Freedom of Choice?

This downsizing project has led me to wonder about the value of choice.

Why do I need 5 pairs of yoga pants? Or three sets of dishes (everyday, fancy, and fun)? Or 4 sets of sheets? Or a very large quantity of socks. Each of these categories connotes quantity for the sake of choice. Only in rare instances can I use one of these categorical items at a rate of more than one at a time.

If I had a lot of space, time, and willingness to be completely transparent, I could waste your time listing all of the choice related repetition in my closet.

Here are some things I like: a) thrift store shopping and b) the opportunity to express myself through my clothing choices. I may not be crazy or overly distinct in the latter, but I like it all the same.

Here are some things I don't like: standing in front of my closet in the morning unable to make a decision about what to wear, feeling overwhelmed by the choice -- from a large quantity of items I don't really love.

Unfortunately thrift store shopping tends to lend itself directly to the habit of purchasing the less than perfect item of clothing, and often too many of them.

I remember when I spent a semester abroad in the UK in college, my American friends and I observed the European penchant for wearing the same outfit multiple days in a row -- until it's essentially dirty (or sometimes beyond). It was also quite clear to us that the Europeans had a flare for style that eluded us -- they had fewer clothing items, but the items they had were well chosen. This was 1993, so my friends and I were still walking around in our Gap flannel shirts of the Seattle grunge era. To fit into our new European surroundings, we essentially took ourselves on a group field trip to buy Doc Martins and then prided ourselves on passing as locals.

Since college, I've noticed that some of my friends not only observed, but adopted a portion of the European approach to dressing: buy only things they really, really like and being okay with the price tag. Essentially, buy fewer items and spend more on them because they look and feel great. Now every choice in their closet is a good one, even though there are fewer.

(Problem #1)

I think it would be hard to refute that getting a deal has become a near obsession in the U.S. or most likely, any capitalist culture. When sharing the news of a purchase with a friend, how often have I led with, "I got such a good deal!" It is as though the "deal" was the purchase, whereas the item acquired was secondary to the great price I got.

(Problem #2)

We equate choice with freedom. The phrase "freedom of choice" is almost an anthem in our society (and I make no reference to the contentious issue of abortion). The more choice we have, the more freedom we have. However, in a short two and a half weeks of starting this project, I have come to see some (gaping) holes in the logic.

Creating an excessive amount of choices for ourselves (because I do think there is a tipping point, not all choice is bad) leads to more internal debate, uncertainty, apathy, disconnectedness and a lack of appreciation for any one thing that we do have.

It might even be true that the more we have of one thing (let's pick something benign, like winter gloves), the less care we give them. If I only have one pair of gloves, I am much more likely to make sure I don't lose them. Though, if I know there is a basket of others to choose from, I am more careless.

When I moved back from living in Ecuador for two years, my first trip to a store was to a supermarket. I was going to a potluck and I was supposed to bring a salad. I walked down the aisle to buy dressing and as my eyes began to scan the shelves, I froze. I couldn't believe what was in front of me. Not only were there 100s of choices, there were at least 20 different choices of ranch dressing alone. So overwhelmed, I walked out without buying anything. In my supermercado in Ecuador -- the "upscale" supermarket mind you-- there were 2 types of salad dressings to choose from: 1 ranch and 1 Italian. Two bottles and that was it. And I don't remember feeling deprived. I remember eating well in Ecuador -- a diet rich in fruits and vegetables and no convenience foods (in the end, we made our own dressings). Less choice in the supermarket meant more creativity in the kitchen, more time spent connecting with the food that would nourish me.

One day Larry and I were at a friend's house who was remodeling and we were discussing various styles and design solutions. Someone asked Larry, "What is your style?" He looked at her and matter-of-factly said "old". "Old?" she echoed, and he said, "Yes, old". With such an unusual response, the conversation died, and we were back on to where the new closet would be situated.

