I'm struggling a little with a lack of money at the moment. You see, I like to buy things even if I promote myself as a kind of minimalist. I've written before how minimalism is a constant process of assessing needs versus want, and getting to the root of why we fill our life with Things. I like to buy beautiful silver boho earrings, but I don't need them, and instead thread shells on silver hoops. Jamie would love a fancy bikepacking bike that most people spend $10,000 dollars on, including equipment, but instead he gets a second hand bike and buys water bottles from K-Mart and scours Marketplace for second hand finds. We call it a process of minimalism, but sometimes it's about what we can afford.

^{Burma, 2017. Photo my own.}

There's always a tension between what I desire, and what our funds can procure. I live in a modest house, but desire to live in a Nordic inspired designer mansion overlooking the sea. I would love a completely new wardrobe with expensive ethical clothes instead of second hand charity shop finds. I'd love to travel more and stay in hotels instead of save for trips and sleep in the back of a Land Rover. But 'I want' doesn't 'get', so one continues to work on philosphy of minimalism so hard that one ends up believing it. But still, in comes the desire. The things you wouldn't say no to, if offered.

There are some pleasures to be had in this life, after all, and I'm not going to refuse them should they come my way.

Perhaps it's zen Buddhism philosophy at work. One shouldn't, in this ism, pursue austerity rigidly and dogmatically for it's own sake, as this leads to suffering or detachment from the beauty of the world. Without joy, how can life have meaning and purpose? I can't subscribe to a life of deprivation, I don't believe there's anything wrong with getting, so long as I can afford it, and I'm making ethical, informed choices that align with your values.

There's nothing wrong with radical rejection of social conventions so long as it has a good reason behind it. I'd distrust any hair shirt, self immolation kind of minimalism, punishing oneself for one's desires by removing all comforts and happiness, as if one doesn't deserve them. That can be dangerous, perhaps a trauma informed minimalism that is excessive and born out of psychological dis-ease. Yet for some, extreme minimalism brings clarity and peace, reducing anxiety as it sheds the clutter and distractions of modern life. I get that, to an extent. It's satisfying. I admire the monk entering the forest. For some it's a devout practice, revolving around meditation, prayer, or contemplation. Buddha, after all, didn't achieve enlightenment in a Nordic inspired mansion over looking the sea. We need extremes to push the boundaries of culture.

There's many 'celebrity' minimalists like Rob Greenfield, who like the Stoics in Ancient Greece, works to expose the artificiality of human needs and, in Greenfield's context, out of a desire to save the environment suffering from over consumerism. This form of excessive minimalism thus surely can have it's place, even if people think it's wildly insane and extreme according to their own standards of how life should be lived. Digital minimalism, for example, is growing in momentum where people chose dumb phones over the attention grabbing mini computers we are all slaves to. The tiny house movement is also growing, where people recognise they don't need the big mortgage or a multi roomed home that needs filling. Modern minimalism - or a modern ascetism - thus can change how we view consumerism, encouraging community, relationships and experiences over possessions, and encourages us to think about what really makes us content or happy.

^{Burma, 2017.}

Like with all -isms, there are extreme responses that take away the joy, comfort and meaning we have in life. I'm drawn to beautiful things, and I don't believe that denying myself a coveted pair of silver earrings or a new plant in a stoneware pot is going to make me a hyprocrital minimalist. It's possible to reduce distractions and focus on what really matters, but still find joy in possessions. I don't believe in depriving myself completely, but making mindful decisions that are ethical, conscious, and meaning driven.

In saying that, perhaps minimalism isn't a one sized fits all approach. Who am I to judge the monk who renounces all worldly possessions in the pursuit of the spiritual? Who am I to scoff at the woman who sells everything she owns, gives it to charity, and the length and breadth of India? Minimalism should enhance life, and that looks different for different people.

With Love,

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