First Beach Day of 2016

I can't even believe the good luck. I managed to score a beach day in FEBRUARY!! It's the first beach day of 2016. Months earlier than expected! It was restorative to the soul.

Indoor Sunbathing

While rainy days are my beloved, it's also never too soon to savor all the gorgeous vitamin D therapy that's slowly started to make its return! I have truly enjoyed and savored the full duration of this winter season (a first for me since moving here 5 years ago). I suspect that all the hours I spent at the beach and in the sun last summer played a part in that. So this year I'm starting even earlier! While it's too cold to sunbathe outside, I'm blessed with a warm home, a bright window full of sun, and empty floor space beneath it to bask in.

Rainbowtouille!

Benjamin's most recent culinary urge resulted in the most cheerful kitchen creation of my dreams. Healthy food that is tasty and rainbow colored! I love rainbows in all kinds of iterations, but can't say that I'm accustomed to seeing full rainbow spectrums in food that I actually want to eat. (Artificial color? No thank you). Enter Rainbowtouille. A delicious breakfast spin on the gorgeous dish from the charming movie Ratatouille.

He started with a bed of sautéed leeks and mushrooms. Then he placed layers of thinly sliced potatoes (red, yellow and purple), zucchini, and turkey sausage over the bed of sautéed veggies. Lastly, he drizzled olive oil over the top and seasoned with salt, black pepper, oregano and red pepper flakes.

There's been a rainbow in my kitchen all morning, making me feel like a gleeful kid. As he prepared the food, I savored the colors and textures by pulling out my camera and doing a proper shoot, an enjoyment that I haven't pursued in a while and which only added to my appreciation of the color and cooking of the meal. It's baking up now, and smelling great. Soon that rainbow will be in my tummy. I can't wait to taste it!

Baked Cinnamon Apples

It's a steadily drippy, rainy kind of day today. My very favorite. With the rush of the holidays now past, I feel I am finally able to settle into the cold, gray blanket of winter. I daresay I've enjoyed this winter more than any other, which I attribute to the intentional steps I've taken to nurture and care for myself and my home. Knowing the darker side of winter, and how easy it is to fall into gloom or depression, I've steadily focused on listening to my body and giving it the rest and nourishment and kindness that it needs. It's a new approach for me, and it seems to be working.

One of my favorite snacks of late is baked cinnamon apples. It fills the home with a delicious aroma and fills my tummy with warm, naturally sweet good
ness. It hardly takes any more time than eating an apple itself, but is infinitely more nourishing because of it's warm inviting presence in the home and in my body!

The recipe is simple, and there are endless variations (sometimes I like to add pecans), but my current favorite is as follows (serves 1):

• 1 apple, cored and cut into bite sized pieces
• 1 Tbsp coconut oil
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon
• raisins, to taste
• Smidge of water
• Lemon juice, optional
• Preheat oven to 400F
• Spread the raisins in the bottom of a loaf pan, with a little bit of water (so that they plump when you cook them and they don't scorch or burn).
• Spread apples evenly over the top.
• Sprinkle cinnamon and dollops of coconut oil over the top, no need to mix.
• You can add a dash of lemon juice if you have it to brighten up the dish.
• Bake for 30 minutes. (Test apple-doneness with a fork and do more or less time depending on how soft or crunchy you like your baked apples).
• Give it a quick toss after you pull it out, to coat everything evenly with the coconut oil/cinnamon 'glaze.'

It's healthy, it's warm, it's delicious, it's what rainy days were made for!

A Winter Moment

In the quiet dark of the early morning, I resolved to breathe mindfully today: deep, restorative, lung-filling breaths. After a pleasant early shift at work, with moments of mindful breathing, I headed to my next engagement. As I stepped off the bus the air was crisp and cold; the sky was dull and grey. I reached into my bag for the oatmeal yoyo cookie that I stashed in there - a snack to carry me through my upcoming appointment until I could eat a proper lunch.

