Note: This is a guest post by Mike Donghia of This Evergreen Home.

I’m convinced that one of the greatest plagues on happiness, among those whose basic needs are already met, is the curse of hyper-optimizing their lives.

Instead of enjoying the life we have, we spend an enormous amount of effort optimizing every choice to perfectly align with our desires. Some parts of the internet even glorify this behavior, calling it “lifestyle design,” and encouraging followers to chase the life they always dreamed of. 

I’m not against people being happy. Not one bit. In fact, I want joy and contentment for everyone reading this. My worry is that this consumerist mindset elevates choosing and selecting to an unhealthy obsession. 

My Own Life

I have first hand experience with the costs of trying to optimize my life too far. In college, I spent far too much time ruminating on what I wanted out of life and daydreaming about the endless possibilities before me. 

This had the unfortunate effect of making every choice feel monumental in importance. I had a huge fear of missing out on any of the good things that life had to offer and a severe allergy to wasting my time on anything that felt boring or not connected to my self-important goals.

The result was ironic. I did end up wasting a huge amount of time, but that time was spent waffling between decisions. I would start one thing, but then after a little while grow bored with the choice and wonder if another path might lead to a more interesting life. So I would switch course and try another path after a long, emotional decision-making process.

The Downsides of Choosing

Don’t get me wrong, not all choosing is bad. I’m glad to live in a world with choices, but some of my best decisions looking back are the ones that either 1) happened by accident or 2) didn’t feel like choices at all (like falling in love with my girlfriend, now wife).

Here are some of the downsides of choosing that I’ve experienced, and likely you have too:

Choices reduce perceived value. If someone surprises you with a gift, let’s say tickets to join them at a concert or sporting event, that gift registers in your mind as a huge positive. You aren’t comparing that event to every other possible event you could have gone to or wondering if your seats represent the best possible value— you’re just happy to be going.

But if you’re the one in charge of choosing, you might still be happy with your choice, but you carry a small worry that you might have chosen wrong, or would have been happier with a different path.

Choices put you in choosing mode. Choosing mode is what I call that period when you are fixated on comparing the options before you. Instead of just being happy to go on vacation, you’re trying to find what’s better or best about each place you might go— which fixates you on tradeoffs instead of gratitude.

The problem is that you’ll inevitably come across some higher priced options, and in comparison, every other option won’t be quite as nice. In the back of your mind, you’ll always use that as a reference point for what the ideal vacation experience could be. You’d probably be happier if you never knew that option existed, or at least never looked into it and gave it the slightest thought in your consideration.

Choices can lead to analysis paralysis. The hardest choices to make are honestly the ones that are most similar to each other. When I was dating my future wife, I was blessed to have gone on very few dates before her, and not to have used any dating apps. The reason this is a positive is because I didn’t have to compare her to hundreds of other women and weigh the pros and cons— I could focus on enjoying her for who she is and seeing if that feeling was mutual. 

We both grew to love each other and see each other as the perfect match, but I believe that is harder to do if you approach dating (or any other choice) with a consumer mentality, like you’re trying to shop for the best possible deal/date.

Choices prevent commitment. I saved this one for last, but it’s actually been the biggest cost in my own life. Going back to the dating analogy, some people have trouble committing in a relationship because they can’t stop wondering if there’s someone else out there even better— more attractive, more successful, a more perfect fit for them. Obviously, you don’t have to settle for the first person you meet, but I think that mentality is a huge trap.

And it’s not just a trap for dating. In my own life, I happily met my wife young, got married early, and have a great marriage. But in other parts of life, such as those related to career and calling, I have struggled with really committing to any goals or paths because I was always trying to keep my options open and see if something even better would pop up. This has led me to be far less content than I would like to be, and have a smaller contribution than I could have possibly made.

Craft a Life with Fewer Choices

Crafting a life with fewer choices is deeply personal. Some choices really do matter, and so you’ll have to decide which ones to slow down for and seek guidance and which ones can be skipped or made quickly. 

