Simplicity by Sunny

When I became an “official” adult – that is, old enough to legally smoke cheroots in the swanky cigar bar on Adams Street - I found myself addicted to a very strange thing.  My daily planner.  A leather-bound planner signified adulthood to me, mostly because my dad always had one.  And, boy howdy, I wanted to be grown-up!  Naturally, then, I needed a fancy planner to track my adult life.  

I can’t tell you, because I honestly don’t know, how much time I spent with this planner.  I religiously updated my daily tasks list, goal lists, and project lists.  My life was merely a compilation of lists.  I didn’t do anything on those lists, I only planned out each step – in excruciating detail - of everything I should do.

One day, I decided to throw it all away.  Being me, shredding or recycling the 35-pound monstrosity wouldn’t suffice.  I set a match to every list, appointment, and goal.  Knowing I didn’t have to consult it daily, or get frustrated when my lists weren’t working, I was suddenly much happier.  I’d been released from Planner Prison.  It only made sense, then, to give up goals forever.  “I’m NEVER planning ANYTHING!  Ever!  Again!” I exclaimed while watching all of my time management accessories burn.

Although I admire my enthusiasm, my extreme shift toward No-Plan-Land was self-defeating.  I became vulnerable to the plans that other people had for me.  I gave up dreaming.  My optimism faded.  

After taking several years off from goal-setting, I decided to try it again.  With help from my ever-trusty Excel spreadsheet, I recently mapped out 10 goals.  When I say “mapped out”, I really mean it!  I’m a recovering Type A - NOT a recovered Type A.  I designed master goal dates, step-by-step guides, seperate worksheets to track my progress. 

What was I thinking!?  This is NOT simple. 

More importantly, it’s not productive.  My 10 goals are irrelevant after several unexpected shifts these past three months.  When I think of the days – days - that I spent grooming this list, tears form.  I could’ve spent that time throwing back tequila and dancing on the tables at my favorite Mexican restaurant (equally unproductive, but much more fun).

I decided to change my approach after reading this excellent paragraph by Leo Babauta (you can read his entire post here):

I don’t make plans, because they’re an illusion — you never know what will happen in a year or even six months. You can try to control what happens, but you’ll lose. Things always come up, sometimes good and sometimes bad, that will disrupt plans. Instead, I’ve learned to go with the flow, to not worry about things that disrupt plans but worry about what to do right now. This allows me to take advantage of opportunities to come up that I could never have planned for, to work on things I couldn’t have known about, to make decisions about what’s best right now, not what I planned a few months ago.

I’ve decided to upgrade goal setting, rather than give them up altogether.  Out go the lists, graphs, charts, and timelines (again).  Now I’m following the 3-D’s that I find personally meaningful:  (1) Direction, (2) Dreams, (3) Desires.

Direction because I need to know whether to turn toward complexity or simplicity.  Dreams because I need to know which commitments are needed to get where I want to go.  Desires because I want to savor every taste, touch, and sight (a.k.a. enjoying the hell out of life).  Otherwise, I’m welcoming serendipity.  The unexpected possibilities. 

No spreadsheets.  No ambitious goal list begging for frustration.  I’m moving forward, instead, by chasing experiences that bring joy each day.  Pursuits that bring out the best in me.  Doing what’s right – not in the last moment, or the next moment, but in this moment.  I’m not worried about the future, though tomorrow will surely have adventure.  I’m delightfully wrapped up in right now. 

I’m done with setting fire to 35 pounds of time management.  But I’ll never stop setting fire to each day.

After my recent post – How I’m a Minimalist - a couple of readers asked about my “antipasto kitchen”, as I called it.  I thought this topic deserved its own post, mostly because I’m long-winded and couldn’t fit my explanation into the comment box .

Shortly after I embraced minimalism, I simplified my eating habits and my kitchen.  I wrote about both of these topics in the posts How to Simplify Your Kitchen and Eating Simply, Eating Well.  Since then, as in all aspects of my life, I decided to go overboard and give up cooking altogether.  Not because I’m completely lazy, though that’s part of it! 

