Note: This is a guest post from Jen Tota McGivney, author of Finding Your Walden.

“In these unprecedented times…” It’s become a cliché, but is it true? Are we alone in history?

We aren’t. As proof, meet Henry David Thoreau. Thoreau lived during an era like ours: of fast innovations, political division, economic uncertainty, out-of-control consumerism, and even a pandemic. He wrote his masterpiece, Walden, as he pondered big questions: How can I create a values-based life in a profit-based society? Do I really need all this stuff? How does one live well in a time that changes so quickly?

It’s the ideal time to revisit some of Thoreau’s teachings. While the world reminds us of our potential as consumers and workers, he reminds us of our potential as humans.

I recently wrote a book (Finding Your Walden) that applies his messages to modern life, and my research with doctors, psychologists, and career coaches supports Thoreau’s timeless message: The best way to live well is to live simply.

Here are five lessons from Henry David Thoreau that can help us simplify our lives today:

1. Know the true cost of a thing.

The cost of an item is the amount of life we trade for it.

We don’t just spend our money; we spend our life. While the world tells us the price of things, it’s up to us to remember their cost. A car (or house or sofa) costs more than its price tag, but also the energy we trade to earn those dollars. Similarly, hours spent scrolling on a phone may not cost money, but it costs valuable time and attention.

2. Create a little space between you and the world.

When we’re constantly connected, we absorb the values of the culture around us—a culture that doesn’t always have our best interests at heart.

By creating space between us and the world, we can regain our interiority and remember what matters most to us. Even a meditation practice or a daily walk can create just enough space.

3. Embrace your inner misfit.

The ability to live a life that is uniquely your own is a superpower.

It may look a little different from the people around you, perhaps in how you dress, where you live, or what you do. Being a bit of a misfit, however, gives you the ultimate freedom: to create an intentional life that prioritizes living well above fitting in.

4. Know what you work for.

Even Thoreau needed a steady job to pay the bills. He knew, however, that a job is what he did, not who he was.

In our hustle culture, so many of us confuse our title with our identity. Thoreau’s work—whether as a writer or handyman or teacher—was in service to the life he wanted to live. A job gave him the resources to live his life; it did not become his life.

5. Spend life lavishly.

The point of simplifying isn’t to have and to do less; it’s to have and to do more of what matters.

The more we minimize the activities and purchases that don’t serve us, the more resources we can invest in a values-centered life. For Thoreau, this meant spending time with his family and community, working with the Underground Railroad, and enjoying time in nature. Connection, purpose, and enjoyment: It’s a trifecta worth simplifying for.

To say that we live in unprecedented times is to needlessly create feelings of anxiety and isolation. But to reach across time to connect with someone who has gone through something similar—to read a classic book and to recognize ourselves in it—is to find the company we need to move forward, to live the best lives we can in the moment we’re in.

Right now, Thoreau is wonderful company to keep.

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Jen Tota McGivney is a writer in Charlotte, North Carolina who has written for numerous magazines. Her book, Finding Your Walden: How to Strive Less, SimplifyMore, & Embrace What Matters Most, was released earlier this week on May 5, 2025.

Note: This is a guest post from Julia Ubbenga of Rich in What Matters.

Before decluttering our home (a.k.a. “letting go of over 75% of our possessions in a year”), I thought I had this possessions-pitching thing figured out.

It was October of 2018, and I’d decided to jump on the minimalist bandwagon, which actually was more like a life-raft than a wagon, promising to pull me out of anxiety and overwhelm. 

I knew my excess stuff was weighing me down and had to go. 

How hard could it be? 

Collect the random trinkets and tchotchkes, place them in the donate box, and send them off to a new life far, far away from our home.

Turns out, planning to declutter and actually decluttering are two distinct things. In deciding I’d simply box up my massive amount of excess stuff, I had not considered things like: where to start my decluttering efforts, how to make time to actually do it (I had a baby and a four-year-old at the time), and what to do when I couldn’t let go because of cognitive or emotional roadblocks.