But I do think there are some principles that can help and have in fact helped me to overcome my own fears of missing out and reduce the number of choices I have to make. To me, this process of applying the principles of minimalism to my decision-making has been even more impactful than the act of decluttering my physical environment.

1. Remove choices altogether. There is real freedom in removing choices and seeking instead to embrace what you already have. You could stop looking for a job, and commit to the one you have. Or let go of dreams that are only distracting you from living your present life well.

2. Narrow your options quickly. One way I waste time is over-analyzing my online purchases. I obsess over reviews, ratings, and features that sound important when comparing, but in reality, aren’t a big deal. A simpler way is to enter your search and decide between the top three products—figuring that what’s good for most people will do the job for you.

3. Pre-commit to decisions in advance. There are certain choices that you want to make once but you don’t want to have to keep making. Some examples might be reading a real paper book in bed rather than scrolling your phone, or not snacking after a certain time in the evening. Decide in advance and stick to your decisions like a contract written in stone, and your life will have many less decision points.

4. Decide organically. Sometimes we choose when we don’t have to. Rather than forcing a decision in regards to who to date, what career to pursue, or where to live—you can wait for a path to become clear and obvious. Many of my best “decisions” didn’t feel like decisions at all, they simply were paths I started walking down and never turned back from.

5. Have someone else choose for you or help you choose. When you really feel stuck in decision-making mode, a great way to break out is asking a friend to decide for you or with you. This works best with someone who really knows you, and can help you decide with less emotional turmoil. If you are an overthinker, making hard choices by yourself is a recipe for paralysis, but it’s not something you have to do on your own.

***

Mike (and his wife, Mollie) blog at This Evergreen Home where they share their experience with living simply, intentionally, and relationally. You can follow along for free by subscribing to their blog or checking out their premium newsletter, Declutter Your Life.

Note: This is a guest post from Angela G. Horn of Mostly Mindful.

What started as a design aesthetic has snowballed over the years into a lifestyle movement embraced by people worldwide. It’s easy to see why (or maybe I’m biased?) since minimalism offers a clear path to a more intentional, fulfilling, and sustainable way of life.

The allure of “living with less” has permeated popular culture, from decluttered living spaces to capsule wardrobes. But, like any widespread trend, minimalism has evolved over time.

In this article, I want to examine the different paths of minimalism—from the extreme to a more balanced, rational approach. I also believe it is important to explore how the lifestyle can positively impact our environment and, finally, how to implement minimalism in a way that works best for you.

Three Types of Minimalism

Nowadays, minimalism falls into three main categories: traditional minimalism, extreme minimalism, and rational minimalism. Ultimately, there is no one-size-fits-all approach. However, by understanding the nuances between the different styles, you can choose or craft one that best aligns with your values, needs, and environmental priorities.

1. Traditional Minimalism

Traditional minimalism is the most well-known and widely adopted approach to living with less. It’s where Becoming Minimalist and many other blogs started and, in many cases, still reside.

The focus here is on decluttering physical spaces, emphasizing essentials, reducing unnecessary consumption, and seeking quality over quantity. That’s a mouthful, but the benefits speak for themselves:

• Increased mental bandwidth
• Reduced stress from clutter
• More time and energy for loved ones
• Space for side hustles and other meaningful pursuits
• Improved finances (hello, debt-free living)

On the downside, you might find letting go of certain things challenging. You may encounter pushback from friends and family members or struggle to balance owning less and still being comfortable. However, it’s all surmountable but worth noting nonetheless.

2. Extreme Minimalism

Extreme minimalism takes it to the next level, pushing the boundaries of how little one can live with. Proponents of this approach typically pare down to the bare essentials (often fewer than 100 possessions). If they have a home base, it’ll most likely be devoid of furniture.

For my partner and me, the move from traditional to extreme minimalism aligned with our desire to age well. At almost sixty, going furniture-free seemed like a natural and easy way to achieve that. And that’s just one advantage.

This way of living also comes with several other benefits:

• Complete freedom from material possessions
• Moving home is a breeze (if you even have a fixed address)
• A much lower impact on the environment*

*Assuming you’re not flying to a new destination every other month.

