You could say I’m a minimalist. It’s not official, but it’s definitely a core value of who I am as a human.

For the last 10 years I’ve been honing in on what that means for me, and lately I’ve been realizing that owning and doing less is one of my most powerful forms of self care.

MINDSET NOT AESTHETIC

We make a lot of choices every day (and sometimes we don’t) about what we bring or allow into our space. In a consumerist and data collection-centric culture we tend to choose less and less - which means anything and everything can be permitted to breach our boundaries.

The way I see it, minimalism is mindfulness. The people we choose to work and live our lives with; the objects and art we display in our spaces; how we spend and save our money; or the way we carry ourselves in the world. These are varied and poignant forms in how we can choose to navigate our unique and individual experiences as humans on earth.

While I am not perfect at this practice, over the years I’ve gotten much better at choosing what I need and when. From living a nomadic lifestyle I’ve come to know that the less I have, the happier I’ll be. I’ve literally (and metaphorically) gone from 2 large suitcases to a single carry-on backpack and I’ll tell you what: I don’t miss a thing.

Despite hurdles I’ve faced, I’ve come to understand that the work of “less” is my greatest defence against trauma, consumerism, burnout, and anxiety. It’s not a choice I’m making for just myself - it is a choice that ripples into the choices that are made for my family, my loved ones, my endeavours, my community and the world at large.

BEIN’ A KID

From an early age I could sense that I didn’t see or experience the world in a typical way, based on the responses returned from adults and the world around me.

I was a dreamer. I liked to sing and ride my bike to the forest or the store to buy candy. I kept begging my mom to go to Egypt to see the pyramids. I believed in the best of people (even when they hurt me), and I wanted to make the world a better place. I could not have cared less about stuff or things (and anything I did has since long been forgotten).

I’ve always chosen to live in possibility. I’ve taken risks, and I’ve hurt myself more times than I can count. Any time in my life when I haven’t been myself, or I’ve been off my game - it’s been because I’ve allowed others limitations to dull my shine. Truthfully, if I were to use one word to describe my early childhood it would be: fearless. I had enough courage and reckless abandon to try anything that I imagined.

And I liked that freedom.

Of course, when I started school everything changed. I couldn’t understand why some other kids seemed so possessive (stuff, people, you name it) and I had no time or interest in the social politics. The friends I ended up making had multifaceted interests because we were the rejects slapped together by circumstance. We had made a choice to stay true to our authenticity first and foremost - and back then, even though it was scary, it felt right.

And it felt right for a long time. Staying true to myself. Speaking my mind. Putting myself out there when it could be easier to hide or be quiet. For a long time I was able to stay connected to the wild, free and in-the-moment being I was.

Until I wasn’t.

Sitting at their kitchen table, a relative is talking about “native people”. Even at my young age I can tell that what they are saying is rude and ignorant. Their bigotry is overwhelming and I’m confused. I’ve learned about this. We took their land. We killed their people. As a 6 year old I have yet to understand the nuances of race, colonialism, patriarchy - so I ask innocently “didn’t we take their land?” Indignant, the response was aggressive. That was the first time I remember being silenced or berated for even-so-much as considering another narrative. For speaking up when no one else had the courage or ethic to bother. It would be the first time, but not the last time that I would have difficult conversations.

This is what I’ve been up against my whole life.

Minimalism is a mindset, yes. It’s being in choice about what comes up - and it’s also about being able to let go, and to leave space for whatever might come anew. It’s not only about relinquishing the literal baggage we all have - it’s about releasing even bigger, even heavier psychological, spiritual, mental, social, and generational baggage that we all carry.

It’s taken years of untying knots inside me to understand that: the reception I received as a child was a lacking on behalf of those who couldn’t receive me - and not my personal fault. My perspective, curiosity, and desire to take risks and ask tough questions was perfectly allowed. I could make different choices than those who came before me - and they didn’t have to like it. It wasn’t, in fact, inadequacy or naivety; but rather the lack of personal intelligence to know myself and trust that my point of view was (and is) valid.

I’m not responsible for how others receive me. I can only do what feels right for me. The many, many times I was silenced or made to believe that my hope, generosity, inclusion or observation was a burden - I was actually curiously exposing the flaws I saw, and that made adults uncomfortable. I cared to know why people could think and do hateful things; I wanted to know what could possess others to behave as they did. There were countless teachers and adults in my world that would acknowledge my intelligence - but didn’t want to address the queries I was making. Furthermore, there were teachers and leaders in my world who would try to take things away from me because it made them look bad. Being shut down like that over and over can take a toll on your psyche, and it took me decades of work to undo.