Ignorance was bliss, until I realized it wasn’t. So, I signed up for several decluttering courses in search of letting-go guidance.

While the courses got me started, it turns out—no surprise here—that experience was the best teacher.

And after maintaining a decluttered home for six years (now as a family of seven), I want to share with you five things I wish I’d known before decluttering our home in hopes that it helps you on your simplicity journey. 

Here are 5 things I wish I’d known before decluttering our home:

1. Decluttering is about more than your possessions

Before decluttering our home, I thought the only thing I’d be letting go of was my stuff. Turns out, possessions just line the surface of letting go. Once you remove your excess physical stuff, you unveil other areas of your life that need to be decluttered: your calendar, your mind, your heart, your habits, your relationships. 

Often, our physical clutter is a physical manifestation of what’s going on inside of us. Removing outer clutter gives us more space (and time) to observe and address our inner clutter.

Maybe decluttering your closet reveals your attachment to caring what others think—you bought most of those outfits to “fit in,” not because they aligned with your personal style. Maybe decluttering your bedroom uncovers that you’re habitually hurried or stuck in “doing mode.” Perhaps, previously, you didn’t have a true place of rest in your home because you didn’t think you deserved it. 

In the words of Eleanor Brown, “Clutter is not just physical stuff. It’s old ideas, toxic relationships, and bad habits. Clutter is anything that does not support your better self.”

It’s in letting go of both the outer and inner clutter that real lightness is found. 

2. The best place to start decluttering your home is in the area causing you the most stress

Before decluttering our home, I’d read that the best place to start was in a contained, non-sentimental area like a bathroom drawer. Soon, I had a couple tidy drawers while entropy ensued everywhere else. In short, those bathroom drawers did nothing to pull me from overwhelm or motivate me to declutter more.

The place to start my decluttering efforts, I realized, was the clutter category causing me the most stress. For me, this was kids’ clothes—they flooded our home. Once I’d decluttered kids’ clothes, I felt an immediate lightening in our living space. (One that I never felt with the bathroom drawers.) My stress levels had noticeably lowered; I was motivated to declutter the next category.

Once I began decluttering by stress-inducing stuff categories, I finally realized every minute spent decluttering was an investment in a more meaningful, lighter life.

3. Letting go of possessions can be harder than expected

Before decluttering our home, I was so motivated to go minimalist that I imagined I’d clear our clutter without any hiccups. I was great at packing things up, but the actual letting go part of decluttering was unnatural and arduous. Every feeling from guilt to fear arose. 

I thought I needed to keep things simply because I saw them often, which made me feel like they belonged in our home (this is called the mere exposure effect). I realized I was also overvaluing things I owned simply because I was their owner (the endowment effect) and, therefore, didn’t want to let them go.

The most powerful way I found to loosen attachments to physical possessions was with time. I began hiding my boxes of unneeded stuff for a couple of months. When I didn’t see the items in these boxes daily, I realized life was lighter without them. After two months it became much easier to drop the boxes off at the donation site. 

4. The possessions you own should support your life—now

Before decluttering our home, I thought I needed to keep many possessions from various stages of life. I needed to hold onto those jeans just in case they came back in style. I needed to keep all those souvenirs, photos, and even baby clothes because they held my memories. 

Problem is, if you hold onto too much from your past, then you stay in… the past. Old stuff distracts you from the present. And the present—right now—is the only place life is happening. Hold on to too much old stuff and you will miss out on your life.

Owning possessions that support your life now helps you show up more fully in it. Let go of clothing you think you “should” keep or that makes you feel bad. Keep only your favorite sentimental items—your memories are in you, not your stuff.

Truth is, you don’t miss the stuff you let go of—you’ve outgrown it. Letting go propels you into your best life, which is happening now.

5. Decluttering is a journey 

Before decluttering our home, I didn’t realize living a decluttered life would become a mindset, a lifestyle—a compass that would shape the trajectory of my life’s path.

