Why I Became A Minimalist

This post was migrated from my Lifeblog.

My husband has long been a fan of minimalistic living. Once during our engagement, he described with great rapture his ideal bedroom, which had only a hammock and a computer.

At the time, I was exceedingly appalled. No bed? Crazy. I envisioned a cozy country home, full of the usual cozy clutter. Since I was the chief homemaker, my perspective unfortunately won out. Our house began filling up with junk: discards from our families, thrift store knick knacks, recycled books, you name it — if it was offered, we took it in. In no time at all, our three-room apartment was lined wall to wall with ugly, mismatched furniture. Our bookshelves overflowed. Our floors were perpetually covered with stuff, making vacuuming a herculean task. We had virtually no free space, and daily living was an exercise in suffocation.

Fast forward two years. Spencer has just accepted a job offer in Los Angeles, and we are faced with the daunting task of moving all of our junk to a new home 1,800 miles away. If I had to put my finger on a “wake-up call moment,” that would be it. Staring at my house, I was so exceedingly appalled that all I could think to myself was, “I’m never letting this happen again.” From then on, I was a convert.

I dove into my new creed with a vengeance. With the gigantic move coming in less than a month, it was not only desirable but essential that I pare down our extensive collection of useless junk. I easily threw away three quarters of what we owned. In the end, we were able to move everything in just our modestly-sized Ford Taurus. Not bad for a former clutter-aholic!

Now that we’re in L.A., I’m committed to maintaining our minimalistic lifestyle. I’m looking forward to sharing my journey, solutions, and challenges with you and to hear your fresh perspective.