Simplicity by Sunny

I’d had enough.

My life was filled with misery.  On my 26th birthday, after I had myself a cathartic cry, I realized that there wasn’t any aspect of my life that I’d chosen for myself.  I’d allowed everyone else’s agenda to dictate the direction of my life.

I’d moved to Florida because my parents had nagged me.  I’d chosen men to date who weren’t right for me, but were convenient.  I’d spent money I couldn’t afford, but was compelled to keep up with my peers.  I worked in real estate because I’d fallen into it. 

I tried to figure out what I did want.  What choices did I want to make?  For days I floated around in my mind, trying to find the answers.  I found an answer in the most unexpected place.  It was a memory.  It was of me, still in grade school, redesigning envelopes for scrap paper, while reading about the wildflowers of Colorado.

“Sunny,” my mom told me, running a hand over my pile of scraps.  ”You’re going to wind up with the other Crunchies in Boulder.”

I remembered how she laughed when she said that.  I’d always mooned over pictures of the Rocky Mountains, wondering what they looked like in Real Life.  It was true, too, that I was Crunchy.  I wore Birkenstocks.  I recycled before it was popular.  For this, any many other reasons, I was…strange .  

During one of my one-hour commutes in Florida, I asked myself, “Colorado?”

My gut answered with surprising speed.  ”Yes.” 

“Colorado,” I said again, but it was no longer a question.

My gut answered, much louder.  “YES!”

My first decision, then, was to run to the Rockies.  As quickly as possible, before I lost my nerve.  To do so, I had to fit everything I owned into the back of my car.  This meant that the bubble bath, throw pillows, red patent stilettos, and silk dresses (that I mentioned in Phase I) had to go.

Goodwill was very happy.

Thankfully, I’d been renting a furnished house, so getting rid of furniture wasn’t an issue.  I still had many household goods that were given away - bed linens, pillows, clothes, and shoes.  Getting rid of everything, except that which fit into my small hatchback, was pretty thrilling. 

Here were the contents of my car on moving day:

• 9″ TV
• Stereo
• Clothes
• Shoes (no stilettos)
• Laptop
• Digital camera (bought specifically for my cross-country road trip)
• Quilt
• Jewelry box (and, of course, jewelry)
• Scrap book
• Box of photographs
• Folder of important documents
• Box of miscellaneous “stuff”

I quit both of my jobs, hugged my parents (they thought I was crazy), and headed to Denver.  With excitement, I drove like a demon the entire 2,000+ miles. 

I’m not writing this post to describe my dream of living in Colorado – or the intense happiness that I first experienced when seeing the mountains for the first time.  Allow me to say, though, that arriving here was the most amazing experience I’ve ever had.  There isn’t enough emphasis – in any book or article that I’ve ever read – describing the importance of living in a place you absolutely love.  A place you FIT.  Not like a glove, but like your very own skin.

Quickly after my arrival, I chose my first apartment.  It was evident that my trunk’s contents weren’t going to cut it for day-to-day living.  So, I purchased the following items:

• Sofa
• End table
• Chair
• Mattress
• Bed linens
• Bathroom towels
• Shower curtain
• Ironing board
• Iron
• 2 bowls & 2 plates
• 2 wine glasses (I have my priorities, after all.)
• 2 water glasses
• Set of silverware
• Kitchen towels
• Garbage bin
• Can opener
• Coffee maker
• Lots of Lean Cuisines
• Several bottles of wine (again, priorities!)
• Basic set of cleaning supplies
• Winter clothing (necessary after living in Florida)

Then, it was time to hunt for a job.  I found one working only 4 days a week (10 hour days, but worth it).  For the first time, I could breathe deeply.  I had time and energy.  I then went overboard, compensating for those lonely and unhappy years in Florida, by joining way too many clubs and making too many friends (yes, there is such a thing!).  I was VERY busy.  Without meaning to, I’d exhausted myself, this time with “fun” things.

But the smaller size of my material life was great.  I didn’t have to maintain a houseful of things.  Cleaning was a breeze.  Messiness still existed, of course, because I was constantly on the move, but I worried less about my stuff.  Instead of following the next purchase to lift my spirits, I was being lifted by the experiences of a beautiful life.  A life that was new and still being molded.  A life I’d consciously chosen.

After six months, my apartment’s location became a headache.  I’d chosen the wrong neighborhood.  It was noisy, full of riff-raff, and I wasn’t comfortable there.  (Oh, and I sorta dated my neighbor… big mistake.)  I decided to move.   

“Wow,” I said, taking in my new apartment.  “This is sooo fabulous!”

