The accidental minimalist

In July 2012 I sold all my household stuff save for:

• Some linen (my 280 thread count bedsheets and a pair of curtains)
• Books
• Art (I turned down many offers)
• Johari's bed and toys
• Work tools (computer and backup drive)
• Two cabinets, one of which is an antique piece

I was able to scrape together some money for further studies abroad. In a totally unexpected turn of events, my visa application was turned down. I'd given up my apartment as well. I had already resigned from work, and was therefore jobless and without an address. That's an interesting place to be when you have been used to a certain level of financial and social independence. Even if I had been able to have my apartment back, it would have been rather echo-ey, with nothing but the art on the walls. A good friend offered to house us while I figured out what to do next.

The bed I sleep on, the cup I drink tea from, the chair I sit on...all belong to someone else.

Depending on another person for a roof over my head was the scariest part. And strangely too, it has turned out to be one of the best experiences in terms of letting go and letting other touch me. I feel more meaningfully connected, perhaps because I am so aware of others looking out for me. I think this is one of the reasons why embracing minimalism (intended or accidental) can be so powerful: it frees up time that can be invested in relationships. Other opportunities have included rediscovering pleasure in small tasks such picking up the laundry and learning new recipes. 

I stumbled upon the minimalists blog this week; it has become a source of inspiration. Reading the blog has helped me consolidate my thoughts about the place of material possessions in my life and identity. After all didn't Jesus say that a person's life should not consist in the abundance of possessions?

I shall not buy new stuff for the next ten months. I shall most likely take up a new apartment (looking for a roommate) and borrow necessities. Earlier this year I blogged about living on little more than hand luggage. I have lived out of two suitcases for a month. I have been OK so far. I am scared of being without things. At the same time I am excited to see what will come out of my situation: how my community will receive  my need not to buy things: how much time I shall save from not worrying about things, what new dimensions will be forged in my relationships, and how my perspective will be shaped by having only what is strictly necessary.

I even sold my camera. Now, that I really miss.