I will never be a minimalist. My bits are too important to me. But my protracted downsizing efforts are making the simpler life seem more and more attractive.
Recently, my husband and I have begun the process of visiting retirement communities where at some point in the future we will hang our final hats. These places are designed to free older people from many of the worries of maintaining a home as well as offering dining options. The apartments in these communities vary in size, but kitchens are smaller than our current one, bathrooms often larger, and closets, more plentiful. But no matter what we choose, we will be living in less space, with no basement, no attic, and no garage for storage. It’s all about keeping what you need and want close at hand.
These visits, like my ruminations about my own and my family’s past moves, prompt me to re-imagine how I could live and what I need to live the life I might want at that stage. There is something cleansing about seeing an uncluttered sample apartment. Okay, maybe it’s too stark, with no books or personal reminders of who we are. But the pristine surfaces force me to focus on other aspects—the view from the window, the way the light falls over a room, the color palette, and the satisfying order of it all. I consider my reactions to the choices of décor and furnishings and how I might change these to reflect our needs and aesthetics.
Rather than considering how to pare back our own possessions, I try to build from the ground up, starting fresh.
What furniture do we need? As it happens, probably not much! There aren’t that many rooms to fill, and we are unlikely to entertain in our home that much. A couple of judiciously designed built-in shelves/cabinets and a reconfigured closet or two will provide storage. The rest is about sleeping, sitting, eating, working at a computer, and maybe some room for a hobby or two.
What kitchen items will suffice if we are making primarily breakfasts and lunches? My assessments are not vastly different from when we stay in a timeshare for a week and frequently eat out one meal a day. In addition to the basics that are provided, I’ve learned to bring a salad spinner, a vegetable steamer, and a small strainer for washing berries. Over the longer term, I might add a few more gadgets, but not many. Do I really need five frying pans of different sizes? A variety of serving platters? Four teapots?
What books will we pull from the shelves to consult or enjoy, especially when there is a library close at hand? If I am rarely cooking dinner, can’t I rely on a handful of tried and true favorite recipes and the Internet if I want to try something new rather than cookbooks, as delectable as the pictures in these often are? Do I really need four books on Picasso?
What other forms of entertainment will we realistically want? Currently, I have art supplies that would allow me to try out a myriad of crafts I’ve yet to pursue and boxes of untouched fabric from the days when I made my clothes. Without a dedicated space for my personal use, how can I create a nook with multiple uses where everything is accessible?
What knick-knacks will continue to give us joy but not force us to endlessly dust? So many have served their purpose. Can I take their photos and let others enjoy them now?
During this Thanksgiving season, it is worthwhile to get down to the basics and consider two questions: what do you need to carry on your life and what brings you happiness? Divest yourself of the rest!