I love time spent cooking and baking with friends.  Most recently, I spent an entire day in my friend’s kitchen while baking a birthday cake (it took all day because the first one flopped  – not OUR fault, it’s the high-altitude!! – and we had to bake a second).  The measuring, the mixing, the tasting chocolate from fingertips, the laughing – these are delectable moments I wouldn’t trade for anything.  But as a single girl with a full schedule, I don’t have the desire to spend time in my kitchen on a daily basis.  Also, I found it difficult to not waste food while cooking for one, especially when I spend a fair amount eating out, and that frustrated me.  

When I became a minimalist, I became a lover of cherished time, rather than a lover of stuff.  I cherish my time spent with friends, feasting on paninis at a quaint cafe.  I recognize that I could save money by cooking traditional meals and freezing them, but this is one area I indulge in because of the enjoyment that food – and eating/hanging out at hideaways throughout Denver - brings to me.  Minimalism, for me, isn’t solely about saving money, it’s about quality experiences every day.

When I do eat at home, I also indulge.  My favorite foods aren’t complicated, anyway, so I took advantage of that.  My only kitchen appliance is a coffee maker.  My only other utensils are:

• can opener
• 4 spoons, 4 forks
• 2 bowls,  2 plates
• coffee mug
• water bottle
• wine glass
• kitchen knife

As mentioned, I use my kitchen as an antipasto bar.  This is because many of the items in my fridge are from the antipasto bar!  Tabbouleh, sun-dried tomatoes, blue-cheese stuffed olives, and couscous.  Here’s what my meals at home look like:

• Tabbouleh over spinach leaves, crusty baguette on the side
• Pita bread stuffed with hummus and chopped vegetables
• Roasted chicken from the deli, served with salad tossed in olive oil
• A plate filled with sliced vegetables, crackers, squares of sharp cheese, a handful of almonds, pieces of fruit, a dollop of yogurt, and a glass of Pinot noir
• Granola and organic milk
• Peanut butter and banana sandwiches
• Anything slathered in Nutella
• A spoonful of Ben & Jerry’s (most often at midnight)

This works for me and the way I live.  Oftentimes I need something I can eat quickly before running out the door, or while I’m writing, reading, or talking on the phone.  To keep with my minimalist habits, I took my schedule, my culinary desires, and my lack of cooking skills into consideration.  Then I threw away my toaster, cookie sheets, frying pan, measuring cups, and potato peeler. 

Obviously, this isn’t for everyone (or most anyone, I’d imagine), but there you have it.

There was a time when Sunny wasn’t simple.  I owned over 500 items before I became a minimalist.  Although I moved from Florida to Colorado with only my clothes in the trunk of my car, it didn’t take long to build a new stack of stuff without realizing it.  Perhaps my favorite part of minimizing radically is the realization that comes along with it.  A hyper-consciousness that prioritizes every value – every moment - of life.

When I came across the 100 Things Challenge, I was intrigued.  It came to me at a point when life wasn’t going very well.  My days were becoming complicated, as they’d been in Florida, and I was stressed.  I yearned for clarity and direction, but didn’t know how to uncover the next step of my journey. 

It’s only fair to be completely upfront:  I’m an over-the-top, jump-in-with-both-feet, and goes-overboard-with-everything crazy person.  This doesn’t mean that everyone who undertakes this challenge has these same qualities, but knowing myself, I was a little afraid of pursuing this. 

“Hm, Sunny, be careful,” I warned.  “This is the kind of pursuit that could lead you into trouble!”

But one week later, not surprisingly, I was in my closets – pen glued to one hand, paper to the other – taking a complete inventory of everything in my apartment.  “Because,” I rationalized, “why not?”

I expected to go overboard, absolutely, because that’s who I am.  I didn’t expect, though, that releasing most of my things would reveal that clarity I’d been searching for.  It was easy to see myself without my crap in the way!

Since a reader expressed interest in my 74 Things, I’ve listed them below.  These are all of the things I own, but allow me to explain my list -

• I’ve grouped some things together.  My toiletries fit into one box under my sink and I count this as 1 item.  To list each bobby pin separately seemed a bit silly.
• I own 1 piece of furniture (sofa) and am borrowing a dining table from friends.  I don’t count the table, since it’s not mine and will soon be returned.
• Yes, I currently sleep on my sofa and it’s not as bad as it sounds.  It’s quite comfy!
• I have a lot of books around, but they mostly belong to the library.  If I’ve purchased them, they’re soon donated to the library.  Therefore, I don’t count books.
• I don’t count disposable items, such as laundry detergent, soap, etc.
• This list will change after I move to my new apartment in 2 months.  At that point, I’ll add a bed and more wine glasses – in other words, a few things to increase comfort and allow me to simply entertain friends.

