show in wide release on Netflix, it seems the whole world is abuzz with her lexicon of sparking joy and thanking houses for service. Tidying has become quite the trend. I know my minimalist friends have been on the tidy and decrapifying bandwagon for forever, so we can sit back and muse at her disciples as she tries to lead the masses.
In case you're wondering, Cowtown Minimalist has a few critiques of her concepts. Firstly, EVERYthing cannot spark joy, Marie. It just can't. This idea leads your flock to Container Store to buy more storage for those Precious Moments figurines (still creepy). That is NOT minimalist; it just means your boxes match.
Giggly Marie and her translator do not enlist the help of giant dumpsters for these folks (like the Hoarders chiefs do), and I think they should. Stacking 10 pairs of jeans neatly does not solve the problem of too much stuff, although admittedly, I now fold my yoga pants like she does.
The season of spring brings enthusiasm to minimalists of all kinds. Trim off the dead limbs that no longer serve, and encourage new growth. New growth is hard sometimes when seasons change. Divorce, death, kids growing up and moving out. It's hard to have the confidence to move forward when your roles become less defined.
Kids growing up, for example, is a season met with both joy and sadness, all balled up into one unfoldable fitted sheet. The joy, of course, of a job well done. The kid(s) is ready to join the adult world and leave your tutelage, and you are hopeful you'll get a pay raise when you're no longer the financial back up for said child. There is sadness, however, when you look at that box of legos, that shelf full of participation trophies, that stack of papers from second grade. What do you do with it all? It represents your life and your masterpiece. All that stuff is accoutrements from a job you no longer have. It's how you have self-identified for many years. Mama. House CEO.
There are new roles to fill. And bless them, they require less stuff! Roles like support system when the new job isn't what it seemed to be, or travel companion to see sights of the world that their history books lauded so long ago.
Embrace this change of seasons by letting go of the stuff that we've stored in glass cases, knowing that its absence doesn't diminish your previous role. Your children readily leave it behind, off to start their new lives without their trophies and legos. They know that stuff doesn't define their past, and their future will be full of different stuff, hopefully less stuff.
Welcome life's new seasons, for they encourage growth and discovery of new adventures and angles. Let go of things that don't serve you or your current role.
40 Bags in 40 Days is near approaching, so let's get ready to throw open the windows and throw out the crap!
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