I still live in this apartment – and still love it.  There’s a fireplace, built-in bookcases, and it’s exceptionally quiet.  When I first moved in, I decided my fabulous apartment needed more than my mattress-on-the-floor lifestyle.  Filling it up just seemed like the ”right” thing to do.  After all, there were built-in bookcases!  These had to be filled with books.  Therefore I added the following furnishings:

• Dining table & chairs
• Silverware tray
• More kitchen towels
• Kitchen rug
• Full set of dishes
• Place mats
• Cloth napkins & napkin holders
• Toaster
• Fruit basket
• Centerpiece for dining room table
• Muffin tin
• Frying pan
• Cooking pot
• Other miscellaneous cooking utensils
• Wine rack
• More bottles of wine (who can fault me, hm?)
• Candles
• Coffee table (given to me by friends)
• Floor lamps for living room and bedroom
• Throw pillows
• Hammer, nails, and screwdriver
• Art work for every room
• Extra batteries
• Toothbrush holder
• More bathroom towels
• A year’s worth of toilet paper
• Bathroom rug
• Bathroom garbage bin
• Bed frame
• Another chair
• Plants (and pretty pots to plant them in)
• Books
• Photo frames
• Storage containers for my socks
• Storage containers for my papers & documents
• Decorative box for my electronic gizmos
• A year’s worth of cleaning supplies
• Vacuum cleaner

*Poof!*  My life was properly furnished.  Then, as is fit for a person like me who goes overboard, I decided I needed even more.  Each month, I added to my collection of things.  Here’s what the “more” looked like:

• SmartPhone
• A new collection of handbags
• Shoes (not stilettos, but hiking boots, snow boots, sneakers, and more sneakers)
• Hiking gear (I found myself living within 5 miles of REI, you’d be tempted, too!)
• More clothing
• Accessories (scarves, socks)
• Fancy lunch box
• Ziploc containers galore (in various shapes and sizes)
• Printer for my laptop
• A collection of notebooks and pens
• Post-Its (in various shapes and sizes)
• Note cards and envelopes
• Books

There were hefty expenses, too, as I found myself living in paradise.  Gas money for trolling through the state, museum tickets, theater tickets, expensive dinners with my Dining in Denver group, Rocky Mountain National Park admission fees, nights spent bar hopping throughout the trendy LoDo neighborhood, parking tickets (oops, you mean this isn’t a parking spot?), and the ever-expensive adventures in dating.  I was a living version of Speedy Gonzales.

“Why am I so exhausted?” I wondered, crashing after a particularly wild weekend.  If I were a smarter girl, I would’ve put everything together a LOT faster. 

Then two things happened: (1) my bed frame broke, (2) I had a root canal.

As I mentioned in Phase I, my Type-A personality required the constant rearranging of my furniture.  After a particularly stressful day at work, I felt compelled to move things around.  (Controlling my physical environment allowed me a sense of control in every other area of my life.)  Unfortunately, my bed frame didn’t approve of my decision to move it from one wall to another.  Without warning, it snapped.

“You’ve got to be kidding?” I exclaimed, aghast at my newly lopsided bed.  “No wonder you were on clearance!”

I couldn’t very well allow a broken bed frame to take residence in my home.  It made sense, then, to haul the entire thing out to the dumpster…at 1 AM.  Hey, when I’m motivated, nothing stops me . 

My apartment was, suddenly, imperfect.  This imperfection really bothered me, but I didn’t have the cash to replace the frame, so I kept my mattress on the floor. 

Soon after this, I experienced a turn of misfortune.  I wound up needing a root canal and a crown.  The price of such a dental procedure is shocking – in the neighborhood of $3,000.  My dentist may have been a handsome man in his mid-thirties, but to me, after telling me the price of my visit, he looked exactly like the devil.

“You want how much?” I asked, craving a shot of tequila to settle my nerves.

Although I’d just gotten rid of my debt, I didn’t have any money saved.  I made a deal with the dentist’s office to make payments on my balance, but I was devastated at this setback.  Once home, in pain and discouraged, I looked around the apartment I’d taken such care to decorate.

“Hm, it’s already imperfect,” I reasoned, sneaking a glance at my mattress on the floor.  “Might as well be really imperfect and get something out of it.”

I refused to go back into debt because of my dentist.  I refused to let pride get in the way of doing what I needed to do.  So, I greeted the popular garage-sale website.  “Hello, craigslist, you’re going to be my new best friend.”

To help with my dental bill, these are the items I sold:

• Mattress (I already slept on the sofa 90% of the time)
• Dining table and chairs
• 2 living room chairs
• Stereo
• Art work
• Wine rack
• Photo frames
• Dining room centerpiece

It didn’t result in a lot of money, but it helped.  The empty space, though, was a delightful surprise.  It reminded me of the simplicity of my first Coloradoan apartment.  I had little to dust.  I wasn’t able to rearrange furniture to offset bad days, and while this resulted in more stress-induced Ben & Jerry dates, I was happier. 

“Am I crazier than I ever realized?” I asked myself.  Normal people, after all, don’t get excited tinglies as they unload their stuff on craigslist.

To answer my own question, I did what any reasonable person does in this technological age…I googled it .  On the Internet, I found out about this thing called “minimalism”.  I read about people shunning consumerism, living frugally, embracing simplicity in all its forms.  I learned from Leo over at Zen Habits, discovered miss minimalist, found people who’d sold their entire lives to become digital nomads, read about people living with only 100 Things, and drooled over minimalist architectural design.

“Hot digity dang,” I said.  “I’ve got a lotta work to do!”   Because I, too, wanted to be a minimalist.

…. to be continued.