I bit into it as I stepped out into the crosswalk. That very moment, the cold air filled my nose with the pleasant, pungent aroma of woodsmoke while cinnamon danced on my tongue. Almost as quickly, the woodsmoke faded and the cinnamon in my mouth mingled with a hint of bright lemon from the delicious, subtly-sweet cookie filling.

The oatmeal yoyo is my very favorite thing we make at the bakery. It's just barely sweetened with applesauce and a hint of maple syrup; two small, chewy cookies snuggled up against a delicious dollop of  whipped coconut oil in between them.

I inhaled the crisp air deeply and savored the last morsels, feeling grateful to have been swept up into such a cozy, wintery moment.

Raindrops & Stormy Skies

The last week has held many rainy days, including a couple of particularly stormy ones. While misty drizzle is the norm here for much of the year, the presence of real, solidly plopping raindrops is a more rare occurrence. A blustering windstorm to drive the rain is even less likely.

My insides feel fortified by the weather. Rain is my very favorite kind of weather, the more melodic the better, and a safely powerful storm (I wouldn't enjoy a dangerous one) can make me feel awake and alive much in the way that the mightiness of the ocean does as it rolls over the sandy shore. Whether being tossed about the sky or moving across the varied landscape, water is my lifeline; it stirs my soul and keeps me grounded.

The Right Words

This week I've been reflecting on how much I appreciate the people in my life who can just sit with you through a hard time and say:

That's the worst. I'm sorry.

Not everyone is able to provide this. Some do their best to help by reminding me how much worse it could be, or how much I have to be grateful for. While those people are well-intentioned, it doesn't make me feel heard. When I am sharing something uncomfortable, or awkward, or challenging, or painful, I often don't need advice, or some variation of a reminder to 'think positively,' I just need someone to sit with me in it and acknowledge the difficulty (even if they can't understand it or think it seems trivial).

I am deeply grateful for those in my life who can do this for me. And each time I am the recipient of a less-than-helpful exchange, it reminds me to make sure I'm being the kind of friend I value in others. When I don't understand, when the tragedy's too great, when it's small to me but big to them, I can show deep care with a hug and say some variation of: 'That's the worst. I'm so sorry' and sit with them through it.

Pond People, et al.

It's an ongoing challenge to stay connected with people that I really care a lot about and with whom I've enjoyed a mutual sharing of our hearts and minds through tough and joyous times alike. Despite these past close connections, it's been increasingly difficult to actually connect with them in any kind of physical time or space. I used to text others to be proactive in organizing get-togethers, but grew weary of feeling like I was the only one putting in the effort. Lately I've backed off on trying to create physical space but still text to let them know I'm thinking about them. More often than not I hear nothing back. Throughout, my feelings have run the gamut from frustration to hurt to general grumpiness.

See, I had thought that perhaps this was an introvert problem. I am one, my friends are too, and for that (and other reasons) we can all be pretty big time homebodies. That's why I cared to make such a conscientious effort to reach out and kept persevering. Then, a friend explained to me about puddle, pond, lake and ocean people and I realized I'd misdiagnosed the situation.

Puddle, Pond, Lake or Ocean?

A puddle person is a mere acquaintance. Just as we can quickly and easily step over or around a puddle, we can navigate around these relationships pretty easily. We can jump right in for a splash and move on or we can circumvent them and avoid them entirely. A pond person takes up a little more space in our lives, and a lake person more than that.

The people in our ocean take up the most space of all; our closest relationship(s), the ones that we devote the most of ourselves and our time and energy to. We've worked hard to get to know them and we spend a lot of time with them maintaining and growing the relationship. Because of this commitment, it's appropriate to expect more from them in return. Not only that they reciprocate the investment, but that they provide a map and compass for us (and you for them) to help traverse the depth of the waters. Without this, one or both of us may soon feel that we are barely hanging on to a wreckage that offers little stability and lots of unknowns. Perhaps there is more than one person in your ocean. Perhaps your spouse is on the very same boat with you, plotting the same course, but your best friend in the world is also in your ocean; maybe on a nearby raft, or in the security of an island.

