4 Weird Ways Your Life Changes When You Become A Minimalist
I've never really been much of a keeper of things— that emotional attachment to material possessions is something I never developed. I've always assumed it was because we didn't have much when I grew up, and not because I had an innate hatred of consumerism from birth. Regardless of reasons, my point is that I feel like I had a head start on shifting toward a life of minimalism.
But even so, making a hard choice to get serious about that lifestyle isn't quite as simple as declaring, “Less is more!” and chucking most of your belongings in the trash. I mean, you can do that, but there are some things you should know that I don't think you're going to get from inspirational stories and quotes alone. Things like…
Your Social Life Will Become Bizarre
Think about the last time you attended an event where you had no knowledge of, or interest in, anything that was going on. Maybe you were being the dutiful partner, accompanying your significant other to their employment-based gathering of humans. Or your friend dragged you to some beer-brewing event or car museum or Renaissance festival, and you couldn't follow any of the conversations because everybody was nerding out and speaking almost exclusively in jargon.
Most of your life becomes those moments.
You become very aware, very quickly, of how much people talk about their stuff, or even the maintenance of said stuff. Home theaters, lawn equipment, sporting goods, kitchen appliances, clothing, electronics… OK, now I feel like I'm just listing Amazon categories. But you get the idea— people like talking about the things they own, and when you own very little, you're not relatable. And when people are discussing some badass man-cave or she-shed with a giant TV and theater-quality surround sound, you're even less relatable when you chime in with something like, “Yeah, my laptop and headset work fine.” More specifically, you're kind of a weirdo.
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Definitely a weirdo.
The subject of where and how you live is a much bigger deal, and will absolutely break people's brains if it sounds even the least bit unconventional. To be clear, not everyone living a life of minimalism changes where they live. But many do, and opt for something like a tiny house or, like my girlfriend, van life. And while those options at least have some recognition in popular culture, the path I took when I moved down to Austin (and am still taking as I write this) was simply to hop extended stay Airbnbs until I figured out what I wanted to do. Attempts to explain this concept to most people, however, almost always ends with them asking me a slightly different version of the same question: “But where do you live?”
To which the answer is, “Wherever the hell I want.”
For most, the idea of “home” is so entwined with a specific physical location that not sleeping exactly there every single night is unimaginable. “I couldn't do that; I need my space,” is the most common retort, typically followed by reminders of how much less privacy I have access to. It's usually here that I remind people: sure, while I don't have many of the benefits of a fixed address, I also don't have to do yard work, or worry about the condition of the roof or the furnace, or really any of the hassles or maintenance or even cleanliness that are required to be in my own entire home, all the time.
I try not to get too preachy, though, because…
If You're Not Careful, You'll Start Judging People
A lot of people judge how I live, and I hate it. But I try my damnedest not to do the same to them, even though I firmly believe that my lifestyle is a reasonable alternative to rabid consumerism. I don't say it like that, of course, even if I want to; even if I also really want to follow it up with a sarcastic, “I'm sure all of your belongings make you very, very happy.”
Like some holier-than-thou ex-smoker, it's easy to get trapped in the mindset that your newfound way is the right way, and that not only can other people adopt this lifestyle, they should. Can they not see all the money they're throwing away on all this garbage? Do they want their lives to be measured by the stuff they own? Don't they see what they're doing to the environment?
But here's the thing: You're being a dick.
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Yes, you.
See, your neighbor isn't single-handedly ruining the planet with their big house or disposable plates, and even the single-use plastics problem is more of a corporate issue than a consumer one. More than likely, they deserve neither your judgment, nor the porn advertisement they're forced to carry around because they wanted to use a plastic bag. Basically, you're doing the same thing you claim to hate: Opining on how someone else lives their life despite having only a very narrow window into it.
So you have to pull that back, especially because…
Minimalism Leaks Into Other Areas Of Your Life
One of the main advantages minimalism touts is all the time you'll free up since you don't have to constantly deal with all this crap. Seriously, think about how many hours you spend just moving, cleaning, and organizing things. There is a multi-million dollar industry built around helping you figure out how to keep all your junk in one place, yet all of them fail because none of them actually put it there for you.