HINDSIGHT IS 20/20

I understand now that my methodology and motivations are different than most. The journey I’ve been on has broken me down and cracked me open because I’ve allowed myself to value other peoples opinions before trusting my own.

Trusting your gut and your intuition is crucial for knowing what you need for you. Yes, our communities and families are important, but outside influence should only be a support to your own decision-making on what’s right for you. My struggles have been difficult, however they have provide me with the insight to be a proponent of growth and healing for others - because it’s not enough for me to want it for myself alone.

I want it for you too.

Choosing to let go of the toxic culture that I was raised in not only helps me to be a better person for myself (creating a healthier experience, making growth-based choices) but it allows me to let go of the baggage I inherited from: racist relatives (who, for the record have not been a part of my life since I was 16 and made the conscious choice to sever our relationship); unkind teachers and mentors; and basically anyone I’ve ever encountered who wasn’t healthy or whole enough to know how to be better.

TAKING SOME SPACE

At 20 I finished my undergrad I moved to Eastern Europe to teach. It was a calculated choice to work and travel - and to consciously get as far away from everyone and everything I’ve ever known. I needed about 4000kms of breathing room to get perspective on what felt miserable and agitating (although, it would be a long time before that clarity ever came, mind you).

I remember piling my possessions on the dining room table. With every packing attempt I would realize that there was still too much stuff to fit. I kept packing and unpacking, and eventually I just used a second suitcase. At the time, it didn’t feel like a lot of stuff - but back then I was also a very different person. I bet if I had all that same stuff on the table now I could have easily packed what I needed into a carry-on duffel.

Alas. Learnings.

So I landed in Slovakia. I lived and worked in a small town called Trnava, and it was a hop-skip-jump away from Hungary, Austria, Germany, Czechia and Poland.

After a few introductory trips with my roommates, I began travelling on my own. Adventure after adventure piled up… and I was accumulating the souvenirs to prove it.

At that point in my life I was finally controlling every moment of my existence. No one could take a trip? I’d go alone. Ticket stubs and photos that could prove how awesome I finally was? Yes please.

I think why minimalism is so much about mindfulness is because when we’re not paying attention - things add up. I had already brought two jam-packed suitcases with me here - and I’d spent my entire time here collecting more.

When Christmas came, I couldn’t afford to go home to Toronto so I flew to Sweden instead to spend time with friends. Theoretically this would have been a perfect time to bring a bunch of stuff home to actually give the souvenirs to people, but. It didn’t play out that way…

…and then I received a position in Beijing, China. I would have to travel from Trnava, Slovakia with no less than everything I brought with me (which already filled my suitcases) as well as everything else I had been saving. It occurred to me that would have to make some tough choices about what would make the cut…

…you know, theoretically.

(In my style at the time) I purchased two even bigger suitcases and was adamant that I would get to take it all. I would sacrifice nothing, I decided. Looking back now I am screaming! I’m thinking of the tiny bag I use that holds everything I’ll ever need - and the drastic difference between the two scenarios.

At that point in my life, I was still trying to hold on to this idea of accumulation as proof (aka value, self-esteem) like “hey look at everything I have because of everything I’ve done… I am worthy in your eyes now”. Moreover I was stubborn and (in my mind of infinite possibility) was determined to have my cake and eat it too.

I had yet to realize the idiosyncrasies between the person I needed to be for myself (aka who I am deep down), and the person I was trying to practice and prove being (aka insecure projection).

COMING OUT A NOMAD

When I eventually brought everything home that I had been paying to cart around the world for my loved ones - it was about two years later. The kicker? they could not have cared less about the items I had brought for them.

Here I was - stressing myself out because I felt obligated not to return empty-handed - only to learn that it was a fruitless errand that wasn’t worth the price and the effort.

At this point I had lived in Slovakia (2010), China (2011), and the Czech Republic (2012) and during those years I had traveled through 25+ countries. Coming home from China I barely made it on the plane, as the attendants at every checkpoint determined I had too much weight or too many extra items.