Decluttering is a journey that changes you. It’s transformed the way I look at possessions (as necessary tools, not keys to my happiness), revamped my purchasing habits, helped deepen my spiritual life, and reduced the influence I feel from marketers.

I’ve decided that “lightly” is the best way to journey through life. I’m constantly moving deeper into minimalism, questioning our possessions, and fixing my focus more on the unseen and the eternal things that matter most. 

Before decluttering our home, I couldn’t have envisioned the freedom found in living an uncluttered life.

Yes, life still has bumps—minimalism is no magic wand. But when stress levels decrease and time/energy increase, problems are easier to navigate. 

If you’re at the outset of your decluttering journey, or if you’re about to restart your journey down simplicity’s path, I want to encourage you. The benefits of an uncluttered home—and life—far outweigh any initial unknowns.

Dive in—all in. Decluttering your life is an adventure you won’t regret. 

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Julia Ubbenga is the author of the new book Declutter Your Heart and Your Home: How a Minimalist Life Yields Maximum Joy which I was proud to endorse. She is the creator of the blog Rich in What Matters, and mom of five. She helps people let go of inner and outer clutter and reorder their lives around what matters most.

Note: This is a guest post by Joshua Fields Millburn of The Minimalists.

My friend Derek wanted to be a good minimalist. So after his son, Sammy, was born, he refused to buy toys for the boy, assuming he would be just as happy playing with the rocks and sticks strewn throughout their backyard.

A few years later, however, my friend started questioning his own minimalism when he saw his son erupt with joy each time he played with his friend’s toys. Sammy smiled while he constructed deformed dinosaurs with multicolored LEGO bricks. He laughed as two Ninja Turtles performed backflips and ate plastic pizza slices. And he literally jumped with joy the first time he slammed a NERF ball into its door-frame hoop.

Derek realized he had been denying Sammy in the name of minimalism—dampening his boy’s playtime with his own preference for simple living. So he did what many loving fathers might do: he logged onto Craigslist and found a big box of used toys.

When Sammy opened the box, his facial features expanded with delight. He extracted his new toys one at a time—a Walkie Talkie, an Etch A Sketch, a miniature Wright Flyer model airplane—welcoming each with gratitude.

Yet at the sight of Sammy’s glee, Derek was overtaken not by triumph, but by the consumerist mindset: If one box made him this happy, then ten boxes will surely make him ten times happier.

As Derek returned to Craigslist, an insight from his past interrupted his next transaction: This was exactly how I behaved before becoming a minimalist. Instead of enjoying the things in front of me—instead of being satisfied with my treasure—I always searched for more.

He looked over at his son and noticed that Sammy was fully present, free from the yearning that is chaperoned by consumerism. The shopper’s delirium that had always removed Derek from the joy of the moment was absent from the boy. Sammy was simply happy with the toys that were in front of him.

It occurred to Derek that the new toys didn’t make his son happy—they intensified the joy that had been there, in his heart, all along. The toys acted as an amplifier of joy, not the source of it.

Derek looked back at his computer and had an aha moment: Ten times the toys didn’t equate to ten times the joy. In fact, more toys might distort Sammy’s innate happiness because, much like a stereo amplifier, every sound turns into noise when the volume is cranked all the way up.

In economics, this overamplification is known as the law of diminishing marginal utility, which states that an item’s total utility increases more slowly as consumption increases, until, eventually, a point is reached at which consumption yields negative utility.

Accordingly, zero toys was a type of deprivation. That’s why the first box generated considerable utility. And yet a warehouse worth of toys would be another kind of deprivation—an overabundance that would strip away the peacefulness of playing in the present.

Instead of making another purchase, Derek shut his laptop and admired his son’s exuberance. Depriving Sammy was not a minimalist move; it was a legalist edict that had accidentally silenced his joy. But when Derek let go of his stringent regulations, the suppressor was removed and joyfulness echoed throughout their home.

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Joshua Fields Millburn is a New York Times–bestselling author, Emmy-nominated Netflix filmmaker, podcaster, and the founder of the simple-living collective The Minimalists.

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