Minimalism for Pleasure

The academic year is about to begin, and three of our household will be studying full time. My younger son is off to start his Bachelor of Languages, my husband will be studying a Master of Teaching and I'll be commencing a Master in Creative Writing and Communication. Our new Covid culture is behind my husband's change of direction. He had built up his own business as an entertainer of elderly citizens at nursing homes but because of all the new restrictions, appointments have declined to the point where we can't make ends meet. This coming year will be characterised by tight purse strings, but as our daughter remarked, that's what we've always been used to. Having too much month left at the end of the money has long been a way of life since our three kids were small. 

 Practising a sort of grudging minimalism has been necessary since the nineties. 'Come on kids, we can't afford that. It's not that I don't want to get it for you. We just don't have the money!' There were always snazzy items on our want lists, and loads of household improvement ideas being permanently postponed. It's easy for frustration, anxiety and even envy and bitterness to take root, even though we know that compared to many others in the world, we have nothing to complain about!  

But there's a deeply ingrained drive in the western world to keep buying things. Apparently a chap named Edward Bernays, now long gone, helped start our ball of restless consumerism rolling, and it hasn't stopped since. He worked on propaganda campaigns during World War One, and had a light bulb revelation that the minds of millions can be easily manipulated through advertising. He gave his concept the positive sounding name of 'aspirational marketing' in the 1920s. Essentially, his big epiphany was that possession gives us a sense of identity and worth. Now one hundred years further on, the digital era makes it easier still to play on that collective uneasiness that we must own X, Y and Z if we aren't to lose face. Millions of people work full time just to ensure that people who can't really afford it keep opening their wallets whenever possible. How unsustainable and potentially crushing for those who really can't afford it. Yet the machine grinds on.      

I'm delighted that in more recent years, I've come across a more joyful, voluntary minimalism in the pages of books, which has impressed me a lot. The authors have proven to their own satisfaction that keeping their purse strings tight, even when they don't have to, has tremendous payoffs that lighten their hearts. They can't possibly be considered miserly, for it's all in line with the principles that give their lives great meaning. 

In her book, 'This One Wild and Precious Life', Aussie author and entrepreneur Sarah Wilson describes her conviction to keep her lifestyle as spartan and clean as possible. She feels certain consumerism is one of the beastly, insidious ideologies behind all that's wrong with the world, leading to planet crises of all sorts. Since change begins with the individual, she has set herself a series of challenges to buy nothing but staple groceries for as long as possible. Pulling it off even when she doesn't expect to gives her a real buzz. 

She says: 'Let's say I get the urge to buy a new pair of undies. It's time. I'm down to three pairs, all jowly in the gusset. New knickers would be nice. I map out a day to head to the shops. But then I get a bit lazy. I can't be stuffed doing the schlep. At this point I game-ify. I put off going to the shops a week, then another week. It becomes fun to see how long I can delay the gratification of shiny new knickers.'

Next she mentions how the stoics used to do the very same as a form of character training, (not necessarily in regard to knickers but hey, maybe). They would eke out the days in which they'd be content with the cheapest and scantiest of fare for as long as possible. And Wilson finds that like these illustrious philosophers, she relishes the freedom which results from jumping off the 'more, more, more' treadmill. Playing frugality is a game for now, but she'll take it in her stride should it ever become a necessity. 

The 'Frugal Hedonists', married couple Annie Raser-Rowland and Adam Grubb, also chime in with the fun of taking on this lifestyle. I love these two for their candid admission that since life is short, they aim to fill theirs with gratifying activities such as reading, hammock swinging, leisurely walks and peaceful siestas. For this reason, they're each satisfied with part time jobs that pay miniscule salaries, and pack their whole book, The Art of Frugal Hedonism, with hacks for making it work. 

Here's an excerpt from an occasion when Annie actually went out to buy a few things on a shopping list she'd written, including a slotted spoon and a metal ladle. 'Approaching the cash register, Annie felt an odd aversion to buying the two utensils. A little voice in her head was saying, "Life has actually been great without those things in it for years now, so why get them? Sure, you put them on a list because there were a couple of times where you thought, 'What we need right now is a slotted spoon.' But you got around it just fine on those occasions.' She returned the utensils to the shelf and left the shop empty-handed, which felt surprisingly nice. The two utensils would have cost a grand total of $1.98, so it definitely wasn't price that prevented her from buying them. It was the pleasant lightness that came with recognising her true lack of need for them.' 

Wow, a low-maintenance, well-ordered household in which you can place your hand on exactly what you need when you think of it must be a huge benefit indeed, to neutralise sacrifices such as this. Surely tidying time must be cut in half, shortage of storage space must be far less of an issue, and mental clarity must be crystal clear. After our most recent house move, which was almost four years ago, I was determined not to gradually accumulate a small glut of possessions yet again, for it doesn't take long for clutter to make me overwhelmed. But retail therapy does make creeping inroads over time. Bargains from second hand shops are hard to resist, especially if they're lovely, cute or flattering, as the case may be. 

Happiness coach Domonique Bertolucci adds a bit of advice, in her succinct manner, to prevent impulse buying. She says: 'Don't confuse the pleasure of looking at beautiful things with the desire to acquire them. You don't need to buy something to enjoy a shopping trip. Think of it as visiting a gallery or museum. You can have a lot of fun window shopping, enjoying all the visual delights of your favourite stores, and come back home with your money still safe in your wallet.'  

Cool, then perhaps I did the right thing when I didn't splash out on a beautiful terrarium shaped like a turtle, with the glass dome for his shell. I thought how great it would look on the coffee table in our single loungeroom, but decided it doesn't get enough natural light for any little plants to benefit there 24/7. 

The spirit of Bertolucci's brief paragraph is compressed into a pithy, single line from John Ortberg, and I think it was in his book entitled 'Soul Keeping.' He said, 'You can admire without having to acquire.' 

I won't ever become a full-on Wilson, Raser-Rowland, Bertolucci or Ortberg, but the fact that people are keeping their purses closed because it gives them a buzz gives me a buzz. And I'm aiming to start the new year with a little bit of their zeal. Have you ever been impacted by sensible wisdom such as this too?