The not-so-great side is that it can lead to social isolation (no furniture will do that!) or becoming obsessive about owning less stuff. A short nose around the internet and you’ll quickly see a competitive pattern emerge among extreme minimalists.

3. Rational Minimalism

Rational minimalism is the Goldilocks of the three, striking a balance between the desire for simplicity and the practicalities of modern life. It emphasizes thoughtful curation of possessions, focusing on functionality and personal values. It’s a more flexible, you-do-you kind of lifestyle while still maintaining a “less is more” outlook.

Unlike its extreme cousins, rational minimalism allows for some sentimental items and, gasp, some “just in case” possessions. It emphasizes mindful consumption rather than extreme reduction.

As a result, it’s a more attainable lifestyle to adopt and maintain long-term, balancing minimalist principles with practical needs. Some of the benefits include:

• Reduces stress without sacrificing comfort
• Encourages mindful decision-making
• Promotes sustainability without extreme deprivation
• Allows for personal expression within a minimalist framework

Ultimately, your approach to minimalism will depend on your circumstances, goals, and preferences. The key is to explore the different types, consider their pros and cons, and choose the one that aligns with your vision for a more intentional, fulfilling, and sustainable lifestyle.

The Environmental Impact of Minimalism

As we shift our focus to the broader implications of minimalism, it’s crucial to consider its impact on the planet. With environmental challenges on the rise, minimalism is more than a lifestyle choice. It’s also a powerful tool for reducing our ecological footprint. Embracing this way of living allows us to do our bit for Mother Earth.

Resource Consumption and Minimalism

The culture of overconsumption has led to the rapid depletion of natural resources. It’s time to break this cycle and embrace a more sustainable way of living. Minimizing our material possessions reduces the demand for new products, lowering the environmental strain.

It doesn’t stop there. Minimalism also encourages us to be more mindful consumers, choosing quality over quantity and prioritizing experiences over things. This simple shift in mindset can do wonders for our planet’s well-being.

Opting for a capsule wardrobe, for example, simplifies daily choices and significantly reduces the resources required for clothing production, including water, energy, and textiles.

Waste Reduction Through Mindful Consumption

One of minimalism’s most significant environmental benefits is its impact on waste reduction. This lifestyle’s mindful consumption naturally leads to less waste in several ways.

First, minimalists purchase fewer items, which generates less packaging waste, a major contributor to landfills and ocean pollution.

Secondly, focusing on quality and durability means that items last longer, reducing the frequency of replacements and the associated waste.

Finally, minimalists are often more inclined to repair items than replace them. This extends product lifecycles and aligns with circular economy principles.

Long-term Environmental Benefits of Adopting Minimalist Practices

If more people embrace minimalism, it will yield decent environmental benefits in the long run. Minimalists often make more sustainable choices on a personal level, such as living in smaller, energy-efficient homes.

On a larger scale, widespread minimalism has the potential to reduce carbon emissions significantly. Moving away from fast fashion, disposable goods, and unnecessary consumption could shift us towards a more sustainable economic model that values preserving resources.

Aligning our habits with minimalist principles allows us to reduce our individual and collective environmental impact dramatically. Living with less affords us more time, freedom, and money, and it also offers a healthier planet for the future.

Choosing Your Minimalist Path

Consider now how you can embark on your minimalist journey. Remember, this is personal, and finding the right approach requires introspection and experimentation. Here’s how you can start:

Reflecting on Personal Values and Lifestyle Needs

Take time to consider what truly matters to you. What brings you joy? What are your long-term goals? Understanding your values will help determine which possessions and activities align with your vision of a fulfilling life.

Assessing Current Habits and Areas for Improvement

Evaluate your daily routines and living spaces. Identify areas where physical and mental clutter hinder your well-being or productivity. This will show you where a more minimalist approach could have the most significant impact.

Tips for Gradually Incorporating Minimalist Practices

1. Start small: Declutter one area at a time, such as a drawer or a closet. This approach prevents overwhelming feelings and provides quick wins to motivate further progress.

