2 reasons why I’m a minimalist, and the benefits of minimalism

Personally, there’s two main reasons why I’m a minimalist.

Before we go any further, let’s talk about you. If you’re not sure how you got to be where you are in your life, think back to a few years ago.

Got that picture in your mind?

Now, ask yourself: What situations did I go through? What decisions did I make that led me to where I am now? This is important, because, in a way, we’re the accumulation of our choices. And often our choices are a reaction to our circumstances.

If you’re like most people, you tend to make decision based on a negative push or a positive pull. You can determine each of these forces by the type of response they get.

Do you want to get out of your current job? If so, why?

Your answers might include these statements.

“I’m not paid what I’m worth.” (negative push)
“There’s no room for advancement in my position.” (negative push)
“There’s an opening at a similar firm that pays a lot more.” (positive pull)
“There’s another job that has better advancement.” (positive pull)

An example of a negative push would be a person leaving a job due to mean coworkers and indifferent management. An example of a positive pull would be a person moving to a new place because of a higher paying job with great benefits.

A number of pushes and pulls have led me, and continue to lead me to become minimalist, but two incidents seemed to kick start this journey for me.

Here are two reasons why I’m a minimalist.

1. Years ago, I moved to New York, with a group of friends, to a run down, scary-looking building, with the address of 53 Hope Street, in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

This was in the mid-nineties, before Willamsburg was hip. This was when Williamsburg looked like an abandoned war zone, littered with run down buildings and dilapidated warehouses. You didn’t see the so-called hipsters roaming the ‘burg at this time.

It was the early 90′s and our group included two musicians, myself (an aspiring writer and drummer), along with a girl who was a friend of the two musicians.

I was blessed to get a job cooking at Ellen’s Stardust Diner on 53rd and Broadway, in Manhattan. I worked grill, cooking hamburgers that were named after famous actors, including the Ed Norton, and others, at this busy restaurant populated by rushed Manhattanites, and employed with the usual suspects of waiters-trying-to-be-actors, who I would overhear excitedly talking to each other, after putting in their orders, in conversations like this:

waiter #1: “Did you hear? He just got an under five on ‘Days of Our Lives’.”
waiter #2: “Really? Good for him. Tell him to call me.”

The waiters were expected to sing to the customers depending on what they ordered. I guess the songs had something to do with movies, since the entire restaurant had a movie theme.

One night, riding my bicycle over the Brooklyn bridge, I reached the top of the bridge, and was slammed up against one side by a big black guy. I looked up to see a knife in one hand and a brick in the other.

“Gimme your bike.” He grunted.

I gave him my bike. It was a $350 Nishiki mountain bike, aluminum frame, that I had recently spent $80 on having the forks replaced.

He got on the bike and pedaled off toward Brooklyn, then turned to pedal toward me. “Whatchya got in your backpack?” His question was more of a demand.

At this point, I turned toward a group of people walking from Manhattan, up the bridge toward me. I began yelling for help, and the thief turned, pedaling slowly toward Brooklyn, until he disappeared into the blackness of the night.

The group approached me, I explained what happened, then walked with them to Brooklyn. When I got home, I was still shaken, but I was angry, too. The roommates asked me where the bike was. When I told them what happened, one of them said: “Lets go look for it.”

“I have knives,” I offered. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the industrial strength kitchen knives that I used for work. They were wrapped in plastic against cardboard.

We piled into a beat up 4-door and cruised the streets of Brooklyn, like lost pirates on a mission without a map. We didn’t find the bike, or the thief. But, I’m glad we went, anyway.

That was the most money I had ever spent on a bike, and having-it-stolen became a building block that led me to believe that owning nice things put me in the position of being a target. From then on, my bikes have been thrift store purchases.

Another incident that led me to becoming minimalist was less dramatic, but still had impact, nonetheless. It happened years later in Florida.

2. I used to work at a moving company in West Palm Beach, Florida. We specialized in moving antiques, but sometimes had furniture pickups. One afternoon we were called to move out the possessions of a man who had recently passed away.

We got there to find furniture–lots of it–and piles of clothes. It turns out the kids didn’t want any of it, or had already gone through it. There was a lot of stuff left. I kept the clothes that I could use, then I found an old notebook.

I flipped through it, discovering it was a journal from 1943, about a young man’s experience as a seaman on a Navy ship during World War 2. It was written in cursive, using pencil, and it was fascinating, detailing his travels to England, meeting two girls, along with his friend, and his disappointment at the friendship not becoming something more.

Eventually, his kids were contacted about the journal but they didn’t want it.

The entire experience, seeing all the accumulations of someone that has passed away, plus the fact that his kids turned down the offer to keep his journal, bothered me.

This guy wasn’t a hoarder by any means, nor would I call him materialistic judging from what he owned, but in the bigger picture, I just realized how much is spent on buying things that serve little purpose, and how many hours of a life is traded to work at a job in order to get the money to buy such things.

Those two incidents, getting bike jacked in New York City, and having to remove an entire person’s belongings, following their death, steered me in the direction of becoming minimalist.

Having less has enabled me to have less to worry about, and helped me to achieve freedom in my life.

What about you? Do you want more freedom in your life?

Owning less things will give you more freedom.

Time freedom, since you’re not obligated to work at useless jobs in order to purchase useless things. Use this additional time freedom to hone your God given skills, in order to help others and to make money doing what you like doing.

Mental freedom, since you’re not worried about losing or protecting your things. You’ll find yourself with more creativity, as your brain will fill the space that was once occupied by worrying about your stuff.

Freedom to pursue opportunities, including traveling or moving on a whim, due to the fact that you don’t own much, and don’t have to schedule moving your stuff. When you own less, you just go.

There’s plenty of freedoms that come with owning less.

In fact, you might not be able to see the opportunities in front of you until you get rid of the clutter that’s blocking your view.

Eliminate. Take a deep breath. Then, move in the direction of your dreams.

Own less. Live more. Achieve freedom.