Forced Minimalism

I thought about just leaving this post blank.

Get it? Because it’s about forced minimalism. You get it, right?

…moving on.

For the last four months, I’ve been without a permanent home. My roommate got married so I moved out, but I was about to go to Colorado for two months, so I didn’t find a new place. I packed my car for Colorado, left my bedroom furniture where it was, and moved everything else to my friends’ basement, where it still sits. When I returned from Colorado, some wonderful people took me in until I figure out what’s next.

Which means that I am in a stage of forced minimalism. I still have my car load of things at my current home, but the rest of my belongings are split between six different houses and my office (insert horcrux joke here) and I honestly can’t remember what I packed into one friend’s basement and what I handed to someone else before I drove to Colorado. My dry cleaning is downtown, my violin, until yesterday, was in the suburbs, and my body pillow is…?

Basically, when I look back on this season of life I will recall it as the season on, “Where the $@#& is my stuff?!” There was a day last week when I thought I had lost a single shoe. (I found it in my car the next day.) It’s an exercise in, “Hmmm…where did I see that last? Was it before Colorado or after?”

But what’s the most interesting to me is that I don’t really miss my stuff. I was at a friend’s house recently and she said, “Hey, your old computer is still here.” My what? When did I give her that? No idea. I can’t even remember most of the stuff that’s sitting in bins in my other friend’s basement. And if I can’t even remember it, do I really need it?

There are two exceptions: I miss my warm clothes and my books. Even though it’s still unseasonably hot here, having only one sweatshirt and no sweatpants available is becoming a real bummer. I like being cozy, and coziness is difficult in a tank top and shorts. And my books? Well obviously I don’t need them all, but I miss them. They’re my friends! (This is very normal for my family, in case you were wondering. We love our books more than we love our people.)

But beyond those two exceptions, I’m realizing that I can do without most of my stuff. And that forced minimalism quickly turns into minimalism by choice, because there’s something really nice about having everything you need within arm’s reach. In fact, whenever I do find a more permanent home, I plan to go through my belongings much more vigorously – clearly I don’t need all the things.

Except the sweatshirts and the books. I need those.

What about you? Have you ever gone through a period of forced minimalism? What was it like?