2. Mindful consumption: Consider whether the item aligns with your values and is necessary. Prioritize quality over quantity to reduce long-term consumption.

3. Regular reassessment: Schedule periodic reviews of your possessions and habits. As your life evolves, so should your approach to minimalism.

4. Finding balance: Minimalism is about curating a life that works for you. Be flexible and adjust your practices as needed to maintain a sustainable lifestyle.

Your Turn to Act

Now that you’re familiar with the different minimalism styles, you can choose one that works for you.

Don’t be afraid to experiment. Every small step towards minimalism is a step towards a more intentional, fulfilling, and sustainable lifestyle.

With our mounting environmental challenges, living with less is one of the most impactful ways to reduce our ecological footprint and do our part for the planet. Let’s embrace less and create more—more freedom, more purpose, and a healthier planet for all.

***

Angela lives in Cape Town. She enjoys spending her time drinking coffee and writing about her urban hippie adventures on Mostly Mindful.

Note: This is a guest post from Karen Trefzger of Maximum Gratitude, Minimal Stuff.

Contrary to popular belief, minimalism isn’t a numbers game. It’s not about owning fewer than 100 things or a 33-piece wardrobe.

Numbers like that can turn minimalism into a competition, which is all wrong. That habit of comparison is what makes us try to keep up with the Joneses. It’s what pushes us to buy the latest and greatest, even if we don’t need it, even if we can’t afford it, simply so we’ll fit in and gain respect. 

The comparison trap is the last place we want to end up.

Minimalism is about figuring out what matters to you and then getting rid of things that steal your money, time, and talents away from that. Each of us will have different answers to what’s most important, so our versions of minimalism will look different. In fact, my minimalism today, as half of a long-married couple nearing retirement, looks different from what it did 18 years ago, when I was homeschooling two teens, working as a bookkeeper, directing a choir, and performing as a classical singer.

Minimalism is not about rules.

Minimalism is for everyone—single location-independent entrepreneurs, families with little kids, seniors looking to downsize, and everyone in between. Minimalism is for everyone, but it’s not one-size-fits-all. It’s not about rules, it’s about you.

Your version of minimalism will be unique to you. It depends on what you value, what your goals are, and what your family, job, and lifestyle are like.

The only “requirement” to minimalism is that you identify what’s important to you and what you care about most. Then remove the things that aren’t necessary or valuable to you, and the things that distract you or prevent you from having or being what you most desire. You can’t get minimalism wrong if you’ve done that.

As life and circumstances change, your priorities and values may change too, which means your minimalism may look different. You might want to minimize even more, or a new situation might require a few more things, or you might need to accommodate the activities of a family as well as your own.

It’s still minimalism. There are no minimalist police to punish you for owning “too much,” or minimalist awards for owning the least. 

It can be helpful to read about choices made by other minimalists, what they’ve learned, what their stumbling blocks and their successes have been, and what tips they have to share. I hope my blog and my books can be resources like that, full of encouragement, insight, and inspiration to try something you haven’t thought of before. You won’t copy me, but you might learn about or even disagree with something that helps you craft your own version of a minimalist life.

How to start

What if you’re new to the idea of minimalism, and feeling a bit overwhelmed without a set of hard-and-fast rules to follow? Or what if you’ve been decluttering and getting less busy for a while, but aren’t sure how much further you want (or need) to go?

It helps to ask questions, get clear about what kind of minimalist you want to be, and decide what you need to do to achieve it.

We’re all crafting a life. We’re motivated by sticks, carrots, and an ideal of comfort and satisfaction.

3 questions to uncover your unique brand of minimalism

1.  What’s your stick?

What brought you to minimalism in the first place?  What’s your motivation for seeking a simpler life?  What needs fixing?

• Are you tired of cleaning and organizing and never seeing much difference for long?
• Are you overwhelmed by your schedule and responsibilities?
• Are you sick of spending most of your free time dealing with your possessions, and want more time and energy for family, friends, hobbies, your career, or something else?
• Are you moving, and need to streamline before you start packing everything up?
• Are you facing a major life change—marriage, divorce, a new baby, a new career or business, retirement—and you need freedom and focus to move ahead?
• Are you appalled at the waste generated by the typical consumerist lifestyle?
• Are you feeling trapped by debt?
• Are you feeling stressed, anxious, or even depressed, and want something better than just gritting your teeth and getting through each day?

