(this wasn’t on the schedule for today, but there are a few things in my life taking up my mental capacity right now, so here’s another one from the vault.
Having decluttered not only three closets, but also kitchen, living room, and bedroom, I have been considering what the practice of minimalism involves. Decluttering has helped me focus on a simple, uncomplicated way of living. According to Practigal, "The concept of simple living is based on the idea that material possessions and consumerism do not bring happiness and fulfillment. Instead, it emphasizes the importance of relationships, experiences, and personal growth." While the main focus of minimalism is (if I'm correct in my understanding) ridding oneself of excess, I found that in accomplishing that, minimalism is a mere stepping stone to the much broader concept of honoring who I want to be, how I want to live. As I embrace this knowledge, I get why women - me included - resisted accepting minimalism as the one true answer. Life is bigger than our possessions. Focusing only on things/clothes precludes focusing on self. What I held onto in my closets was a symptom of what I held onto in my mind. Breaking free from fuck-me pumps meant accepting I'd drank my last alcoholic drink, kissed my last hook-up, and understood that 65 is not the new 45. 65 is 65 without shame and apology. Freedom. This growth process began long before I entered Mindful Closet. (Art and therapy save lives. In that order.) I am glad I am here with all of you as I make stronger acquaintance with my body and myself. Looking at my spring/summer closet, dresser drawers, kitchen counters, and bookcases gives me tingles. That I took a step toward a simpler life meant taking a step deeper into self-love, including love of this perfectly flawed body. Am I always on point? Nope. Do I sometimes look in the mirror, push up my bare boobs, and imagine perky breasts? Yup. Do I remember the Sex in the City episode depicting repulsion at naked and wrinkly butt cheeks? You bet. Do I look sideways to see just how far my belly protrudes? Every single morning. Do I dress to slay? Damn right. Whenever the spirit hits me. These days it hits often.
Having decluttered not only three closets, but also kitchen, living room, and bedroom, I have been considering what the practice of minimalism involves. Decluttering has helped me focus on a simple, uncomplicated way of living. According to Practigal, "The concept of simple living is based on the idea that material possessions and consumerism do not bring happiness and fulfillment. Instead, it emphasizes the importance of relationships, experiences, and personal growth." While the main focus of minimalism is (if I'm correct in my understanding) ridding oneself of excess, I found that in accomplishing that, minimalism is a mere stepping stone to the much broader concept of honoring who I want to be, how I want to live. As I embrace this knowledge, I get why women - me included - resisted accepting minimalism as the one true answer. Life is bigger than our possessions. Focusing only on things/clothes precludes focusing on self. What I held onto in my closets was a symptom of what I held onto in my mind. Breaking free from fuck-me pumps meant accepting I'd drank my last alcoholic drink, kissed my last hook-up, and understood that 65 is not the new 45. 65 is 65 without shame and apology. Freedom. This growth process began long before I entered Mindful Closet. (Art and therapy save lives. In that order.) I am glad I am here with all of you as I make stronger acquaintance with my body and myself. Looking at my spring/summer closet, dresser drawers, kitchen counters, and bookcases gives me tingles. That I took a step toward a simpler life meant taking a step deeper into self-love, including love of this perfectly flawed body. Am I always on point? Nope. Do I sometimes look in the mirror, push up my bare boobs, and imagine perky breasts? Yup. Do I remember the Sex in the City episode depicting repulsion at naked and wrinkly butt cheeks? You bet. Do I look sideways to see just how far my belly protrudes? Every single morning. Do I dress to slay? Damn right. Whenever the spirit hits me. These days it hits often.
👏👏👏