Later I asked him what he meant, and I said, "Do you mean antiques?" and he said not necessarily. I knew that he didn't, because I knew him, but I wanted him to explain further. He said he liked things that told a story, which wore their history in their threads, which earned their right to stick around. He asked me, "What do you own that you wouldn't get rid of?" I thought about this and I said my photos, journals, and other sentimental items. "That's it? Not a favorite old jacket or that perfectly worn in pair of jeans?"

I thought about his question for a while. I don’t really have a favorite old jacket or the perfect pair of worn in jeans. To some degree, the combination of getting a deal and buying into the culture of choice has left me with a collection of easily replaceable items (disposable?)

Implementing the lessons I’m learning now will require a new set of questions when I want to make a purchase:

• Do I really, really like this item?
• Does it have staying power?
• Does its addition to my life add value or just create unnecessary choice? (aka, do I really need it?)

Do you have an guidelines or questions you use when you are deciding whether to buy or acquire something new?

1

A Downsizing Update

A few people have asked for a list of everything I've offloaded over the last 2 weeks (either through donation, gifting, or selling):

Items I've sold on Craigslist:

• Dining room table
• Sleeper sofa
• Ottoman
• Wall decor
• Bosu ball
• Bicycle paraphernalia
• Egyptian rug
• Guitar
• Wheat grass juicer
• Starbucks espresso machine
• 2 sets of curtains
• Dresser
• Never used TV wall mount

Donated

• 18 pairs of shoes
• 2 bags of cloths
• 2 purses and a wallet
• 1 piece of luggage
• Jewelry box
• 2 table cloths
• Over a dozen items acquired on travel excursions ("not souvenirs")
• scarves, hats and mittens (former Minnesotan -- had my fair share to offload, still could do more)
• Various office supplies (see "Why We Sweat the Small Stuff")

Gifted

• 2 tennis rackets
• mini speakers
• basketball
• Duvet and sheet set
• Paints
• Sketch pad
• Note cards/thank you notes (a box full)
• Paper + all scrap-booking related items

Still for sale on Craigslist

• 4 sets of curtains
• Lamp
• Antique drop leaf table
• Love seat
• Tray with wicker cover for outdoor dining
• Book case
• Set of stones for hot stone massage (from a former life) + 2 gallons professional grade massage oil
• Ikea office wall hanging units

Not feeling the need to reflect too extensively on the list in this moment. What I can say is a) it feels great, b) it's a lot of work to downsize, and 3) let me know if you want to buy any of these remaining for sale items!

Why We Sweat the Small Stuff

I love design magazines like Dwell, Domino (RIP), and Architectural Digest. I escape into their perfectly serene photos, where (mostly) ordinary looking people live in extraordinary spaces -- spaces that I am rather certain no one actually lives in looking like that.

http://www.dwell.com/slideshows/chefs-table.html?slide=2&c=y&paused=true

I see the above photo and I just want to ask, where are you hiding all your stuff? I imagine when the photographer leaves, the lovely couple goes outside to the storage pod they've rented for the duration of the photo shoot and starts hauling all of its contents back inside.

Over the last two weeks I've taken up residence on Craigslist, selling a fair number of large sized items -- an extra long couch, dining room table, book case, rug, and a few others. I've sold most of these pieces because I want to move into a smaller space -- but I also know that I will most likely acquire another table, another appropriately sized couch, etc, when needed. The big items are part of the weight of my stuff for my current goals, but as I have been sorting, culling, and organizing, I've come to believe it is the small stuff that seems to be really weighing me down.

Two mornings ago I got up early to write and I had to leave my bedroom because the visual clutter was too distracting. Once I took notice of this, every corner of my house seemed to be equally crowded (granted, I am packing -- the place is a mess). In the end, I put down the computer and walked through each room taking a mental inventory of all the small stuff lying around, determining categories I needed to address. Some include: office supplies (this has subcategories), toiletries, framed photos, all items on display for aesthetic purpose.

This morning I tackled the stuff that was in, on and around my desk (excluding papers).

I have 2 plastic bins and 2 drawers with office supplies. I think I open maybe one of these drawers 1 or 2 times a month. Filling them are hundreds of note cards, labels, color coding stickers, all varieties of paper clips, 8 rolls of tape, 4 pairs of scissors, 5 packs of breathe mints, and enough staples to last me a good 10 years. Most of the note cards and stickers were purchased when I was working on my dissertation research, and even then I didn't put a dent in the collection. There is no need to hold on to them any more.