Here ya go -

1. Eddie (my car)
2. Sofa
3. Quilt
4. Pillow
5. Humidifier (I live at 5,280 feet, after all!)
6. Egyptian vase (family heirloom I use for flowers)
7. Dishes (2 plates, 2 bowls)
8. Water bottle
9. Travel coffee mug
10. Wine glass
11. Coffee maker
12. Silverware (4 forks, 4 spoons)
13. Kitchen knife
14. Wine opener
15. Kitchen towel
16. Can opener
17. Basket (used as a general in-box for mail, wine corks serving as mementos, receipts, etc.)
18. Decorative box to hold my electronic gizmos
19. Digital camera
20. Cell phone
21. Headphones
22. Laptop
23. Carry-on suitcase
24. Hydration pack for hiking
25. Pen #1
26. Pen #2
27. Envelope of important documents
28. Shower curtain and rings
29. Bathroom rug
30. Bathroom towels (4)
31. Bathroom Box (holds all of my toiletries)
32. Ironing board
33. Iron
34. Vacuum cleaner
35. L.L. Bean tote bag
36. Wallet
37. Purse

  38-41. Shoes (4 pairs)

  42-74. Clothing (32 items)

I’ve written quite a bit about how I break the “rules” of minimalism.  Yes, I crave comfort.  True, I live with complexity in some areas because I choose it.  I thought it’d be a good idea to balance things out a bit and talk about how I’m a die-hard, radical minimalist.  And very happily so.

First, I’m working my way to owning virtually nothing, except those items that make my life absolutely comfortable every single day.  Warm blankets, stocked wine rack, overstuffed sofa.  Toss in my digital camera, my sneakers, some chocolate and I’m set.  No more, no less. 

Here are the things I’m happy to live without:

• Anything requiring the word “set” to describe it
• Toaster
• Designer handbags
• Jewelry (borrowing doesn’t count)
• Art work
• Book collection
• 5 year’s worth of toilet paper
• Packed social schedule
• The Mall
• TV
• Coffee mugs displaying the name of every city I’ve stepped foot in
• A box of 1,000 envelopes when I only use 1 every month for my rent check (Hello, work supply closet, it’s nice to meet you!)
• Receipts dating back from 1995
• ANYTHING dating back from 1995
• Time spent dusting
• China dishes I’m too afraid to use
• Stilettos that I’m too afraid to walk in

Here are some examples of how I’m a minimalist -

• When I run around the city, I stash my debit card and my driver’s license in my pocket – and off I go!  Why carry around what I don’t need?
• I have only one credit card – used only when absolutely necessary (like renting cars).
• I’ve decided never to cook again and have no kitchen appliances (except, of course, my coffee maker), cookware, or dishes.  I use my kitchen more as an antipasta bar.  It’s great!
• Although I believe direction is important, I’ve given up goal setting.  I recently posted something about creating goals, and while I do think they’re worthwhile, they aren’t for me.  Every goal I mapped out in December has already been completely uprooted – in AMAZING ways.  You can’t predict the most wonderful things that change your life.
• I have only 74 possessions.
• When I travel, I pack one small bag.
• Whenever I have to pick up groceries, I limit myself to 1 shopping bag.  This is partly because I live on the 3rd floor!  I’m a lazy minimalist.
• I’m paperless.  Excluding my birth certificate, all of my documents are scanned.
• The sight of an empty drawer makes me go – “Ahhh….”.  The sight of an empty room makes me go – “Ohhh….”.
• Instead of having wine glasses, I guzzle straight from the bottle.  (Just kidding .)

Part of my minimalist life is about less.  Worrying, furniture, stuff, superficiality, cleaning, organizing, competing, judging, perfection.  The other part – the best part – of my minimalist life is about more.  Time, breathing deeply, exploring, talking, lingering, writing, reading….being.

If you released those things that provide no value to your life, what would you have less of?  And what would there suddenly be more room for?