And it's true that your schedule frees up, but not necessarily in the way you think. What you imagine doing with that time is a thousand different projects, but what many find, including me, is that you end up spending more of it on fewer things, and your life starts decluttering in other areas. For instance, I've never been a veracious watcher of television, but my boob-tube consumption has decreased dramatically since I've made this shift, and that's a direct result of increasing how much I read and play guitar now.
Probably the biggest change and time-saver is how I deal with food, which is to say I don't. My meal plan is pretty much just eating out and oven food, which I know sounds expensive and unhealthy, but this isn't some fast food, Hungry-Man extravaganza I'm having here. As it turns out, deli sandwiches are pretty cheap, as are tacos in this city, and if I do go the boxed dinner route I at least opt for the Amy's brand. Look, I know it's not perfect, but guess what I don't have to do. Hours’ worth of grocery shopping, the prep and the cooking, dishes, storing and cleaning the leftover containers, plus cleaning the fridge, and the stove, and all the little kitchen do-dads, having the steel wool and sponges and rags and… you get it.
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I am free from this nightmare.
Some of you might notice that this also gives me one less thing to talk about, as does the lack of TV watching, thus perpetuating the unrelatable weirdness I exude, because as my possessions have become fewer, so have the activities I partake in. If I do get adventurous, it's usually some niche passion project, like when you get pissed off at your internet router so you throw Linux on a single-board computer and make your own but it takes you a week because you don't fully understand BIND or how MAC address spoofing works.
The point is, what you find is that many of the things you fantasize about having the time to do are tied to parts of your life you've been shedding, so when your schedule frees up, you dive further into the activities you're already familiar with. I've even been gaming more, which was originally something my family did to spend time together during the pandemic, but which has now morphed into an unhealthy obsession with Rogue Company that nobody else shares; the studio claims there are 20 million players but I don't seem to know any of them.
The Stupidest Hurdles Will Complicate Things
Speaking of video games, since they had become an important part of my social life— and perhaps equally important, somewhere to put my time so I didn't go completely mad during the pandemic— I naturally had to figure out how I could game on-the-go. I was forced to reconsider my entire workstation configuration, because I wasn't about to haul around a desktop computer, two monitors, plus my mini-LAN and audio setups. And while my laptop handles work tasks like a goddamn champion, its integrated Intel UHD graphics do not bring that same vigor to my gaming experience.
So I decided I was going to sell my workstation and use the money to buy a Switch.
I didn't end up doing that, incidentally, because then I thought a used Alienware Alpha was the way to go. Then; wait— maybe I could sell both the desktop and laptop and get a gaming laptop. Or better yet, I could custom build my own portable, mini PC at a fraction of that cost!
Then it occurs to me that I have this cross-country journey right around the corner and I'm making plans to build a computer.
But most of the time you'll find it's not an excess of stuff that's holding you back— that part is easier than you think. It's how you deal with the rest of the world not being set up to accommodate alternative lifestyles. Take van life— as much as everyone wants to know how you're going to poop, have you thought about how you're going to get your mail? Sure, Amazon Lockers and virtual mailboxes exist, but that sounds less like minimizing (minimalizing?) and more like an annoying complication.
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Will the USPS let me opt out?
Even if you stay in your existing home, how might the results of decluttering affect your ability to host friends or family gatherings? Is the foosball table finally on the chopping block? What about the board games and old consoles, and should extra dinnerware be kept on hand in case food is ever involved? How much furniture is required so that people don't have to sit their asses on the floor when they visit?
Fortunately, all of these questions do have answers, and are simply part of the process of determining what you truly value. So you might find that, yes, you're keeping the Wii because Mario Kart Mondays is an integral part of your social life. But the extra plates and cups and silverware have got to go because you're ditching most of your kitchen stuff anyway. As for the mobile gaming thing, well, sometimes you just accept your integrated graphics hell and that your experience is going to be limited to a handful of modern titles that feel like you're playing them on a PS2.
As frustrating as it seems, I don't see myself rebuilding a life around addressing these issues any time in the near future. Because what I've found is that even more important than the time and money that you save, or the new complications that arise, is the stress that you no longer have to deal with. Minimalism does give you a sort of mental reprieve from life's constant insanity, simply by narrowing the scope of what you find important. Sure, you might have less to talk about in certain social situations, but remember that many of those conversations revolve almost entirely around how behind people are on household chores. Are you really going to miss those?
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