Also in these drawers and bins are items completely unrelated to "office supplies". Exhibit A:

(Late 80s/early 90s hair. Yes, those are mall bangs.)

These buttons are a fine example of the extra items I have lying around, misplaced categorically, completely without use other than to keep me humble. You may be saying, "No, wait, don't throw those away they have historical and comedic value". And I would say to that, I agree with you, so I'm not tossing them. I've started a bin of things I want to hold onto that helps tell the story of my life (for no one but me and if I'm lucky one other interested person). My only point (and I do have one) is that I have a lot of out of place items that I call "tolerances". These are things I just put up with, consciously or not, because I don't feel like dealing with them in the moment, even though by not dealing with them (meaning, finding the right place for them), I very much continue to deal with them. Every time I open a drawer for one of the 8 rolls of tape, the buttons get in the way. I see them, and a thought flashes across my brain, "Why are those still there?"

I dream of living inside a Dwell magazine photo. It seems the only way to do this, other than renting a storage Pod, is to face the small stuff I have -- piece by piece. I can't say how I acquired 8 rolls of tape, but do I really need to keep all 8? My first thought is, "I'm not sure. I paid money for them. I will use them eventually." And this is most likely true. The same goes for the uncountable number of bottles of lotion I've acquired (please do not give me lotion as a gift. People really like to give lotion as gifts). The question I need to ask myself now is, do I continue to pay in other ways for the tape/lotion/etc by keeping it around? I wonder if the small stuff may not be so small after all.

I'm interested in knowing, what are you tolerating, and what will you do about it?

What it Takes to Change, For Good

The process of letting go of belongings certainly could be viewed as a loss. Some of my close friends and family have called me over the last week, as they are faithfully reading this blog (thank you!), with statements like, "How are you doing? Are you hanging in there? This must me so hard".

It is true that saying goodbye to one's things can be difficult -- security, identity, memories, comfort and monetary value are or can be (unhealthily) tied to what we own. And yes, I've had a some "moments" in this process where I've picked up "X" item, turned it around in my hands and had a ping pong type conversation with myself: "Yes I use it -- Really? When was the last time? -- But it has value -- In what way? -- In the way I say it does, damn it!"

In order to reduce these conversations and encourage myself in this process, I've taken to reading blogs by others trying to live more simply/frugally/”more with less”/minimalist/etc. There are plenty out there, too. And while the content is interesting, it is the mere quantity of people deliberately trying to live simply, banding together in support groups, blog communities, churches, and so on that inspires and encourages me most. The number of books, online conversations, and TED Talks on the topic tells me that this is not easy -- because if it were, all said groups would not need to exist.

But it's not that hard either. At least not this part of it -- the letting go. In a way, it is like losing weight. As you are losing it, it is exciting because of the progress you see and feel. It can even be exhilarating -- there is more room in your cloths, and often in your life. But it is the maintenance phase of keeping the weight off that is difficult (I know a thing or two about that as well).

I want to be aware of the yo-yo trap I have fallen into in the past as it relates to living more simply. Really, that's why I started this blog. I asked myself to be reflective throughout this process, to pay attention to all parts of myself -- heart, mind, body and spirit--so that in the most conscious way possible, I could make a permanent shift in how I live. I know with certainty that less is indeed more when it comes to material belongings. But if it were that simple it would be that simple.

Let me go a little academic here for a moment and share a bit about what contributes to the transformational learning I’m trying to achieve—and actually use some of the 11 years of higher education I'm still paying for.

[Parts of this come from a lit review I did on transformational learning]

I’m deliberately trying to engage in a transformative learning experience:
Transformational learning “refers to the process by which we transform our taken-for-granted frames of references (meaning perspectives, habits of mind, mind-sets) to make them more inclusive, discriminating, open, emotionally capable of change, and reflective” (Mezirow, 1990, pp. 8-9). These transformed ways of seeing the world then transfer to new behaviors or ways of interacting with the world.

