Less is more…more or Less

I couldn’t find the right words for it, and was unable to pinpoint my desire. Did it even have a name? The wish to have less restlessness, to be less overwhelmed, less of everything? Less cleaning, less sorting, fewer worries, no overthinking?

In 2010, during the last recession, we lost everything: Our house, our home, our jobs, our business, cars, all our money, savings, and furniture. All the good stuff that makes life worth living. We left our home behind and everything in it, because we no longer had the money to move or rent a place. It was a tough life lesson. We waddled through a valley of tears and shock.

If everything is good for something, what was this good for? Did I have to live through it so I could write a book about it ten years later? Most likely not.

Did we deserve it? I doubt it. It just happened. We were only two screaming people in an ocean full of drowning people.

After six months of being houseless, we continued our life’s journey 500 miles away in Memphis, Tennessee, in an empty three-bedroom house—it even had a bonus room. Two humans, three big dogs, and lots of space. One cabinet with food, a few clothes, a queen-size air mattress, and an old corner desk with an office chair, left behind by the previous renters.

We found a job and something to do, money was trickling in, not much, but enough to not starve, enough to not fall into homelessness.

We made less money than before and had to adjust our shopping routines and our lives in general. One thing hadn’t changed. The desire to HAVE: to possess, to buy, to own. We wanted our old life back and everything in it, but of course, that wasn’t possible. We couldn’t buy new furniture, but found used ones in the garage and at estate sales. We bought second-hand, and third-hand—often too many hands to count. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if these pieces could talk and tell their stories?

Our empty house needed to become a home, and a home, of course, has to be full of things we think we need. I went shopping like a crazy person. Losing everything had left a mark; it had hurt, it had been traumatic, and I acted on it. With desperation, I tried to replace somehow what we once had.

Books, Pictures on the walls, rugs and mugs, glasses, mirrors, shelves, and lamps. Kitchen gadgets and pretty much everything other people threw out. Their garbage became our treasures. That’s really how it works; we lived it.

Every Saturday, I left home at 6 am sharp because the early bird finds the best bargains at garage sales. Hours later, I returned with a car full of stuff. I became the garage-sale queen and a hard negotiator. I offered $5, not because I drove a hard bargain, but because it was all we could spend.

Our house was quickly filled. We lived the way society wanted us to be. We fit in again.

I always joke that my husband is a hoarder in the making, but it’s not a joke. Losing it All changed him as well. He can’t stand it when he sees something being thrown out that still has so much life left. He is a project manager for modular furniture and cubicle systems. You wouldn’t believe what people leave behind when they move out of their commercial offices. Where does it all end up, you wonder? Often—too often—in our home.

We had a fridge full of silly refrigerator magnets, souvenirs bought by people we would never meet; they had traveled to places we never thought about visiting. Nevertheless, the little magnets hang on our refrigerator door. Other people’s lives were on full display.

Two years ago, when I was scheduled for a major surgery, I started downsizing, and nothing could have rocked the boat more. My husband felt betrayed and couldn’t believe my cruelty when I sorted through drawers, dressers, and closets and declared things as being useless or no longer needed.

It hurt him; he didn’t understand.

“If I die, you will be stuck with all of THIS,” I said and pointed around me. “I feel cluttered, and it’s time to downsize,” and I started in my workroom and in my sewing room. I didn’t touch his stuff but cleaned out around him. He watched me, didn’t say much.

It was freeing, and with less, I felt so much more. Almost like our home was opening up; there was more air.

What was left were things that brought me joy (thanks, Marie Kondo), and on display now are items that have meaning.

I am a bit of a minimalist who is married to a wanna-be hoarder and collector. Beautiful combination! 😂

Minimalism describes a lifestyle in which you consciously own less, consume less, and free yourself from unnecessary things. The goal: to create space for what truly matters—whether that be relationships, personal goals, or inner peace. I think minimalism is not a strict set of rules, but rather a mindset that enables you to live more consciously and mindfully.

If our fridge is too full, we eat too much.

Our home is now perfect, and my husband agrees. Everything has a place, everything has a home. No more thoughts about ‘where do we put it’. One thing comes in, one goes out.

And now, to finally answer today’s question. What is the benefit of minimalism?

The richness of less.

Minimalism or a downsized way of living offers a conscious way to free ourselves from unnecessary ballast so we focus on the essentials.

I have lots of joy in my life, I have always had, but I didn’t always see it.

Daily writing prompt

What are the biggest benefits of minimalist living?

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