Throughout these watery bodies flows a stream to connect them all. This stream keeps the waters healthy by preventing stagnation. It allows people to move around from one body of water to the next, keeping life fresh.

Our maps are diverse and each looks and acts differently from all the others. It became clear to me that I wasn't combating introversion, but that I was trying to make pond-people into lake-friends. At one time we would have agreed that we were lake friends. I've still been operating on that assumption while it seems that things have changed for the others. No need to work at a lake-type investment for others who, due to various life circumstances, perhaps now view me in their pond.

Meanwhile, a new opportunity has risen just in the last couple of weeks that holds potential for new friendships. They are becoming pond-people from puddle-people and could someday maybe move into the lake. My waters will never be empty, they'll just shift around a bit.

Simple Pleasures

Today I finally made the move to hang my beautiful, beloved, red ukulele on the wall so that I can see it, and be inspired by it, and be moved to play it much more often. Its name is Apapane [ah-pah-pah-ney] after a beautiful, red, Hawaiian songbird. I braided a hanger for it and then, hating to hear the sound of its body scrape the wall, I made a yellow felt songbird to keep it company and soften its place of rest.

Getting Started

Photo courtesy of Benjamin.

Time and time again I have culled through our possessions. Each time it got a little easier to let things go. It’s like ripples in a pond created by a tossed stone. The items far away from me (the outer rings) were easier to let go because there was less emotional attachment. But the closer I got to the inner rings of possessions, the ones closer to my heart, the more difficult it became. Thankfully, with practice, I kept getting better at letting things go. Even though I kept getting closer to my heart with each examination of our things, I was growing into the ability to make those decisions with each small step.

That’s why it took us 7 years to get to where we are today. I took the slow route. Any other route would have been way outside of my comfort zone and not at all in accordance with my nature. Taking it at this slow and deliberate pace is what allowed me to succeed. The thing that I love about simple, intentional living [aka: minimalism] is that it’s not about the number of things we own, or even what we own. It’s also not about the pace at which we progress. Some cull their possessions seemingly overnight. Others, like me, take years. Regardless, it works... because it’s not actually about the items at all.

This lifestyle is about mindful, purposeful living, questioning the status quo, and knowing ourselves. It’s the heart-work, the changes that happen inside of us by engaging in these practices (and it does take practice) that makes the difference. In doing so, we remove the non-essential and replace it with the essential. It looks different for everyone. For me, the non-essential includes any item that I don’t use regularly or really love. It also includes a lot of media: like an excess of television, movies or internet. The essential includes enough personal time to pursue health and hobbies like reading and writing as well as enough relational time to connect with those I treasure most.

In the end, what matters is that we begin. The first step towards a fullness of life outside of the work-consume cycle of the American Dream may be big or it may be small, but what counts is the movement. By initiating the movement, the momentum and rhythm will come. And with practice, each step becomes easier as the heart fills with excitement and hope.

The Wants & Must Lists

Several years ago, Benjamin and I were introduced to The Wants List (WL) by a dear friend of ours. It’s simple in concept, but meaningful in practice. To create a WL, allow at least five uninterrupted minutes to reflect on what you really want and write it all down. The key is to allow thoughts to flow freely, unhindered. It is not a time to evaluate the wants to determine whether they are reasonable or possible, only to let every single want, from the shallowest of desires to the deepest of dreams, to come to the surface and onto the paper. This exercise is a wonderful tool for practicing mindfulness and allowing honesty with ourselves about our heart’s desires, which are too easily ignored during the rush of the day’s events, or dismissed as too impractical.

Once the items are on the list, the next step is a matter of personal preference. In deciding to act on any particular item on the list, one can proceed by taking full and honest stock of reality in its current state and determine a course of action to achieve the desired result. Some things on the list won’t inspire immediate action. That’s okay. The WL is also an effective measuring tool to determine over time whether one’s life path is on track in accordance with their dreams and desires. By pulling out an old WL and rereading it, it becomes immediately apparent which ones were passing fancies and which ones are deep heart desires. It helps keep the most important hopes and goals in plain sight, serving as a reminder with each revisitation to the list. The best stuff rises to the top.