To do so, I have to recognize the influence of my cultural surroundings:
Mezirow (the father of adult transformative learning) explains that frames of reference (habits of mind and resulting points of view) mirror the cultural paradigm in which people live, both macro (wider society with which one identifies) and micro (primary family). The deeper our awareness of our cultural paradigm, the more able we are to make changes in our thinking and behavior that are counter to if, if that is our desire.

And to solidify a cognitive and behavioral change, I have to engage in active, deliberate reflection:
Sharon B. Merriam and Carolyn M. Clark’s (1993) study, “Learning From Life Experience: What Makes It Significant?” identified qualifiers for experience to become significant; included are ones that:

(a) personally affect the learner

(b) are subjectively valued by the learner, and

(c) are attended to and reflected upon by the learner.

Simply put, the learner must find the experience significant enough that it stands out, but then must also give it time and attention for processing and reflection.

And this process is preferably done with others:
Critical reflection (for transformational learning) usually does not happen in isolation. Reflective discourse is an important contributor to uncovering one’s assumptions and frames of reference. “By tapping collective experience” (Mezirow, 2000, p. 11) individuals are able to critically examine their assumptions and lenses one use to interpret the world.

I hope you will join me!

Applying the "Tuxedo Approach" to Special Occasion Items

Today, as I was sorting and organizing my photo collection, I came across some classic shots from my friends’ weddings. In my twenties, I was your average woman-- serving dutifully as a bridesmaid in six weddings (I can actually say I was very close to each of these women, thank goodness). Of the six, I was lucky to only have to buy four dresses (two brides let us wear any black dress we wanted -- they were way ahead of the curve). If my memory serves me correctly (50/50 chance), the other four each uttered the famous "you can wear it again" promise. While I may have feigned belief in this idea, as every good bridesmaid should, I can safely say I never wore any of them again. I am happy to report that I donated each of them before I had to pack and move them anywhere.

Bridesmaid’s dresses are one of those infamous special occasion items that collect dust and take up a lot of storage space. I mean, there was a movie made about the collection of bridesmaid’s dresses after all (27 Dresses).

Meanwhile, even though I knew I would never wear the dress again, I remember thinking the men in the various weddings were getting a bad deal: they had to drop $100 to rent a tux for one evening (far less than buying the dress) and then bring it back the next day. What a waste of money!

Oh, the errors of my youthful thinking.

Or my socialized consumerist thinking (I’m really trying to figure out when we collectively decided owning things was better than renting or borrowing them?)

As I have been sorting through my belongings over the last week, I have observed that there are a notable number of items in my house that fit the category of "special occasion items" that go beyond the one-time-wear dresses.

Special occasion items could be defined as something that is used once a year or less. Some of mine include:

• Christmas decorations or any holiday decorations
• Fondue pots (2)
• Tennis rackets (2)
• China and other special dishes
• Turkey roasting pan
• Dressy shoes

[A categorical item that I am not including in this list is books. I'll save that for another day, as I am nowhere close to being ready to reflect upon the quantity or release of my books.]

I came up with the following questions to help me discern the place these items have (or do not have) in my life:

1. In the case of the holiday items, are they an important part of my ongoing celebration of the seasons? Are these items essential to making Christmas or any other special occasion full of the relationships, experiences and memories I want to cultivate?

I find Christmas to be a tricky area. There is so much sentimental value tied up in Christmas. However, what I do know is that over the last 15 years, despite my nomad lifestyle, I have managed to pull together some form of Christmas decor that I have enjoyed and has created a festive environment in my home -- and it has not been the same items year after year. For example, I like to use real greenery, often scraps from a tree lot, a lot of tea lights (which I use all the time anyway), and simple white lights. I enjoyed the decorations of the friends with whom I was living. I also now have a minimalist Tannenbaum tree that comes apart and takes up almost no space at all.

