I'm A Minimalist
Sixty years old and every worldly possession I own fits in a U-Haul
There’s much said about minimalism purifying one’s soul, so let it be read . . .
Nonetheless, these feelings (irrational as they may be) are real, so I don’t see the point in pretending otherwise. I have always prided myself on my ability to simply outwork any challenge, and I foolishly believed that embracing minimalism put my identity at risk by signaling vulnerability to the world. And vulnerability, at least in the pre-Brené Brown era, was not something I felt comfortable showing.
Here’s my early take on the subject, complete with Bene Brown name drop!
Numbering the moves I’ve made in life is a version of counting sheep to sleep. I never get to the end. I made nearly a dozen in my academic life - new schools yearly from 4th through 12th. The parents never could finalize that split-up.
At one point, in my early-twenties, a little red Ford Courier carried all of my belongings from California to Nebraska. Imagine that - an import! It died, fittingly, in Farmington, halfway between. Notably, a duffel bag carried all my shit back two years later. Life surrounds one with things and delights in stripping them away.
Now looking back, it was more like the one below than above. Don’t get me started on how many cars I’ve owned (and wrecked) in my life. I’m sure I didn’t get $2800 for it. Probably not even $800.
What’s the coolest car you ever wrecked? Who among us has never wrecked a car (liar)?
I packed up when the heat was on or the temp got cold. Future-planning was a couchsurfing go-bag. Frozen 7/11 burritos meal-planning. Life was solidly set without boundaries. Pirates, cowboys, and rock-stars live on dreams, hard times, and movin on.
I crossed bridges to burn them and wondered why I never went home. Wrecked cars got left behind, along with broken hearts and questions why. Every mile under the tires added emotional distance I’d never outrun.
Time rebuilds bridges, and hearts, with new knowledge and old experiences. Holding on to the person and letting go of the persona. Remembering the now moments and forgiving the unforgettable minutes. Following up instead of following the path. Of least resistance.
It’s a form of freedom often overlooked. The freedom to believe in one’s past. That it had an arc of redemption after a few decades of chaos, pain, and hurt. Self-inflicted damage leaves different scars than innocent victimhood. As it should.
But unless you’re a homicidal maniac, which assuming most reading are not, these are not life sentences we’re serving. We pulled our time. Which is what all time is: ours. We’re searching for ways to make more time. We don’t have anymore.
Whether one believes in destiny or not, one must believe in the the finiteness of time. At least linear time as we currently know it to be. (The Robot guffaws) Imagine a life-time title-loan. Of course, someone has. And JT stars with a hottie.
Storyline
Welcome to a world where time has become the ultimate currency. You stop aging at 25, but there's a catch: you're genetically-engineered to live only one more year, unless you can buy your way out of it. The rich "earn" decades at a time (remaining at age 25), becoming essentially immortal, while the rest beg, borrow or steal enough hours to make it through the day. When a man from the wrong side of the tracks is falsely accused of murder, he is forced to go on the run with a beautiful hostage. Living minute to minute, the duo's love becomes a powerful tool in their war against the system.—Twentieth Century Fox
Is 25 your peak? Would you kill to stay there?
Immortality is a double-edged sword. Or is it a Sword of Damocles? What “side” would you be on in this scenario? Day-trader living paycheck-to-death? Or One-Percenter living forever? Hustle or die is a harsh quota.
Life and Death is a gamble, and the odds are stacked. Just like the movies. Let’s roll the dice on living, and cover the bet on the other. What else do you have to lose?
Check out the twenty-song-long-list below. Your shares, likes, and comments make these moments live on . . .
All the best,
Ric