“Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity! … We are happy in proportion to the things we can do without.”
– Henry David Thoreau
I believe each of us craves simplicity, whether we’re aware of it or not. In it, there is contentment and peace—an openness of possibility, not weighed down by the anchors of life. But often, the clutter of life surrounds me, overwhelms the part of my mind that desires order. We have to clean and maintain our stuff, insure and repair it. We think we want more, but it never actually makes us happier once we get it.
I love my home, but there is an element of stress attached to it. All the things gather dust, dirt and pet fur so quickly! My husband and I have long felt it was important to create a life we don’t feel the need to vacate from, but that becomes a challenging task in itself. Even in the best situations, it is nice to escape our daily routine.
The Freedom of Having Less
“The more you have, the more you are occupied. The less you have, the more free you are.”
– Mother Teresa
Sometimes we’re more in love with the idea of a thing than the reality of it. When we decided to move to North Carolina, buying a log cabin seemed so quintessentially Carolinian. And we’ve enjoyed our home … but …
Log homes are so high maintenance. They require re-staining every few years. They attract carpenter bees who are huge and bumbling and cute in a doofy sort of way—but will industriously turn our home into something like Swiss cheese if we turn our backs. Log homes are beautiful on large treed lots, but tree roots mangle septic fields. Bats love the chinks between logs. They wedge their little bodies into the cracks and crevices to sleep … or squabble with all their friends. (I don’t mind bats so much, but they were more interested in being our housemates rather than moving into the cute bat house my husband made, and the load of guano they produce is a whole other story.)
It’s easy to become preoccupied with our things, and distracted from what is more important. My mother-in-law once told me that we spend the first half of our lives accumulating things and the last half getting rid of it. And sadly—when we lost both of Patrick’s parents—we had to go through and eliminate many of their possessions too. And of course, we end up keeping more than we should for sentimental reasons.
As difficult as it is to throw away or donate things, there is always a feeling of relief when it’s gone. Our things — homes, cars, yards, pets, and so much more — are each anchors holding us back. There will always be a certain amount we can’t imagine doing without, and that’s okay. But, the more we manage to eliminate, the freer we’ll be (and the easier it will be to leave for spontaneous adventures)!
Camping as a Minimalist Getaway
“We have lost contact with reality, the simplicity of life.”
— Paulo Coelho
When we first started shopping for a camper, we were overwhelmed. There were just so many sizes and options. Initially, I found myself seduced by more elaborate and luxurious add ons. Even early in our search though, I realized I craved simplicity more. We looked at the slide outs and it just seemed like one more thing to maintain while adding a substantial amount of unnecessary weight. Closed, they create an awkward obstacle. Open, they present a hazard, a potential imbalance, and one more thing that can break. All for the luxury of a few extra feet? It just didn’t seem worth it. Not when there are just the two of us to consider. And all the fancy extras … are they really what you want when you’re camping? (Outdoor TVs … I’ll admit, I poke fun at you.)
I grew up tent camping with my parents and absolutely loved it as a kid—the patter of rain above me (and parental threats to not touch the ceiling if I wanted to stay dry), the earthy must of damp canvas. My grandparents were also nature-lovers, but opted for the amenities of a camper. Later when they retired, they bought a huge RV and would take one grandchild at a time on their summer trips. I’ve experienced the full range of options and knew the pros and cons of each.
There were a few things we knew. We didn’t want to give up our home yet, or to try to live on the road full-time … well Patrick might have. Okay — I wasn’t ready. I need a home base. Small is fine. I don’t think I’ll ever qualify as a “tiny” homeowner because I love my guest room … and a studio space … and my book shelves. Besides, while toying with the idea, I’ve watched a lot of YouTubers go gung-ho on tiny living or full-time RV nomad living and most seem to make it about five years max. So, I figure it’s probably a long homeless vacation at best. Just trying to be realistic here.
I also wouldn’t want that “getaway” feeling of camping to go away. The thought of needing to constantly schedule our home location seems burdensome. When our youngest son is done with college and officially on his own, I won’t mind downsizing our home and creating a simpler home base and spending more time on the road though. That’s what I’m aiming for … less stuff, more adventure.
Plus I love land and plants … surrounded by enough to not be aware of neighbors. Call me antisocial, I’m the same way when I camp. I look for the most remote site way in advance and avoid weekend and holiday crowds like the plague.
That said, the beauty — and the challenge — of recreational vehicles may just be their size. There isn’t room to stow too many things, and towing weight is also a consideration, so these days there is a slight thrill in finding great light-weight, multi-purpose items. And keeping “stuff” to a minimum is all part of the fun.
“The greatest wealth is to live content with little.”
– Plato
Whatever the lifestyle choice, I really do believe finding our place of contentment is key. Now that I have accomplished the emptiness and burden of owning much, it’s easier to yearn for escape. Perhaps it takes that experience to truly get to that place. It did for me, anyway. I suppose some might arrive at this understanding sooner. Either way, contentment is key.
Need vs. Want
“Order your soul. Reduce your wants.”
– Augustine of Hippo
Maslow’s hierarchy of needs was one aspect of college psychology classes that stuck with me. There are the basic needs of food, water, and shelter. We also need safety and security. Once those are met, we can focus on relationships and accomplishments. Only then can we add pursuit of self-fulfillment: achieving our potential and adding creative activities. Beyond what we need to achieve that, the accumulation of material possessions may only serve to distract us from what is most important. It clutters our lives and can actually hold us back. How much are we really willing to get rid of though?
What is essential?
“Most of what we say and do is not essential. If you can eliminate it, you’ll have more time, and more tranquility. Ask yourself at every moment, ‘Is this necessary?’”
– Marcus Aurelius
I love that challenge: “Is this necessary?”
But it IS a challenge. There is quite a lot that I consider necessary: most of my art supplies, my computers as tools for writing and design. My books. Oh, yes, I am attached to my books. That alone could keep me from ever embracing tiny living. But slowly, slowly I’m letting some things go.
I never thought I’d be able to do it, but I’m using printed books less and reading from my Kindle more. It’s difficult to pass up the ability to carry thousands of books in one hand and a few square inches. The only way this becomes impractical is in the event of an EMP apocalypse, in which case I will most likely not have the time to lounge around and read much anyway.
I’m also beginning to embrace small, simple travel-oriented art supplies. I’m even making small art work. I used to think bigger was better (or more impressive) — but not so much anymore.
In recent years, I’ve found it easy to eliminate all things formal: clothing, china, silver. I wasn’t even pulling them out for Thanksgiving anymore. High heels, stockings … happy to burn them. Knick-knacks — sure, less to dust.
As our nest empties, we need less room and things. We can pass off some things to the kids. (Isn’t that what our parents did to us after all?)
What is essential? Quality time with my family, working smarter — not harder — to provide for our basic needs, a natural approach to eating and health whenever possible, spiritual growth and connection with others, and finishing life well. Yeah … I can probably squeeze all that into an RV after all.
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