There are many reasons you might be attracted to minimalism, and understanding yours helps you figure out what you want to accomplish by paring down. You can get clear about your minimalist goals.

I had several reasons to learn about minimalism almost 30 years ago. My husband and I wanted to get a handle on finances so we could live on one salary while I homeschooled our young children, we were feeling overrun by toys, and I needed to break a bad habit of binge shopping and purging.

Reminding yourself of your “why” can help you when you get bogged down with decluttering, feel conflicted about getting rid of something, or struggle to say no.

2.  What’s your carrot?

Joshua Becker has defined minimalism as “the intentional promotion of the things we most value, and the removal of anything that distracts us from it.” That’s a great open-ended definition, but it means that to become minimalist, we must understand what we value most. What do you hope to gain from minimalism?

Take time to think and get very clear about this.  Maybe you value:

• quality time with your family
• attention and focus for your career
• finances and freedom to travel
• leisure for a favorite hobby
• energy to devote to an important cause

… or something else.

For me, all those years ago, I wanted to give my best talents and ideas to raising and educating my children. When they got a bit older, I concentrated on my career in music, particularly operatic performance. Today I want to focus on writing the best content I can offer for my readers, while still having plenty of time for my grandsons. And I’ve always wanted a neat, clean, comfortable home and healthy meals without spending a large portion of my time struggling to manage it. Minimalism has made it possible.

What are you trying to make more time and space for by embracing minimalism? What do you care most about that a simpler life can make possible? Write it down so you can remind yourself when old habits try to creep back.

3.  What does comfort look like to you?

As you go through the process of decluttering and simplifying, you need to figure out what enough looks and feels like for you. How will you know you’ve arrived at the sweet spot—that satisfying place the carrot and stick were guiding and goading you toward? This destination is important, because you need to let go of everything beyond it.

Only you will know what enough is for you. Some people decide that enough is owning less than 100 possessions. Others decide their place of enough is much more than that.  

Enough means:

• keeping the things that add value to your life because you use them regularly and/or they make you happy
• getting rid of the excess 

This is a personal decision, but it won’t be set in stone. It’s a good idea to challenge and reevaluate your ideas every so often. For one thing, it keeps life interesting to make experiments and learn about yourself. For another, it reminds you to keep resisting the loud and demanding voices of our culture, the ones that say more is always better.

Your perfect number

Minimalism isn’t a numbers game, but there is a number that’s just right for you. Whether that Goldilocks situation requires just two sets of sheets for each bed, one television, or an attractive capsule wardrobe, finding it is going to give your life the freedom and focus you’ve been looking for.

***

Karen Trefzger is a writer, singer, teacher, wife, mother, and grandmother who has been choosing a simpler life for over 20 years. She is the author of several books about minimalism, and blogs at Maximum Gratitude, Minimal Stuff.

Editor’s Note: This is a guest post from Meagan Pilo.

Terrible confession of a mother: Sometimes I inwardly cringe when my kids are invited to a birthday party.

Not because I don’t want them socially included, or the fact they will be juiced up on empty carbs and Red Dye 40 from those scarlet-colored cupcakes. Not even because they will go to some indoor play place or trampoline park where a thousand other kids are sliding in tubes and bouncing on tarps with the same degree of unwashed hands and runny noses.

No, it’s because of the loot bags.

When I was growing up, loot bags were a bag of chips and maybe a small candy bar. Nowadays, they are filled with tiny plastic toys and trinkets and novelty items purchased cheaply at the local Dollar Store. Things that my kids adore and discard with equal velocity. Or they break—instantly. My trash bins are once again filled with plastic, forever in a landfill, just to satisfy a child’s whim for maybe a half hour.