Benjamin and I have made many WLs over the last 7-8 years since first learning the process. We make them independently for our own personal goals and dreams, and we make them together when visioning for our marriage. It becomes a natural response to the restless feeling that comes with losing focus or direction. Sitting down and making a quick WL helps us refocus on where we’re headed and what we really want to be doing with our lives.

Only a few weeks ago, I came across The Minimalists’ great post about their Must List (ML) [http://www.theminimalists.com/deciding/. The ML is a cousin to the Wants List in that it requires much consideration in developing authentic readings on the desires for greatness hidden deep down inside. However, it requires a much more active response. Making a ML means making a focused commitment to working on each item with discipline and consistency. Whereas the WL acts as a barometer for living over the long haul, from which one may or may not take action, the ML is by its very nature an immediate call to action, requiring moment-by-moment and day-by-day intentionally focused behavior.

After years of WLs, I’m ready to take on an ML. Presently, my ML is a work in progress. Over the years I have acted on many WL items, but those that I never quite got around to working on... today is your day! While I will continue to use the WL as a great assessment tool from time to time, I am ready to launch into a new phase of intentional living: one that requires focused effort and acts of self-discipline each and every day.

Laundry By Hand

Around here, laundry often gets done by hand. It all started as an experiment in DIY borne out of curiosity. As it turns out, I loved it! Benjamin and I have pared down our wardrobes so much that it made little sense to keep using a washing machine to do our laundry: it costs energy and quarters. The only way to get a full load between us these days is to wait for everything to get dirty at once before doing laundry. So I wondered, why not keep up with it a bit at a time by hand?

First, I tried the plunger method, but since I was doing laundry during my shower anyway, using a plunger to avoid splashage was unnecessary. It turned out I preferred using my hands: there is much satisfaction in pushing the clothes down into the warm, soapy water and agitating them with palms and fingers. It’s also extremely rewarding (and alarming!) to see all of the brown water poured off down the drain.

As I gained an understanding of how the materials behaved in being washed, how much dirt they held, how simply and quickly they could be cleaned, and how much dye was lost during each washing, I realized how disconnected I've been from my clothes. In caring for them directly, I cultivated appreciation and thankfulness.

Does it take more time to wash them by hand? Perhaps. But washing machines only make sense when there is a large quantity of clothes to be washed. I’ve spent plenty of time sorting laundry and managing multiple loads. With fewer clothes, it’s as simple as pulling out the wash bucket, dissolving some homemade laundry soap, tossing in a few items, agitate, rinse, wring out and hang to dry in the kitchen by an open window. A day later (two for socks), I put them away. But I’m washing a small quantity of clothes, during a shower that I would be taking anyway, so the biggest change is wringing them out and hanging them to dry. I find that I look forward to this time, because it encourages a single-task mindset.

More importantly than whether it saves time or not, it is fulfilling. It keeps me intentional about what I own, how I care for it, and how I interact with it. It generates mindful living and helps me cultivate care and appreciation for my clothes and lifestyle. It gives the gift of rest to my mind and of movement to my body. It’s a small way in which I can enrich my life with focus and meaning.

Inward Focus

Today I was visiting with a friend about some recent observations I had made about my life and my related thoughts and feelings. The response that I received from my friend was that they were unable to relate because they weren’t inward focused. She went on to describe how she has instead led a life of outward focus, serving others, rather than focusing on herself. It seemed to me, because of the contrast between inward focus and a life of service to others, that perhaps she thought that inward focus is synonymous with selfishness. The conversation moved forward and I was unable to learn more about whether I interpreted her correctly or not, but it did give me cause to think more about the nature of inward focus.

A life that is inward focused is not necessarily selfish in nature. It all depends upon the nature of the introspection, of course.

Here are a few facts about me:

• I am an introvert by nature. As such,

• I have a long history of spending time in my own head analyzing and questioning and making sense of my world.

• I asked a lot of questions as a kid, not accepting the status quo, and never really outgrew it.

