Simple living aesthetics
This morning my partner and I went to a café nearby to get lunch. This is where I took the picture above. We were working on our books from home since early morning, and didn't have much time together today due to his childcare responsibilities he shares with his ex partner. So we decided to go to a café together. We were talking about aesthetics of simple living. This is something I think about very often. To me, simple life manifested in, e.g., little consumption, living with very few items, using natural materials and neutral colours seems very beautiful. Because I stepped on this path of living simply many years ago due to my ecological concerns, I often felt like it's almost shallow to talk about aesthetics of simple living and how calming and cosy it can be. It is only more recently that I decided to talk about it more openly and even highlight it as an aspect of this lifestyle.
My partner was saying that to him the pictures in this autoethnography, which he was reading until I asked him not to (to help me continue writing authentically), are beautiful. I understand that they will not be beautiful to everyone, but when I look at them, they oftentimes make me feel happy. It is in contrast with many of the things I write about. I often mention challenges and mental health issues.
It is difficult to capture in pictures what I go through as a human being and as a practitioner of a lifestyle that constellates various elements of zero waste, deep ecology, voluntary simplicity, and extreme minimalism. I enjoy the space my partner and I share. I find the objects we live with beautiful. But there is so much more that pictures will not tell. In this entry I want to capture some of these things.
I've had no place I would call my "home" for more than two years. I left my family home completely when I was around 20 and only visited my family once since then. England became my home and I lived there for over 10 years. Then I moved to northern Sweden. When I moved to northern Sweden, I had a feeling I would leave at some point, though I love that country. Then I moved to Finland. None of those apartments where I lived were a long-term home. Then I relocated to Denmark, and the place where I live with my partner feels like home, but I don't even have a residence permit for this country yet.
When I moved to Finland, something felt wrong. I like Finland a lot, and felt welcome in that beautiful country. But being outside a Germanic language speaking environment (though Swedish is an official language in Finland, my feeling was that it's not widely used) made me feel like I was an outsider. I knew I would not stay in Finland. Moreover, I began to struggle with my health in Finland a lot. I have never taken as much medicine in my whole life as I did during my 8 or so months in Finland.
A large contributor to me wanting to leave Finland was the working environment. I wrote an entry (number 166) about it. I was diagnosed with severe anxiety and depression due to the manager's behaviour. The university I am affiliated with feels very hierarchical to me, and the issue is still unresolved. Those severe struggles with my mental health is not something one can see in my pictures that accompany my autoethnography. I felt mentally and physically better again only when I relocated to Denmark for my research visit. But I still haven't decided how I will navigate my life from now on.
Though I felt better when I relocated to Denmark, moving in together with my partner didn't feel good in the first few days. There are still struggles. I haven't met his family and his child.
A possibility that I might not have a job soon makes me feel uncomfortable. Thanks to extreme minimalism, I could save some money to sustain myself for some months. But relocating to Denmark was very expensive. The residence permit itself was around 630 euros. My partner and I had to buy some items to establish our household. We wanted to buy items that we would keep for the rest of our lives, and buy only from the kind of businesses I research (small, local, sustainable). When I came to Denmark, I changed my address in Finland. To withdraw from the rental agreement with the housing company in whose apartment I used to live was around 900 euros. Now I have a different address in Finland.
Having an address in Finland still makes me attached to that country. Finland is where I still work, pay taxes, and where I can get healthcare. It would have felt better to live, work and use services in the same country, which for me is Denmark.
I've found it incredibly challenging to keep in touch with people when I move. I've met wonderful people in all the countries I've lived in. But technology cannot replace quality time spent together.
I worry about not doing enough as an academic. The manager at work seems vengeful because I reported her for unfair treatment and harassment. I want to teach more, but she gave me many tasks that are degrading instead. I miss interacting with students.
At times I worry about the book I'm writing. The process feels liberating and even somehow necessary (to constellate all my thoughts and reflections on the topic I've been working with since 2016 in one place). But it also felt natural and right to step away from more conventional thinking and approaches. I don't know what my fellow scholars will think about it.
There are so many smaller issues too.