Don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of a loot bag. It is fun and engaging and a nice way for the host to thank the juvenile guests for attending their party. I rejoice when I see something useful. One birthday party the girls received nominal gift cards to Indigo (hooray reading!) and another time some hair clips they could actually use.

But more often than not it’s junky stuff that is purchased just because it’s the expected social etiquette of ending a birthday party. Etiquette that creates more clutter. Which stresses me more than a tax audit or missing a flight.

You see, I grew up in a household of clutter.

Long before there were words like minimalism and mindfulness, decades before e-commerce and online shopping and Amazon and Costco and infinite social media scrolling seduced us to buy things we don’t need, I was extremely aware and hypersensitive to “stuff.”  Even as a young child I would look around my house and question “What is this? Why do we have it? How does this add value to our lives?”

When another strange knick-knack appeared on a shelf (a shelf I was responsible for cleaning and dusting), I would escape to the river valley near my house and recalibrate my mind watching the water flow over the stones. Nature was perfect, soothing.

I’m not suggesting that everything in my childhood home was junk, or inelegant. In fact, this was the baffling part: my parents actually had good taste—selectively. There were several attractive paintings, fine-boned Rosenthal porcelain, a solid oak dining table, silk curtains.

But scattered amongst these tasteful furnishings and accessories were a collection of scary plastic troll dolls, baskets of artificial plants and flowers (to this day I refuse to have anything but real foliage in my house), enough mismatched table lamps to light an airport runway, endless couch pillows—and things we just accumulated over the years: broken toys, inkless pens, unused cookware, paperwork and receipts, clothes and shoes long outgrown, a life-sized stuffed Smurf. Trinkets and doilies…for some reason my mother had a need to cover every surface—every counter, table top, mantle, corner—with “stuff,” some of it nice and useful but most of it was a combination of rummage sale items and impulse purchases at a local discount store.

Eventually, the tasteful things in our house were so suffocated by this other “stuff” you couldn’t see or appreciate the quality of the things we had that, in Marie Kondo’s words, “sparked joy.” At least for me.

As a teenager, one of my first part-time jobs was working at my father’s condominium sales center showing the model suites to potential buyers. I became enthralled with the beauty and simplicity of the understated, but well-appointed, rooms. Furniture with clean lines, artwork as a focal point, counters devoid of unnecessary appliances and utensils, the mental clarity of having free and unclaimed space. The beds were crisply made with two accent pillows (not twelve), the kitchens were stocked with white dishes that met the minimal of culinary needs.

It was lovely and fresh; I would stroll through each room and an immediate sense of calm flooded my brain. And I was hooked.

This is not to say our personal and domestic space needs to be show-room perfect and sterile, for items that hold character and sentimentality are what make a house a home; but I discovered an aesthetic way of living that aligned with my value system.

Less was more. Less stuff meant less cleaning, shopping, spending, keeping track of where the stuff is, moving stuff, sorting stuff, filing, organizing, and worrying about stuff. When I wasn’t constantly distracted by stuff, I had energy to focus on other, more important issues—like being able to explore nature, my writing, new recipes to cook my family, calling a friend, attending a yoga class.

I became extremely discerning about what items I “allowed” into my home, and cultivated a way to keep my consumer boundaries in check. I tried to shop only when I needed something. I tried to resist trends. I went off social media so I wasn’t sucked up in the comparison culture (which can severely impact mental health even for grown adults).

I say “tried” because, let’s face it—it’s hard. We are bombarded, literally everywhere, by companies and products enticing us to consume. Promises of happiness and fulfillment through fast food chains on every corner, clothing, shoes, toys, games, media, cars—most of it grossly excessive and beyond what we actually need (and can often afford).

As I stand in the long line at H&M buying new socks for my son, I slowly weave past ten bins of stuff that tempt my purchasing power. My mind becomes untethered as I eyeball a pair of cheap gold hoop earrings… wouldn’t they look nice with a black dress? I quickly remind myself I already have several pairs of hoop earrings (and about twelve black dresses) that I never wear. I now silently repeat the mantra I don’t need this whenever I go shopping.