Like most lessons in life, I had chosen the hard way, assuming it would bring me love and glory and acceptance. The items I brought home were special to me because I lived it - but it didn’t carry the same weight for others. Moreover, I wondered what I was trying to prove. At no point did I enjoy spending money and dragging 100lbs of “stuff” around with me; it was the way I wanted others to see me and value me that I thought was important.

It would be a long time before I would recognize and name this lack of self love for what it was. However, in this particular moment there was something I could name for the first time: I was a nomad. In 2 years I had lived bravely and independently in 3 different countries I had never been to (with languages I couldn’t speak). I was resourceful and adventurous - and I had unearthed my free and young self in the process.

What I realized was that I was trying to make my travels into something they weren’t. I wasn’t travelling to bring home souvenirs, and I didn’t travel to prove to others how cool I was. I’ve always had a firm belief that knowledge is learned with our minds and our bodies; as skills and life experience are incredibly valuable ways to grow and develop. At the root I was a traveller, period.

And I didn’t go to other countries to be a tourist - I went there to live. I explored my surroundings richly and deeply, and I built relationships in communities that are still alive and well today. That’s how I define a nomadic experience. It’s not about the superficial accumulation of people and places; it’s the integration and intimate understanding of another way of living.

That was the first time since I was about 6 that I felt grounded in who I was for myself and my vision. I began to embrace my nomadic spirit as the essence of who I was, and the material wealth that accompanied my travelling tendencies didn’t seem as important anymore.

It was about then that focused less on how objects brought me joy and more on how I could more fully enjoy the moment. It was about then that I began the journey towards my current stage of minimalism.

THE FREEDOM OF LESS

Recognizing my nomadic nature was the first step to reconnecting with myself. The second step was about beginning to let go of those “things”.

I didn’t just collect souvenirs and ticket stubs - I had half finished poems and essays; I had cards and letters and gifts from students and clients and beloved colleagues spanning across years. I had intentionally collected as much as I had been given and I am a firm believer that there is energy present in everything we choose to keep.

Sometimes this energy isn’t helpful. Relationships can be complicated, and there were times in my life where I was keeping objects that were incredibly painful for me to relate to. As much joy as something could bring me - the pain it could also summon wasn’t worth keeping. My lack of self love and self care was completely correlated to how much stuff I had in my space and in my presence.

Releasing objects, spaces, relationships, projects, tokens, memories and energy allows space for healing and acceptance. Once I realized how important it would be for me to push myself to let go: I began.

HOW TO LET GO

You won’t become a minimalist overnight. For the last 8 years I’ve experienced waves of letting go through every new path my life has taken.

Loss, heartbreak, complexity, transitions, transformations - they’ve all informed how I’ve made it here: a place I feel truly at home in (and let me be clear, this space I refer to is my body, my being, my journey, my essence and my truth).

This sense of home I have achieved is due to serious inquiry of what images, words, and energy bring me nourishment. A few times a year I asses my belongings, gear, gifts and general space to determine if it all still feels good. When it doesn’t - I let something go. It’s almost like a one-in-one-out policy: it keeps my focus powerful, and my space clear.

The beauty of having less is that there’s emotional and spiritual space to breathe. It has allowed me to shift vibrationally to be able to connect with like-minded people. I’ve traveled lighter, and saved more money. Enduring years of confusion, I now possess personal truth in a chaotic and "stuff”-filled world.

Your sense of home may be very different - and that is A OK. For me, home it is a sense of being and feeling; intrinsically supporting my self love and self care practice. Self care is absolutely crucial for us all, and for me it is especially linked to my everyday survival. As I flow through this practice, I check-in; and as my needs shift and change, I release what is for something: new.

This process is not about mindlessly throwing everything away - it’s about intentionally choosing what we keep and interact with. Our needs shift and change (and like the older versions of ourselves that we draw learning and growth from) we need to be thankful for these lessons as they have played in our lives to this point. We don’t have to keep something or someone in our immediate consciousness to be able to keep the lesson or the gift that has been given.

If you’re struggling with something right now - I encourage you to take a personal inventory. You might be surprised by what you find (there’s always something to find, haha).

At the end of the day, minimalism as mindfulness, as trauma healing, as truth-telling, as self care; it is a grounding practice that has lessons for all of us.

Lessons in how we can be more grateful, humble and present with what we do have: here and now.

Right here, and right now.

* Some things I speak about vaguely on this blog out of privacy/protection. Lack of detail is intentional.