Minimalism

I am in the process of taking down the tiny temporary cabin in preparation for building a slightly less tiny permanent one in the same spot. It was an incredibly difficult decision, trading the desired remote and scenic location for one with easy access but with disappointingly close proximity to neighbors.

It's been very interesting observing how much more quickly deconstruction goes, knowing how long it took me to construct it! The many hours of measuring and fitting the blue board insulation was removed in only a couple of hours. The struggle to install the chimney pipe, so easily dismantled. But the thing that really amazes me is how much STUFF I've moved out in the last few days.

I would love to be a minimalist. I aspire to be a minimalist. I fail to be a minimalist. I'm arguing with myself what it actually means to be a minimalist.

A couple days ago I removed everything I decided I wouldn't need in the next week. What's left will go into the tent I'll be living in during the reconstruction process. I love the feeling of how much space is in here now! The cabin feels much more like what I aspire to with minimalism, and how I'd like my new house to feel. I'm already wondering what's in all those bags and boxes that I hauled out of here, that I previously felt was needed. A bunch of books. Most of my food. One of my hammocks (the others are still in storage). The tiny woodstove, and its attendant kindling, firewood, ash bucket, stove poker and shovel are gone now. The extra bottle of lamp oil. I know there's more, but for the life of me I couldn't tell you what right now.

This is something I have observed several times over the last 10 years as I search for my own personal minimalism. In the Great Downsizing of 2001 (trademark pending), I sold off nearly all my possessions in a late-summer garage sale. I thought that was it, I could now live a minimalist life. A few years later, I found had more stuff to get rid of - books I had purchased because I couldn't get them from the library, games I no longer played, clothes for jobs I used to have. Office supplies that are useful, but come in too-large quantities. Camping gear that had plain worn out and furniture that was displaced by an early inheritance. Materials for projects that never came to fruition. When I moved to Maine in 2009, more purging was required. I was shocked at how much stuff I still had to move.

It turns out that minimalism is a continuous process, not a one-time goal to achieve. Stuff has a way of sneaking back into our lives when we're not paying attention, and even when we think we are paying attention! Maybe minimalism isn't so much about how little you have or need, but rather about how consistently you cull.

I will never achieve owning only 100 items. I have too many interests which use various tools and materials. Besides, my idea of true wealth is plenty of spare food and lamp oil, along with a large pile of firewood! Thus the argument with myself about the meaning of minimalism continues, but really, I think understanding that it is a process, not a goal, is the true resolution. And I will continue to cull.