While blog-surfing this afternoon, I came across David’s most recent post on Simple. Organized. Life.  His writing is precise, educational – always personal – and I enjoy following his journey (especially since he lives in my home city of Denver).  His post today was the reason I fell in love with blogs, for their humanity and honesty.  It’s titled “Writing Out Your Very Own Personal To-Do List”.  I’d encourage you to check it out.  And then make your list.

I’m a creature of habit.  Every day I eat yogurt and a granola bar for breakfast.  Perhaps not very exciting in the world of breakfast choices, but I love the simplicity of having something decided without thinking.  Especially when mornings aren’t the best time of day for any thoughts, if you’re me.

Knowing I eat granola bars excessively, I made an anti-minimalist decision and, while tagging along with my friend at Costco, purchased a box of granola bars that may last me until I’m 85.  It’s gigantic!  I can’t even manage to squeeze it into my cupboard!  However, it’s the best purchase I’ve made in 2010.  Here’s why it made sense to me: 

• I won’t have to buy granola bars for the rest of my life (or thereabouts).
• The price was very minimal, which makes this minimalist very happy .
• Since there’s no chance of running out, I’m less likely to sneak in an overpriced Starbucks coffee cake (which would then force me to order a caramel macchiato, also overpriced).

I’ve come to realize that some seemingly anti-minimalist stuff is, actually, supportive of a minimalist lifestyle.  Here are some other things I do that aren’t minimalist, by definition:

1. I own two pens, instead of one.  Whenever I have only one pen in my apartment, it disappears or stops working. 
2. I stock up on Brita water filters when they’re on sale.  I go through these quickly, having an extra is vital since I use filtered water for my coffee.
3. I have a junk drawer.  Technically, it’s a junk basket, but same concept.  Here I throw receipts, appointment cards, mail, and various weird things I’ve stuffed into my pockets.  The true minimalist would sort through these immediately, and never have anything in their pockets to begin with, but I like having a place to stash things that don’t require immediate attention.  I can dump everything into one designated spot, then quickly run out the door to live my life.
4. I have mementos.  My mementos, though, are always made to be useful.  Theatre tickets (what a great night!) become a bookmark.  A wine cork (unforgettable bottle – the company even more unforgettable) is glued to a magnet and holds my grocery list on the fridge.  Everytime I open my book, I smile.  When I add “coffee” to my grocery list, I smile again. 

These things may be unnecessary, but they make my life easier and more enjoyable.  How do you break the Minimalist Code of Conduct?

(Thank you, A.W., for sharing your Costco membership!)

As a radical minimalist, I’m pretty extreme when moving.  I simply shove everything into the trunk of my car, roll the windows down, blare music as my tires squeal out of the parking lot, and drive to my new destination.  Anything that doesn’t fit into my trunk is donated, burned, or given to someone else.  I consider this normal – what can I say?  I’m a nut - but I recognize this doesn’t work for everyone.

I love moving!  The fresh start, new neighbors (though I’ve learned –  the hard way - NOT to date them), clean carpet, placing my 76 items into just the right spots.  It’s like that feeling you get upon entering your hotel room while on vacation.  Everything is sparkly clean and, sure, there’s probably 100+ things wrong (cockroaches, leaky plumbing, rancid cooking smells), but you’re blissfully unaware.

In two months, I’m moving into a new apartment.  Despite my minimalist lifestyle, I’ve managed to acquire more than what will fit into my trunk.  I thought I’d share my most recent experience of minimizing before a move.

1.  Art Work - I still have two pieces that I haven’t sold.  Since they’re big, they won’t fit into my car, nor do I want to drag them down the 3 flights of stairs….then drag them up another 3 flights of stairs.  I put them on craigslist this morning and I’ve decided to live art-free for the rest of my life.  I like naked walls.

2.  Books – I always have books around, mostly from the library.  It’s inevitable, though, that a small pile of purchased books grow unnoticed.  Books are heavy to move, so they’re outta here.  I always donate my books to the library, this way I can still get my greedy hands on them…but they’re on a shelf that I don’t have to dust.

