When less is more

How can I possibly squeeze all my stuff from my 40-square-meter apartment into a 13-square-meter studio?

It was a question that daunted me when I had to move out of a relatively spacious apartment into a tiny unit. Because I had to move out immediately, I was forced to address the question by saying, “Take only what you need to live for a week and leave the rest behind.” So I took a week’s worth of clothes and a few books, and left five huge boxes of stuff.

In my new small abode, I wake up, get ready for work, go back in the evening, read, and sleep. After a week of the routine, I thought it was the most liberating feeling of my life! My life has become simple, clear and free. I realized that I don’t really need the five boxes of stuff I had left behind.

Before this wonderful realization came to me, I was living a consumerist way of life in which the only purpose of money was to buy things. Bazaars and mall sales were the best events for me, and were even marked on my calendar. I usually went home with both arms laden with bags of trinkets and sale items that I believed I needed. Of course, these purchases had an equivalent amount of money.

After being in the corporate world for almost five years, earning money to fend for myself, I might be asked: What have I acquired in all that time? Where and on what did I spend all the money I earned during those years? You’re right: I spent it all because nothing was left for savings or an emergency fund, only debts and loans. Of course, I spent some of my earnings on wonderful travels, but looking at those huge boxes of unnecessary stuff, I must say I gave away a great deal of money for nothing, for things that I don’t need and that don’t add value to my life.

The liberating feeling I am experiencing in my Lilliputian home has made me realize that I don’t want to live my life that way ever again.

My decision to embrace a minimalist life is banked on two reasons: I want less but necessary things, and I want more time to do the things I want to do.

The cafeteria in our office building makes a good potato salad, with which I fell in love the moment I tasted it. So every time it was on the menu, I would surely order a serving. There was a time when my love for that potato salad was at its peak, so I bought two servings. Surprisingly (or not), my taste for it seems to have faded. Two servings did not result in double satisfaction.

I was reminded of the law of diminishing returns, which basically states that in all productive processes (in this case, eating potato salad), adding more of one factor (number of salad servings) while holding others constant will yield lower returns (satisfaction). That is when less is enough, or better yet, when less is more, because I was happier then with less.

Material things are made to support humankind’s lifestyle, definitely not the other way around. But unfortunately, the converse is what consumerist behavior does to us. People love to buy things they think they need in order to please the people around them, and work hard to pay for these things. Regaining my authority as the master of my material possessions, I am affirming that material things were made only to support my purpose. What a great feeling it is to live when you are not defined by the material things you have. You know exactly what you need, and the market cannot dictate to you what you should want. You are free.

With fewer things to maintain, less time is needed to clean and organize. I can have more time to read, talk with friends, walk, run, and do all the other things I want to do. My time is mine, and I am reclaiming it for my greater purpose.

Life should not be a cycle of acquiring the next best thing, trend after trend; rather, it should be phases of purpose and dreams. With the lightness of being, detached from things, no debts and loans to pay, you will find it very easy to go wherever you want.

I can imagine a life without all the clutter. I long for that life where I can see the very purpose of all the things I see around me because they are placed exactly where I intend them to be, according to their purpose. Soon that will also be true for me. I will clearly see what I wake up for, what I must do, because I am not distracted by things. There will be no more urge to buy unnecessary possessions; I will be left with greater chances to focus on things that matter, on memories, on time with family and friends, on a purpose worth living.

In my resolution to live as a minimalist, I always recall a wonderful story about a monk and a traveler. The traveler was searching in the woods for a place to stay for the night, and he saw a house owned by a monk who gladly accepted him as a guest. The traveler noticed that the house contained only a few things: a single bed, a simple kitchen, and a wooden chair. He asked the monk, “Where are your things? Are these all that you have?”

The monk replied, “Yes. What about you? Where are your things? Is that backpack all you have?”

The traveler said, “Yes, I just brought a few things. Anyway, I am just passing through.”

And the monk said, “So am I.”

With less, we find enough, sometimes even more.

Vanessa May D. Josol, 26, is a chemical engineer.