• Journaling has seen me through adolescence, grief, college coursework, and other challenging life transitions

• When I discovered Transcendentalism in high school life started making a little more sense to me.

• When I discovered the great classical philosophers in college, I felt like I had come home somehow.

• I completed both undergrad and graduate studies in social work, where we diligently practiced self-exploration, and then wrote about it. “Competent social workers need to acquire a high level of awareness of who they are. Until social workers develop self-awareness of their own needs, feelings, thoughts, and behaviors, including their personal problems and their areas of vulnerability, they will be unable to respond to their clients with objectivity.” (well-stated in Choices by Bob Shebib)

• I am a minimalist. Minimalism is about cutting away the excesses so as to aspire to a life of intention and purpose in all things.

In truth, I hardly know how to be any other way. I was born with my temperament, my soul responds innately to some philosophies over others, and my environment actively shaped me to hone my skills of self-assessment, self-awareness and intent.

Being inward focused is just me being me as authentic as I know how to be. Caring about others is another authentic part of being me, and I do it in a lot of different ways. I make it a practice to speak all good things that come in to my head. If I like you or appreciate your work I tell you. If you’re a stranger and your shoes are awesome, I tell you that too. It’s a way to make small differences with people all day long. That’s one example. There are many ways I care for individuals as well as the global community.

One way I care for the global community is by sharing my story. I believe so much in the power of personal storytelling, creating community, and living an intentional life. This blog is a place for me to write for anyone who cares to stop by. In daily life I share my life with the people that I am in relationship with. By being friends first, and listening and loving, I am able to share my life in word and in witness because it is who I am. One cannot know me without knowing who I am.

There is a day of celebration on the Jewish calendar in which children go out to play with bows and arrows. An important life lesson is taught through this custom. “To use a bow and arrow effectively, the shooter must first pull the bow towards himself. Once the bow is pulled as far back as possible, the arrow can be released with significant force and hopefully meets the target quickly and accurately.” Effectively touching the world requires us to move inward so as to achieve our full potential to influence others.

The life that I am living could not have been possible without plenty of introspection, self-evaluation, questioning and intentionality.

Lessons from the Common Cold

I was sick this week. In the last year I’ve gotten a lot better at being a good sick person, taking the time to sleep, drink plenty of fluids, and generally let my body do its healing thing, but I sure don’t like the whole business of being sick.

Because I turn into a pansy when I’m sick, dramatically moaning and feeling sorry for myself (okay, it’s not quite that bad), it often makes me [melodramatically] think about the only things that matter in the world. Seriously. I hate being sick so much that it’s always an instant reality check about what’s truly important. Suddenly, all I care about in the whole world is sleep, food, fresh water, and receiving loving care [ie: food and lots of sympathy] from Benjamin. I don’t care about my friends, the city I love living in, the company I am happy to be working for, the dog that I love dearly, or any of the other usual enjoyments, loves and interests in my life.

It got me to thinking... maybe I would do well to live like I am sick a little more often. No, I don’t mean that I should be so self-absorbed and lacking in care for my friends and my dog; but that the level of self-care I am willing to give myself is ratcheted way up during illness, only to decline again when I am well. What if I lived life with enough balance to push myself a little less, slow down a little more, and spend ample time in the company of those that I treasure most. What if I remembered to drink water as a means to care for my body in times of wellness as I do when I am sick, instead of forgetting, or seeing it as an interruption to all of the other things on my personal agenda.

Living life as a minimalist has helped tremendously with bringing me closer to center, away from a draining life too heavy on the end of self-sacrifice. But being sick this week helped bring clarity that I can do better. Striking a balance between the values practiced in thought and deed during illness, and the self-sacrifice and personal negligence that is characteristic during wellness is the key to a healthier me who has more to give to others in turn.