3.  Kitchen Appliances – I could never part with my coffee maker, it gives meaning to my life.  And if I didn’t drink coffee in the morning, I could possibly lose all of my friends.  Sans caffeine, I’m only “Sunny” after 10 am .  However, I’ve recently gotten rid of my toaster, cookie sheets, extra spoons, and everything else that I haven’t used in the past 6 months.  My entire kitchen now fits into one banker box.

4.  Household Products - I’m trying to stretch everything out so that I don’t have to move laundry detergent, soap, Swiffers, garbage bags, bleach, etc. 

5.  Downsizing Random Objects - Thanks to The Container Store (ah, heaven, though potentially dangerous) I’ve found a mini ironing board.  I’ve decided to replace my conventional ironing board with a mini version, which saves space in my trunk, and will also save space on a daily basis.  As for my vacuum cleaner, its seen better days and I’ll downsize to a hand-held version.  I also found a travel bamboo utensil set (complete with chopsticks) from REI that could replace my silverware, but I’m trying not to go quite as overboard these days.  But think of the simplicity of having only one small sleeve of silverware!

Note:  I sold both pieces of art tonight, I’m feeling so light I may float away.  I’m now down to 74 Things.

I’ve made a lot of bad decisions in my life.  I’m reminded of boyfriends #1-8, drag racing my dad’s car, drinking too much tequila at a biker bar, and pouring laundry detergent across the sheriff’s lawn…while his sprinkler was on.  These days I’m pretty boring, thank God.

I’m reminded, too, of the times I said “yes” when I should have said “no”.  I’m reminded of the chances I didn’t take, but wanted to, and still wonder how they would’ve turned out.  My only regrets – the chances, the relationships, the dare-deviling – are those things I’ve done while going against the itch in the pit of my stomach.  The itch that either says, (1) “Run away fast, Sunny!”, or (2) “Do it!”.

My head isn’t the greatest decision-maker, but my gut always knows what’s right.  My gut doesn’t weigh the pros and cons, isn’t practical, doesn’t care about money, and never leaves me alone.  My head knows the rules and the shoulds.  My gut, though, knows me.

Now, I’ve used the gut-test to justify many things.  The overpriced zebra-print ballet flats purchased in 2003?  Had to buy them, they’re so me and it just felt right.   The Harley dude I dated in my mid-twenties?  It just felt right!  Really, though, I was fooling myself.  I knew it, too, I just shoved the gut-wrenching warnings far away.

I proudly displayed my zebra ballet flats, but my step wasn’t as light as it should have been.  My gut weighted my feet.  I rode on the back of that Harley, clutching the mischievous man tearing it down A1A, but the wind whipping my hair didn’t excite me as it should have.  My gut dampened the excitement.

The first time I decided to listen to my gut was in November of 2007.  Against all that was practical, I sold my possessions and moved to Denver.  My gut told me to do it.  I was miserable, living a life by everyone else’s standards, and finally contemplated my dream of living near the mountains.

“What if I moved to Colorado?” I asked myself, during one of my 2-hour commutes to work.  Something deep within – beginning with a tingling in my toes, a blossoming in my stomach, and a quickness of my breath – answered my question. 

“Do it, Sunny,” it whispered.  As I sold each belonging one-by-one, mapped my route, quit my job, my gut no longer whispered.  “Do it NOW, Sunny!” 

I followed its screaming.  I had nothing to lose, but wound up gaining more than expected.  I didn’t gain instant happiness.  I’ve hit some curve balls outta the park, and I’ve had some smack me in the nose.  Here in Colorado, I’ve laughed and cried.  I’ve struggled and rejoiced.  I’ve made good decisions and what-the-hell-was-I-thinking decisions.  But my gut brought me to the Rocky Mountains, a home where life isn’t perfect, but it’s fantastic.  And it’s making sense.

It makes sense because, yes, I’m meant to be against the Rockies.  But it’s making sense, too, because I’ve learned how to make the right decisions (not that I always do, I don’t want to be too boring ).  My gut gave me a great gift – Colorado – and I now consult Mr. Gut daily.

When I’m edging toward something – a friendship, a big purchase, another shot of tequila – and I feel the pit of my stomach drop, I know it’s time lace up my sneakers and run away.  When I’m gravitating toward something – an opportunity, a new apartment, another glass of wine – and I feel the butterflies dance in my tummy, I know it’s time to sink back and enjoy. 

