I enjoy watching shows on minimalism and tiny houses. Not because I think the world would be a better place if we all went to that extreme. But the perspective it gives as a counterbalance to excessive consumerism is really valuable. It took me most of my life to perfect the fine art of separating needs and wants. But I came from the anti-consumerism end – the one in which one feels guilty for every need and unworthy of every want. My birth chart foretells, for astrology buffs, that I would struggle to appreciate material goods. But it might just have been my childhood experiences combined with the religious teaching that poverty is a spiritual virtue. Appreciating, investing in and taking care of good quality material goods is something I had to force myself to learn – I have always had a very unhealthy relationship with “stuff.”
I didn’t grow up in a lavish material environment, but I did have more than too much stuff. My mother enjoys buying things for herself and others and has always lived beyond her means. And my father, who still wears the same jeans and sandals he’s had since 1968, always told me to put into the cart as many cheap toys and candy that I wanted. I had a very blessed childhood from this perspective. But it was lonely, and unlike most kids, I didn’t really derive any happiness from receiving gifts. As a grown up I have struggled even to buy other people gifts, because I could never see the value.
In my twenties, I owned an old 2-door Nissan Sentra and made a point to never own more than I could load into it and move to wherever I might want to go. That pretty much meant a futon, no frame, and very little else. As I didn’t really derive any happiness from “retail therapy,” I just associated “stuff” with being trapped and stuck in one place. When I actually needed something, I bought the cheapest version available. I once broke a roommate’s knife and replaced it with another knife. She was horrified, “you broke an Ecco knife, it’s a pretty big name-brand.” I was trying to be a good person and friend by replacing what I’d broken. I honestly didn’t know the difference between a “good quality” or name-brand knife and any other.
I used to believe that having or wanting material goods was shallow and unspiritual. Kind of like the Franciscans who compete to see who is the “poorest” and therefore allegedly the most like Jesus. But in the process of my maturing spirituality, I’ve discovered that I don’t think that’s true. Jesus did not make any efforts to accumulate wealth, that appears to be true. But nor did he live in crushing poverty. There is not a story in which he was hungry (except on purpose) or without anything he needed. His executors cast lots for who would get his garments, so it’s safe to assume he wasn’t wearing rags. To recognize that a minimal amount of material goods is sufficient is a kind of wealth and peace. But to appreciate and derive pleasure from the material world is also a kind of wealth and peace. Balance and gratitude.
I do recognize the spiritual value in living without too many belongings the way monks and nuns do. But even monks can appreciate good quality shoes.
I have always had a steadfast faith in the abundance of the universe and my rightful position in it. I don’t know where I got that, but I remember having it as early as 3 or 4 years old. And while I still don’t accumulate status symbols or dust collectors, I do enjoy accumulating a degree of wealth and some things that I love. If I want or need something, I look for the best quality at the best price. And I don’t feel guilty for that anymore. I only seek to be grateful for all that I have and to be a blessing to those in material, emotional or spiritual need.
Have you benefitted from the minimalist movement? Share your experiences in the comments or reach out to me privately here. Learn more about The Mystical One here or download my e-book for the full story here.