The Trouble with Things (Cont'd)

I talk about the process and the rationalizations that a minimalist uses in order to purchase and try to be happy with consumer purchases.

Transcript

When I shop, therefore, I always feel as if I have to see everything that is out there on offer before I can make my decision. This is very time-consuming, and generally impossible to achieve  absolutely comprehensive-ly: you cannot look at every single set of dishes in the city before you decide on the exact set that’s right for you. At some point, and generally very early on, you need to just buy one of them. One typical scenario is that I will intellectually realize that I can’t possibly see everything, and then revisit a few to confirm before I actually make up my mind, and so I will just not buy anything at all, which fits right in of course with my minimalism anyway. It’s not a failure in not being able to get any dishes at all, but a win in managing not to drag one more set of objects into my condo.

GypsyAtHeart writes online:

I think the issue at heart is “control,” and finding a way to minimalize “internal anxiety.” To speak for myself, I personally feel “like the tides” – a constant internal struggle – the ebb and flow. I buy something, and unless I really love, love love it – 2 hours later, I’m thinking, “why did I buy this, and how soon can I sell it at my next garage sale.” Even after opening a gift that is not my style, it’s hard for me to just keep it, or use it awhile – I just want to get rid of it immediately.

There’s a similar “reasoning” associated with the buyer’s remorse felt for nearly any new purchase – similar in the sense that the default tendency, the secret desire, the sometimes unrealized or unadmitted strategy is not to end up with the object. The method with buyer’s remorse is the quest for perfection (more about that later). Before I buy something I will of

course give it a thorough going-over at the store, checking it from all angles to see that there is not some fault or lack of symmetry or teeny imperfection with it as a mere physical object. If there is, then there’s a good justification for not buying it, or at least allowing myself the rationale of going home and thinking about it. This ritual can get repeated several times, as I go to the store, handle the object, find something objectionable, and then return home to think about it. (Another variation is to go see the object at another store, where I can ask some other hapless clerk about it – and then handle it, and so on.)

The remorse comes, of course, when against all odds I actually buy it but get it home and only then find something wrong with it. I’m not talking about something major being wrong with it, like not working or being defective. I’m talking about a minor anomaly, imperfection, or blemish of some sort which has nothing at all to do with the functioning or even to a great extent with its aesthetics. I bought a TV with a little black swirl in the plastic casing, and I considered bringing it back because of that until my friend convinced me not to. The horn on the steering wheel on my new car is not quite perfectly centred: the space on one side of it is just barely wider than the space on the other (another friend was surprised I would even have noticed that). The space at the right side of the screen on my cellphone is just  slightly  wider than the space at the left. And on and on it goes.

There is an upside to minimalism as well, and many of the negatives could also be re-viewed to demonstrate their positive aspects. One of the advantages of not having clutter is that the mind is then freed up to participate in what really matters. There are no unimportant tasks and chores to do (they’re already done) and there are no distracting piles of possessions to tempt you away or to hinder you logistically: the table is always clear and clean when you’re a minimalist. Researchers Samuel Alexander and Simon Ussher report the following reasons by participants in their study for why they choose to “live simply”:

more time with family; to save money; more time for oneself; environmental concern; to be healthier; self-reliance/self-sufficiency; more time for community involvement; humanitarian or social justice concerns; decluttering life/minimalism; to live more spiritually or mindfully (76)

And Timothy S. Beecher writes about the tendency in some “voluntary simplifiers” to value relationships over consumerism:

Emphasis on personal relationships and personal fulfillment came up again and again during this research which indicates that practitioners of VS [voluntary simplicity] seek to meet their needs of belongingness and self actualization through this lifestyle. (28–29)

These are all laudable. The piece separating a psychologically healthy minimalist from a pathological one is whether he acts on the ability to do things and actually does things. If he does, good; if he doesn’t, and then for example goes back to stripping down even more for the dubious goal of freeing himself up for an opportunity that is never taken advantage of, then that’s not so good. In my own case, during bad phases, for example, I tend to pull away from people, even to summarily cut off long-standing relationships, because I am not sure I could maintain my ideals and personal integrity at the same time as I have day‑to‑day  dealings  with regularpeople, work colleagues, acquaintances, and even close friends.

The integrity has to do with feeling sometimes that I am a false person, but also with paranoid thoughts about whether anyone likes me, loves me, respects me, whether I’m incompetent at work, and so on. I often feel that I just can’t handle all the uncertainty, mulling over all the possibilities all the time, and one way to avoid that is to cut off contact with people. The ultimate logic, with the minimalizing of contact being taken to its extreme, would see me all alone, like Thoreau at Walden or the Unabomber in his cabin in Montana, and therefore not having to subject myself to speculation about who thinks what about me – because there would be no one around – and also not have to worry (so much) about being a false person: if my days consist of mere subsistence and no human interaction, that is a kind of vacuum that invites simplicity and integrity, and in fact almost allows no other options.