In review of my current inventory, I have a few holiday items I haven't used since I moved to DC two years ago. They will go in the donation pile. I am fairly confident that my celebration of the seasons will be no less or more joyous without these items (I know I am walking on thin ice here). I am allowing myself one small box for now. I recognize that traditions are often supported by some of the items we pull out of boxes each year, and there is a specialness in enjoying them during that season. I just want to keep it to a few items if I can.

2. Can I rent or borrow it from someone else?

Asking this question helps me more easily give away the fondue pots, tennis rackets and turkey roaster on my special occasion list. Although there is some sentimental value tied up with the turkey roaster, it is a big space hog and I know its disappearance from my home will not cause me to love or remember my grandma any less.

The fondue pots—one a gift, one purchased—were acquired because I love throwing dinner parties. And who doesn’t like some hot cheese and chocolate for dipping? However, and again, I haven’t used them in 2 years, and when I did use them, it was once a year at most. I know if I really need one, I can borrow it.

The tennis rackets are “special occasion” because they only come out on the Fourth of July and maybe Labor Day. But that hasn’t happened since 2007. And if I am near a tennis court on one of these BBQ holidays, I’m going to wager my veggie burger that there will be a couple to rackets to borrow.

3. Can I use the items differently?

I like this question because it opens up the door to solutions for downsizing other than “just get rid of it”.

For example, I have china that I only used once in the last year. The traditional use of china is sort of odd if you think about it --expensive, beautiful dishes that are only used on rare occasions. Meanwhile, in our day to day lives, we use the boring stuff.

Even though I am not the type that would buy china (no judgement for those that are), I really like the set I was given -- it is bone white with a simple black and silver rim. It is also is a family heirloom. I am not donating it. Instead, I vow to put it in an accessible place once I move and to use it more often. If a piece breaks from regular use, how is that worse than discarding it now? Or, how is it worse than storing it, but only using it once a year?

4. Is there an all-purpose option for multiple versions of special occasion items?

Ladies, I’m thinking about our fancy dress up shoes. Does anyone have more than one pair of special occasion black shoes that you only wear a couple of times per year? I will just go ahead and say I do. I'm going to eliminate the redundancy -- a strappy black heel goes a long way in the world of dress up.

I think there is something to be learned from men’s rental of tuxedos, which stands in stark contrast to women’s tradition of buying expensive dresses that are twice as expensive (because we get to keep them!), but few look good wearing.

Some positive outcomes to this approach may be:

1. Eliminates the need to store items

2. Reduces the guilt when you eventually decide to get rid of it

3. Promotes sharing (borrowing from and lending to friends)

4. Is environmentally friendly

5. Reduces the chance that an item will go out of date/style/functionality/wear-ability

6. Creates more variety, without having to store it

7. Through practice, teaches us that we do not need to own something to enjoy it

(oh no, what about the books?)

It’s Not the Table Around Which They Gather

Three nights ago I sold my farmhouse style dining room table. The speed in which it sold on Craigslist (6 hours) confirmed in me that I had reason to be sad to release it. Built for a “you can always fit one more” kind of gathering, it is sturdy re-purposed wood, and its friendly benches were an invitation to anyone who entered my house.

The problem is, over the past year, very few people have entered. My life has been too busy, with at least one trip a month, some of them a month in length, a demanding schedule when I am in the office, and the necessary (but enjoyable) effort at maintaining a healthy commuter relationship with my sweetie. I just don’t seem to have time to do one of my most favorite things – having friends into my house for lingering meals, great conversation, and hours of speed scrabble, and moreover, a lifestyle that fosters community and an open door policy.

When I purchased the table (from a lovely woman who somehow made it and others in her spare time), I had in mind my homes in Ecuador, Mexico, and Minneapolis, where an unusual day was when someone hadn’t stopped by. Community life was rich, and it has been something I have wanted to foster in D.C.

I think I may have been subconsciously channeling Kevin Costner’s character’s “If you built it, they will come” philosophy, in a literal sense.

Building community requires effort, desire, and commitment, but what it needs most is the simple act of being present. I work with the Franciscans, an uncountable number of people around the globe (literally, no one knows how many there are) who for the past 800 years have gifted the world with a ministry and way of life, that at its core, is about being present to others, to themselves, and to God.