As a mother, instilling this type of will power and values has become increasingly difficult. My children are growing up in a culture and society which has taken consumption and consumerism to disturbing levels which is next to impossible to censor.

We are constantly assaulted (yes, I use this word deliberately) with ads and media outlets which tell us what to value and acquire. And it all leads to buying “stuff.” Wants have replaced needs. We have become a scrolling, disposable community of people that is constantly consuming, comparing, replacing—never satisfied by what we have.

Collections

My eight-year-old daughter loves stuffies, and she has gone through her phases and brands. When she was six it was Squishmallows, at seven it was the sparkly collection of “TYs”, now she is regularly scrolling through YouTube and obsessed with some cat-like animals called Mee Meows—which she doesn’t just covet, she worships.

Her appetite is insatiable; at her last birthday party she barely finished tearing open one gift before moving on to the next. I watched this behavior with a mixture of fascination and moral concern, like observing how fast a herd of lions can devour a zebra carcass. There was little acknowledgment and appreciation for what she had just received—she was already on to the next “stuff.”  I could almost see the rush of dopamine in her face.

Recently, she started to complain her bedroom is too small. True, at just around a hundred and twenty square feet it’s not a sprawling space but certainly seemed to have met the building requirements of our 1950s bungalow back in the day.

I gently suggested that perhaps she had too many “things” in her room and that was why it seemed small. She flat out denied this, so we did a count. I told her she likely owned upwards of eighty stuff animals and she looked at me with total shock and disbelief. “No way,” she said, “more like thirty.”

We counted and her smugness started to change to amusement as we approached seventy-five. Final count: eighty-eight. She let it sink in for a moment and then immediately defended her number. “Mom,” she said, “All my friends have more.”  

Sigh. How to explain to an eight-year-old, who is living in a privileged neighborhood surrounded by privileged kids and is taught through every social, economic and media channel she comes in contact with, that owning stuff is a measurement of self-worth? That acquiring more, of how much you consume, defines your character, your popularity?

Imagine if billboards and pop-up ads and YouTubers preached the benefits of owning less, of valuing our morals and virtues instead? What if even one of the 300+ channels they are exposed to on basic television educated our kids about how minimalism is good not only for the pocket book, but also for their mind, body and soul? Not to mention the environment.

I always tell my kids (especially after loot bag parties) that everything they buy took something from the earth and it goes back into the earth. In between it made someone a bit richer. Sometimes I think I am getting through—other times I catch myself sounding like a pioneer. My daughter, who has a deep affinity for the environment, is starting to understand. But then the next day, I am once again battling the screens, the ads, the temptations. Someone at school got some new stuff.

Navigating this new world is challenging. On one hand, I have to admit, I kind of get it. I had stuff as a kid, but nowhere near the magnitude that kids have today. I had a few stuffed animals, a barbie doll or two, an Easy Bake oven. But what I loved more than anything was my ten-speed bicycle which was my ticket to freedom and exploration in my northern Canadian neighborhood when I was twelve.

The problem now is the amount of choice and products that are marketed towards consumers—especially kids. A recent trip to Toys R Us to grab a gift for yet another birthday party almost left me so stressed and overstimulated I nearly drove straight to a yoga meditation session. The sheer volume of stuff in the store, row upon row of every kind of toy imaginable, literally made me dizzy, not knowing where to focus my attention.

I watched the attitudes and behaviors of some of the children in the store, flitting from one shiny object to another like moths, demanding they had to have it. And I felt genuinely sad. For the kids, for us, for society, for the earth. I hope in decades to come we can look back and see the senselessness in it all.

My daughter’s ninth birthday is fast approaching. I am starting to think about loot bags. But something surprising happens: as we discuss her party, she looks out our back window at the trees and the place where I regularly feed our resident chipmunk a handful of cashews (wrong, I know). She turns to me and says, “Mom, maybe this year we give everyone a small potted flower.”

I have gotten through. For today at least. Don’t give up.

***

Meagan Pilo is a Toronto-based mother, educator, writer, minimalist advocate who loves nature, green tea and her family.