The inspiration for writing this morning came from yesterday evening. It has been a busy, yet generally a peaceful, weekend. I took a break from my practical rush-about errands; dealing with irritating surprise fix-up projects, and other personal chores, and made some time to socialize a bit with my family who came in from out of town. My sweetheart and I joined my mother and one of my aunts for a bite to eat at a stop north of town as they were making their way back home after visiting one of my other relatives who was recently hospitalized. This place was a fringe-of-town truck stop: geared more for serving fuel to large transports, or being some convenient pit stop to truckers bypassing the city than establishing itself for any kind of fine dining. My mom, generally having less of a sense for navigating by street addresses, chose going there because it just was a familiar landmark to her coming in and out of Saskatoon, and because it was practical and time-saving: being on a more direct route heading back to the highway to home. It was also perhaps probably the easier decision for her to make for a rendezvous after the intensity of a hospital visit.
After our meal and visit and upon saying our goodbyes and getting up to leave the place, I glanced over the convenience store section on the way to the exit. Amongst the bric-a-brac of merchandise there, in the racks of sundries apart from the confectionary shelves, was a display of folksy door signs (most of them of the tacky, man-cave, kind of trailer park chic quality). They were crafted with little sayings reflective of those with the kind of mentality and humour of cruder cultured sorts who spend much more of their lives being vagabonds on the road, criss-crossing this province and country than being in a secure permanent dwelling, and using their energies less in trying to make and model their living space to something akin for candidacy for Better Homes and Gardens, obviously. One of the signs did catch my both attention and appeal. It said something simple like “Collect moments; not things”. It was reflective of the suppertime conversation we just had, which at one point briefly touched on the topic of minimalism. It also prompted me to write down some answers to some questions that entertained me afterward.
Q1. If there was a kit of things or gear (aside from clothes, meds, and hygiene essentials) that I would have for a prolonged road trip travel minimalist style, what would they be? (10 items or less)
A1. The stuff would most likely be:
- Wallet
- Cellphone (charger and earbuds)
- My Swiss Army Knife (mostly for the bottle opener and corkscrew)
- Leuchtturm 1917 Medium (200 mm X 150 mm) notebook, dot formatted, enabled for use with Whitelines Link® app, with small clear plastic ruler in the back cover pocket.
- Pen (black ink, fine tip)
- Travel Mug
- A Deck of Playing Cards (or set of dice)
- My dog (collar, leash, feeding bowl)
-
If I get strangely get some urge to cross the US border during these crazy and troubled times down there, my passport
A2. Apart from reading, writing this, and spending time with my girlfriend: it was the commitment to do some walking and jogging around the Meewasin Trail. I only needed my shoes and some good music to keep my pace and rhythm going. Even after hurting from doing it today, it wasn’t ever a wrong thing to do. It has been four weeks since I got my new orthotics, and my feet and legs are finally starting to feel like they are now screwed on straight. There was no mental inclination to “train”, or to plan steps ahead for making or beating some records, or pressured thinking/calculating of how much of this I must do to lose the more-than-just-residual amount of bodyfat accumulated from last winter’s miserable and energy-sapping indolence. It was enough just to try to re-discover and adapt to a new stride, pace, form, and posture for enduring the 10 km circuit of mixed walking/running. It was just the simple and pure enjoyment of being outside and present in nature on a peaceful Sunday morning; breathing the sweet morning air, and seeing others walking and running along the trails enjoying it with me. It costs me nothing, and yet the moments gained from doing it are priceless.
Q3. What is the appeal of minimalism, and how could one sell it to others?
A3. The appeal is that I’m left just to work for the things that really matter to the genuine core of me, instead of for the sake of putting on some ridiculous false front to impress others. The latter hyper-competitive measure, which only fosters hyper-consumerism, is a really stupid way to use not only one’s money, but time and energy, especially with technology going obsolete at a dramatic pace. The best progression through technological advancement is etherealization: being able to do more with less actual material. Having more stuff is just building up more expense and need to store and secure it all. For me, owning less clears my head of a thousand extra senseless worries that I just don’t need. To have breathing room, and not be tripping around over clutter is another bonus.
Q4. What are most valuable things that every minimalist-minded person should have?
A4. My list of these things would be:
·
A valid library card, or alternatively
·
Access to the Internet
·
The simple fundamental of maintaining good
health, and having a valid provincial Health Card (access to free health care
is something we take for granted). Keeping abreast of one’s health leads to
better . . .
·
Functioning senses (consumerism teaches us to
buy and do things that feed the senses, but what good is it all if the very
senses you are trying to stimulate aren’t working?)
·
Physical mobility (you’d find out how valuable
that is if you ever become, or work with someone, confined to using a
wheelchair), which makes one better able to have . . .
·
Access to nature and greenspace: one of the worst
things that we are doing to psychologically and spiritually impoverish
ourselves (no matter how much money one has, or enabled one is) is increasingly
denying ourselves contact and interaction with nature: being complacent and
indifferent to its absence, destruction, and disappearance, and missing out on
its splendour and our sense of connection with it. Without that, we then instead
typically opt to retreat into mindless cycles of consumption simply for
self-stimulation
·
Having a minimally sized pastime that can be enjoyed
on a park bench or picnic blanket
·
A good memory for organisation; an ability to
use one’s mental faculties to the fullest. People buy duplicates of stuff
because they often forget that they’ve had bought that targeted thing earlier
on to begin with
·
A good system of expanding floor space, and
effective use of storage and wall space.
·
Ultimately, the knowledge and sense to know when
you have enough stuff
Q5. What insights have I gained through my own attempts at living a minimalist lifestyle?
A5. The major one is that of all my possessions that are just strictly for my entertainment and leisure, about 80% of them are in printed word, shiny disks, or further reduced to coded ones and zeros. I learned what kind of space I value most. My most valuable space, during summer, is the deck (it’s not a large space), where I have direct contact I have with the outdoors with the sunshine and fresh air*. If I collect anything at all with tendencies that verge onto the frivolous and superfluous, it would have to be board games and puzzles. I have a lot of books that I could liberate too.
Noting all this now. I see something in A1 that I really want to seize, and making better use of, but I need to make some refinements for the idea first. More on this in another entry later.
*- Any act of taking away any precious summer leisure time away from Canadians is one that would incite riots.