My life has been impacted in many positive ways through my work with the Franciscans. I have been challenged to practice the “ministry of presence” in the workplace, which isn’t a natural approach for a high production type like me. However, I have experienced again and again the value of slowing down to just be with people, without (or at least before) I begin to check off items on the agenda.

I am recognizing as I write this, that I have become part of a rich community at Franciscan Mission Service – it is where I spend the majority of my time after all. And while it has not happened in my home -- around this table that I purchased for that purpose – it happened where I put my time, my presence, and my heart.

Tables can be almost magical places if we let them – they are where we break bread together and share the stories of our days. For me, it just isn’t at this table, at this time.

[I sold the table to a young couple with 3 small children. They were excited to find something big enough where their growing family could eat together and sturdy enough for their young boys to climb all over. That sounds magical enough for me.]

Souvenirs

I don't really think of myself as someone who buys souvenirs. I have built a life around travel (not tourism, please), so as a traveler I am a collector of experiences not things. And when I do just happen to buy things, they are meaningful, not the kitsch that fills gift shops. Textiles, hand carved bowls, woven stories, small paintings by a local artist, a CD with local music, handmade jewelry, scarves, table clothes (for theme-night dinner parties, of course), household decorative items (so much better than buying something at Pottery Barn). In other words, artisan goods that support the local economy. I would have no less.

With nearly 20 years and approximately 40 countries of international travel under my belt, you could do some simple math and assume I've returned home with at least 3 items from each place (if you believe that, maybe you haven't entered the markets of Latin America). But for simplicity sake, let's just say it is 3 items, which means there are at least 120 things in my house that are definitely not souvenirs.

Putting aside for just a moment the sheer volume of stuff that comprises, I feel compelled to reflect upon the amount of time and effort it took to both find and transport each item. While I will be the first to defend the joy of attending a local market, there is a threshold where time spent in markets reaches its cultural experience absorption rate. I know this, because I have been the weary not-a-souvenir shopper in these markets when everything starts to look the same. I have visited some of the best local markets in the world --Chichicastenago in Guatemala, Otavalo in Ecuador, the streets of Cuzco, Peru and the Portobello Market in London, to name only a few. After an hour or so of perusing, it becomes hard to distinguish the patterns in the textiles, the uniqueness of the art work, or what I actually like or do not like. It becomes a vortex where there is an overwhelming desire to possess not just the items, but through them, the culture--solidifying the experience in a material object, or literally an objectification of the experience. I think Americans have a particularly unconscious weakness toward this desire; many Americans feel we "have no culture" due to the normalization of our pop and consumer culture worldwide (not to mention absorption and rejection of our immigrant and non-white cultures into the dominant U.S. culture --there is a whole other reflection in here that I will save for another day), so we become enamored of (and want possess a small piece of) seemingly more distinct cultures.

So there's that.

And then there is the transportation of the stuff. And as my two photos in this post identify, I have transported some large items. The 100% wool Egyptian handmade rug (see the allure?) and the guitar (that's another story, but I will say the guitar was free), actually cost me extra money to transport. And the Egyptian rug came back with me to Ecuador, where I was then living. And then I moved back to Minnesota, another transport fee. And then I hauled it out to DC. Now ask me how many floors it laid on? How many feet it warmed? Zero. It has been rolled up since I bought it in 2000.

I sold these two items last night. After over 10 years of hauling two large unused items around the world with me, I sold them for a total of $225. After factoring the real cost, plus the time and energy to deal with them, I won't bother to factor the small percentage of money I recouped. And I can never recoup the time or trouble.

Whether handicraft or artisan goods, the collection and maintenance of these better-than-souvenirs has at various moments consumed me, versus me them (to use the common lexicon for purchasing). I want to be clear, however, that I do not think that every one of these items or purchases was bad or destructive. This is all about motivation and intention. Moving forward, it is important for me to bring a consciousness and honesty to my purchases as I continue to travel.

I am headed to Italy and Norway for the month of May. I look forward to putting into practice the increased awareness and humility this reflection has given me. I'll let you know how it goes.