On Drastic Measures, And The Weight Of Worldly Things

"Drastic" is such an odd word. Does it frequently have negative connotations when you use it? Consider these examples:

"The drought forced the farmers to take drastic measures by selling half their herd to save them from financial ruin."

"The wildfire drastically reshaped the landscape, turning the lush forest into a dry, dusty, desolate wasteland."

I'm about to implement some big changes to the lifestyle I've been accustomed to for decades, and the first adjective that popped into my head to describe these changes was "drastic." But here's something interesting: "drastic" originates from the Greek word for "effective." And that's how I'm choosing to frame what I'm about to do: very, very effective.

"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can do without." ~Henry David Thoreau

I've had emotional attachments to things since I was a kid. Haven't we all, to some extent? I'm talking about consumerism and the accumulation of "stuff." Not vital things like clothing or pots and pans. For me it's been vinyl records, books, physical copies of games, laptops, various electronic gadgets, and more recently a growing comics collection.

The vast majority of it sits on my shelves attracting dust, not attention, while I'm out adventuring and hiking and camping. Then when I come home, I vow to touch them, read them, listen to them, play them, in order to justify their place on my shelves.

That collection just keeps growing, doesn't it? At some point, we hit a groove with our careers, perhaps gain financial comfort, and use that income to buy larger spaces to hold more of that stuff, because maybe, just maybe, in some dark corner of our minds, all that stuff represents success. 

Right now, all my stuff feels more like a weight holding me down. Something that anchors me to a certain house, a certain city, a certain domestic lifestyle. It's insane that I should feel compelled, at any point, to justify their existence. Perhaps to justify their purchase. 

Looking at it objectively, yes I adore my record collection, but I have a much larger music library on my Plex server, and can listen to it on my own terms, anywhere on earth. I have fond thoughts about my game collection, but emulation is faster and easier. I have my entire book collection (and then some) on my Kobo e-reader. 

And the comics? Ever since Skybound launched the Energon Universe, I've had 4 to 8 books getting shipped to my door each month. Hundreds of issues, most of which I've dutifully filed away and haven't read.

When I'm on the trail, I never miss these things. And I've decided I want to start collecting memories instead of stuff. But what do I do with these possessions I'm inexplicably attached to but never enjoy? 

I think I'm going to lean on Joshua Fields Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus, collectively known as The Minimalists. I remember reading their memoir in 2014, sitting in a room of my house I'd dedicated exclusively to retro consoles I never played. I was intrigued by it, viewing it as more of a dare than a lifestyle. 

Now I'm craving it. They were clearly ahead of my curve. 

Anyway, they recently emailed a free ebook over called "Very, Very Simple" which has 12 tools for decluttering your life. One of them really resonated. It resonated hard. 

It's called the "Wouldn't Repurchase" rule. Essentially it asks you to pick literally any object in your house, and ask yourself "If I lost this item today, would I repurchase it?"

If the answer is no, then why am I still holding onto it? 

Every time I run this rule against something on those aforementioned shelves, the answer was no. At this point they're like trophies. Little artifacts that represent comfort from a different life. But they truly don't enrich my life in any way. 

They don't add value to my life, they add stress. So much effort devoted to trying to justify their existence, rather than enjoying them. 

So it's time to clean house. It's time to, at least partially, start embracing a more minimalistic lifestyle. It's time to remove the weight of these things from my shelves, and in the process declutter both my living space and my mind.