We All Start Someplace Else

It’s easy for people to look at a minimalist life and only see the “right now.” Some dear friends of mine used to marvel at the choices that Benjamin and I were making. Conversations would center around how many glasses or plates we had, which would be met with amusement as well as shocked disbelief, and then a confession of how many they had (always many times the amount). They were clearly interested in comparing ourlifestyles, as they were typically the ones to initiate these conversations. Sometimes guilt might creep in and one might confess that they “really should” get rid of some of their stuff or that they had whole rooms devoted to this or that.

This was where I always sought to shift tracks a little and offer encouragement. Benjamin and I live the way that we do because it is right for US. Our degree of simple living may or may not match anyone else’s. We never want others to feel guilt or shame. Our hope is always to inspire and encourage. The goal is to live intentionally and with purpose, not to have more or less possessions than anyone else. My friends would hear my words, but I could tell they still weren’t completely convinced and that maybe a tiny part of them still thought it was all about how much stuff you do or do not have.

One day I was going through my old binder of mementos and came across some photos that I knew would be great for a laugh with my friends.

My bedroom in high school was wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling physical and visual clutter. This photo only shows one corner of my room. The opposite corner had a poster and a bulletin board. The opposite wall from the one pictured here was completely covered with postcards of places my family had vacationed. Above a short bookshelf was a varnished puzzle, across that was a tall bookshelf with my collection of frog figurines. I had a whole mess of stuffed animals arranged in a corner near my bed. I could go on, but that paints a pretty decent comprehensive picture.

It seemed that finally I had found the perfect antidote to whatever internal feelings my friends might occasionally feel about their own homes. They absolutely loved the photo and description of my room! Much laughter was shared, and it seemed also some relief. One mentioned that now she didn’t feel so bad about her own home anymore!

Change takes time (not to mention commitment and hard work). It’s easy to compare ourselves to the people who captivate our attention and then to become discouraged because our own desired reality seems so far away. It’s much more difficult to instead find it within ourselves to forge our own way towards our hoped for destiny. Maybe sometimes all we need to help us bridge that gap and light a spark within is to remember that every one of us started somewhere else before arriving where we’re at.

Boxing Day

The day after Christmas, I walked into work and was greeted heartily by my coworker with “Happy Boxing Day!” I hadn't thought about Boxing Day in years. As a kid I remember seeing it on the calendar and thinking that it must have something to do with people watching boxing matches the same way Thanksgiving is synonymous with watching lots of football. But upon hearing her greeting, I realized I didn’t have the foggiest idea what the day was actually all about. So I took the easy route and looked it up on Wikipedia.

There was nothing conclusive about the origins of the day and its name but I read the competing theories and learned about the European tradition, which dates back to the Middle Ages and historically involved giving money and other gifts to those who were needy and in service positions. Many references were made to boxes, among them: metal boxes being placed outside of churches used to collect offerings; employers giving their servants boxes of goodies to take home for their Christmas celebration (on the day after Christmas because they would have been serving their masters on Christmas day).

Regardless of how Boxing Day came about, the convoluted theories of its origin inspired the most wonderful idea...

Christmas has become such a glorified excuse for consumerism, which Benjamin and I are always seeking ways to detach from each year. Meanwhile, the lack for those in need does not relent during all of this Christmas consumerism. We have responded to these two realities by eliminating our participation in mindless gift giving, choosing simple and meaningful gifts, and giving to charities in need in lieu of purchased gifts. This year we added another component.

Because we have strived to eliminate extraneous possessions over the last many years, it has become more difficult to come across things in our home that we don’t use or enjoy. While it feels great to have reached that point, it occurred to me how wonderful it would be to really press myself, to turn my home upside down and seek out tucked away or overlooked items and to fill up a box (or boxes) with items to be donated so that they can do someone else some good instead of sitting there unused.

Boxing Day felt like the perfect day for such a project! In a season where homes across the country were gluttonous with the spoils of Christmas Day, I could actively seek to fill donation boxes not with unwanted Christmas presents, but with items I already owned that someone else could get more use or pleasure from than me! The fact that it was also in keeping with the convoluted origins of the day (involving boxes and donations) made it feel even more fitting and exciting.

