It would be wonderful to be a minimalist, I've told myself. A Marie Kondo convert who owns nothing that doesn't "spark joy". Here's the problem with this logic, I've discovered: when you try and cull your stuff in a lockdown delirium (masked as spring cleaning), half of your stuff won't actually spark joy. But you'll really struggle to bin it because it will be useful. Ugly old pots and pans that are needed for particular types of cooking. The half full bottles of sunscreens, lotions, and potions from the bathroom you'll need when the weather changes. A massive winter jacket you don't particularly like, but it's ridiculously warm for the five days of the year you need to wear it.
Despite not wanting to throw much of my stuff out, I've done so in the last week because of sheer necessity. I've moved into a new apartment and lost about 10 square metres of space (mostly in storage) in the process. Those things that stress me out in culmination (but seem necessary as individual items) can't come with me. There literally is no room.
Yet throwing stuff out – into the bin and into the landfill – feels wrong. I've had to be ruthless. I've had to get over the fact I've spent money on things I've been putting in rubbish bags. I've had to accept throwing out hundreds of dollars of computer peripherals (and other out-of-date technology) or underwear I've only worn once or twice and given up on.
Not everything has to be thrown away though. In resolving my relationship with stuff, I've discovered the single best invention in decluttering: the $1 reserve online auction. Truly, nothing is more freeing than listing your stuff on these auctions and watching people take it away from you to a new home. Every item listed, sold, and picked up alleviates that claustrophobia in mention. You feel lighter with every sale. While the financial return is often minimal, some things sell for much more than you would expect (and thus even out your take-home cash total).
Whatever doesn't sell can easily be donated, too. I've sent old designer clothes with small blemishes to the charity box, given a dinky old iPad to an organisation for victims of domestic violence, and left plants to my neighbours who have agreed to adopt them.
A lot of stuff in my possession has no value except sentimental. Some of that has had to go, too. Birthday cards with heart-warming messages. Fingerpainted artwork from young relatives. DVDs of movies I love. The kind of things you forget about owning when in storage, but struggle to comprehend putting in the bin. While an emotional challenge to get rid of, when you treat the first few sentimental items like a band-aid (taking a "rip it off! ethos to the pain of the rubbish bin), you hit your ruthless stride and stop caring.
Now I'm in the new apartment and the worst of the lockdown claustrophobia is over, I view material possessions quite differently. Everything has a place now – there's no single drawer or cupboard for miscellaneous stuff. If I purchase anything (and I mean anything) new, something old must be removed to make room for it.
I used to think materialism and owning things meant success and happiness. Now I've discovered the opposite is true. The less you have, the more you enjoy the stuff you do have. When everything you own is intentional, you have fewer ties and thus may progress in life with a greater sense of levity.