Trust yourself.  Move closer to the whispers coming from deep inside, urging you toward your dreams.  See if your insides start screaming as you get closer to them.  You might be seen as unconventional, impractical, or crazy.  You might think you’re crazy, yourself.  Give your gut a chance, anyway, and see where it leads you.   

Let’s unlace our sneakers (or slip off the zebra ballet flats) and sink into what’s right.

I adore Leo Babauta’s site – mnmlist.  When the page loads, I’m brought to an instant feeling of minimalism-y happiness.  He wrote the best 3 paragraphs describing minimalism recently and I wanted to share it -

mnmlist : less

Stop buying unnecessary things.
Toss half your stuff, learn contentedness.
Reduce half again.

List 4 essential things in your life,
stop doing non-essential things.
Do these essentials first each day, clear distractions
focus on each moment.

Let go of attachment to doing, having more.
Fall in love with less.

Ah, yes, I’m already in love.

During high school, I was a sensational liar.  I could fast-talk my way into trouble, fast-talk my way out of detention, sign my dad’s signature with ease, get into a bar with the right ‘tude (and push-up bra), and fake a multitude of illnesses to get out of gym class.  As I got older, though, lying became trickier. 

Because when we’re adults, it’s not technically lying anymore.  It’s truth avoidance.  Many of us get really comfortable with it, too.  We assure everyone that we’re okay, when we’re craving help.  We bottle up loneliness, fear, and pain.  We don’t admit when we’re confused.  We never start a sentence with “I need…” or ”I want…”.  We say “yes” when we want to say “no” and vice versa.  We do ridiculous things to “fit in”.  We pursue lives that we’re supposed to live, according to The Book of Cultural Pressures.

When I was very small – complete with pigtails – I had no trouble being honest.  I’m not sure how my mom withstood my boldly honest chatter (that was also endless).  Here are some of the lines I can remember from about the age of 5:

• “Why’s it so wrong to pick my boogers?  If I don’t get them out, I’ll suffocate and die!”
• “I need a hug, and I need it now!”
• “But I don’t want cauliflower.  I want macaroni and cheese.  If I eat cauliflower I’ll die.”
• “You’re not listening to me.  You gotta listen, Mom, this is sooo important!”
• “Did you know there’s 242 days until my birthday?  Whatcha getting me?  Is it sparkly?”
• “Mom, if you don’t buy me these roller skates, I’ll be so sad that I’ll die!”

Obviously, I was rather melodramatic.  But I knew what I wanted and what I needed.  I wanted to pick my nose, get hugged, eat macaroni and cheese, be listened to, be recognized, all done while pursuing my love of roller skating.  Is that really too much to ask?

Then I became an adult.  I choked down cauliflower.  I threw out my roller skates.  I stopped picking my nose (thank goodness!).  I stopped getting excited about my birthday.  Instead of pursuing the things that I needed for happiness and strength, I followed the crowd.  I stopped being honest.  

My dishonest life was a miserable life.  Bottom line:  A cauliflower life ain’t for me.  

I decided that lying, or hiding behind a false pretense, wasn’t worth the complications.  I wanted to go back to that open child I once was (minus the melodrama).  So, I developed a rule for myself.  Whenever I’m asked a question, I answer with the absolute, hold-back-nothing truth.  Except at work, because every rule needs an exception . 

Equally important, I ask myself a lot of questions, and I answer myself honestly.

Living honestly doesn’t mean your life will suddenly turn into a Disney movie.  Things will still fall apart.  People will still disappoint you.  You’ll still disappoint yourself.  Speaking the truth – to yourself and everyone else – may cost you relationships, destroy your illusions, and/or make you frustrated. 

Honesty isn’t easy, but it’s worthwhile.  A day will arrive when you’ll wake up, stretch your arms above your head, rub the sleep from your eyes…and realize that everything just…fits.  When you follow the truth, you’ll have meaningful relationships, work that makes you happy, and simple pleasures that make your life custom-made and absolutely fantastic.  Life won’t always roll down Easy Street, but it’ll make sense. 

So, if you need help, ask for it.  Say only what you mean.  Do what you must, not what’s expected.  Go back to that time when you were young and completely unafraid of speaking your mind.

And eat lots of macaroni and cheese .