Our first annual family Boxing Day celebration was a delight and we had a blast doing it. I am looking forward to many more years to come!

Readiness

For those of us who are more sentimental by nature, the prospect of decluttering or downsizing may seem unappealing or overwhelming. As a life-long sentimentalist, the process of parting with my possessions was impossible to imagine because they held value to me so deep down inside. Lucky for me, when I caught the bug to downsize I had Benjamin there with me to walk me through it. He brought few possessions to our marriage and didn’t share in my lifestyle of attachment to stuff.

The greatest gift he gave me in the whole process was that I never ever felt pressured to get rid of anything before I was ready. Because most of the things we owned were either mine (from before we were married) or ours, I got to call all of the shots. He led by facilitating the process, I led by making all of the decisions about what stayed and what went. This led to a great working relationship in which we both were able to take an active part and in which I was allowed to grow into a minimalist lifestyle at my own pace.

Deep in my heart I felt a longing to be freed from attachment to mere possessions, but I never could have overcome the mental and emotional strings that were attached to them without honoring my level of readiness. Because I didn’t have to make any moves that I felt uncomfortable with, because I was in control of my destiny and because I received active support, I was able to succeed.

It is all about readiness. Moving too quickly creates trauma and can make the whole process something to dislike or fear. Not being able or willing to start the process to begin with is another option. Either way, we can get stuck. Instead, when we seek a path and a pace that honors our very own personal level of readiness, we are able to create movement, momentum, and change.

Think about your level of readiness and seek support from a friend or online and dare to dream of a simpler more meaningful life.

Our Minimalist Story

Benjamin and I stumbled into minimalism quite accidentally. In January of 2006 we were visiting with some friends and sharing together how we had each spent our weekends. One friend mentioned that she spent her Saturday cleaning out and organizing a hall closet. Inexplicably, that simple admission changed our lives forever.

At the time, we were newlyweds, only about 3 months along in our marriage, and had recently moved into an old country house outside of town. It was way more house than we needed, but it was dirt cheap and we had more than enough hand-me-down furniture to fill it up so we took it. Because we were both new to our jobs and commuting into town daily to go to work, there was still much left to unpack and organize at home.

Frankly, we had tried to attack some of the boxes and piles and make sense of it all, but we simply didn’t know what to do with everything as we set up our first home together. I was starting to get quite frustrated with the lack of progress. Hearing our friend share about how great she felt about her closet completely changed our circuitry! Suddenly, we realized that we had other options. It never crossed our minds that we could just purge the junk and excess and start over!

Right away we began to take small steps towards our goal. But things really kicked into high gear in March of 2007 when a skunk moved in under our house, got trapped, freaked out, and gassed us out of our home in the middle of the night! We made plans to move into town the following week, sold just about every piece of furniture we owned in the coming weeks, and moved into a place half the size.

Unfortunately, we still thought that you were supposed to have certain things in order to be “real grownups.” So in the next couple of years we replaced some of the items: a dining set, a sofa, a credenza, and a couple of chairs. When we moved across the country three years later we had an opportunity to downsize again, bringing only what we could fit into a trailer that we could pull with our small car. This still turned out to be a lot more than we expected (or desired).

This time, however, we know ourselves better. We now live in about 400 square feet, and continue to slowly send things out the door, including large furniture items like the desk, our bed, and the sofa. The truth is, we would just rather be on the floor. I never really outgrew lying, napping, sitting, sprawling, or otherwise generally wiggling around on the floor. We decided we’d better enjoy it as long as we are physically able to! By removing our large items, our small space feels open and spacious. There’s plenty of room to romp with Pepper, play card games, and lounge about and read. Of course it won’t work for everyone, but it is just right for us.

We’re still perfecting it, we (almost) have a sleeping pallet that we love and we’re discussing beanbags or floor pillows for all of our floor lounging, but have made no decisions yet. We’re no longer in the habit of rushing out and buying something and perpetuating the revolving door of consumerism (buy it, tire of it, get rid of it), but instead we think on it for some time so that when we get it, we know it’s the right fit and will stay with us for a while.