376

 One 

At times, having only one of something feels liberating. Below are the categories of objects I live with where I feel that one is lagom for me. I will mention only the ones that are perhaps unusual in our materially wealthy society (I live in Denmark), i.e., it's not unusual to have one fridge or one dining table, so I won't mention those:

Jewellery. I never liked jewellery. I live with high sensory processing sensitivity, and I could always feel jewellery on my skin. I tried wearing it when I got various pieces as gifts from my family, but could not do it. Then I realised that I didn't have to wear jewellery, and it was even better for Nature and as an act aimed at changing culture. So this category of products is one I excluded from my consumption for many years. Recently my partner gave me the ring in the picture above. It's made from recycled gold here in the Nordics. It's very thin and I can barely feel it. 

Water bottle. I notice a trend that worries me: fellow humans produce and use items that were originally meant to be long-lasting and replace single use items as fashion items. Some fellow humans have large collections of water bottles and reusable coffee cups in different colours and designs. There are even limited editions (why? It only encourages consumption). Such items have also become status items with more and less popular brands. I have only one reusable water bottle and one insulated bottle for hot drinks. 

Jacket. Since 2021, I have lived with the same jacket. Before that, I lived with one coat for many years. I bought a jacket when I moved to northern Sweden where the thin woollen coat I lived with in England was not sufficient. 

Woollen scarf. I live with only one large woollen scarf. Because the jacket I've just mentioned is not very warm, I wear the scarf on my shoulders when it's very cold. 

Cotton scarf. I live with one cotton scarf. I invited a cotton scarf into my life to wear in summer. I wear it around my shoulders and on my head when the sun is intense. I used to have a linen scarf that was made in Finland but I left it in Finland at a friend's home when I moved to Denmark. It was difficult to find a GOTS (Global Organic Textile Standard) certified scarf made from jersey that would also be a neutral colour. As I was looking for a suitable scarf, I noticed that scarves are treated as fashion and status items rather than something functional and something a human being would want to keep forever. 

Phone and laptop. In academia, oftentimes we are offered a laptop and a phone. While a laptop is a good idea to keep data safe and easily access all the necessary IT-systems, a phone is often a luxury item. I have only one phone and one laptop that I use for both work and other activities.

Shoes. I have one pair of winter shoes (my running shoes) and one pair of sandals. 

Bedding. We live with only one set of bed sheets. When we wash our bedding, we dry it immediately. 

Backpack. I don't have different backpacks for work, travelling, grocery shopping, etc. In my daily life, I don't even use this backpack. Instead, I use my cotton tote bag. I don't need a large backpack for travelling because I live with very few items. Everything I own fits in the backpack and a tote bag. These days, I travel rarely. 

Personal care. At times, when I visit my fellow humans' homes, I notice that they have many creams, body and face washes, shampoos, and other personal care items. I have one shampoo that I share with my partner, one soap that we share. In fact, my toothbrush is the only personal care item that is mine. Recently, I finished my multi-purpose balm (that we shared) and I didn't repurchase it. I also stopped using soap for my body and face. My personal care is the most minimalist it's ever been. I will write about it when I learn more about my own practice.

I also have one style. I don't own any occasion clothing and wear the same outfit every day: sweatpants (or shorts when it's warm), a basic top and a loose linen shirt. It's so interesting that something that can be perceived as constraining is actually so liberating. Wearing the same outfit every day means that I wear my favourite clothes in my favourite colours and fabrics every time. I don't spend time on deciding what to wear, what colours suit me, thinking about what is fashionable and what someone else will appreciate. This is not to save time to do more productive activities. I feel that it's not a good use of my time. I would rather just sit and contemplate. There is one me and I only one outfit that communicates my values. Some of the values I want to communicate via my choice of outfit are simplicity, sufficiency, love (towards the self, human and non-human others and nature), imperfection, gentleness, care, comfort, non-hierarchy, respect towards others (as someone living with high sensory processing sensitivity, I don't want to overstimulate others' senses with my outfit choices). When my stepchild is around, I don't want to worry about her ruining my clothes. At times, I observe fellow humans being worried about their clothes around children and pets. I don't want to experience worry and anxiety. When my stepchild is around, she at times wears my clothes (she is 4), and I feel good about it. If a dog jumps on me in a park, it's ok. 

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about degrowth aesthetics. In my view, wearing more comfortable, simple, casual clothing with imperfections, made from natural materials is part of degrowth aesthetics. It's a very concrete way how fellow humans can start bringing about a more sustainable and beautiful world right now. By beautiful I don't mean a very particular style and colours. Rather, I mean values and what we manifest in the world. For example, hierarchy is not beautiful, neither are microplastics released into nature from synthetic clothing. 

375

 Back to basics

My grandmother practised zero-waste living in so many ways. She never called it zero-waste, but she used cotton tote bags, baking soda and vinegar to clean everything. She used soap bars, bought unpackaged food, avoided food waste. She repaired her clothes and took care of it. And so on. There are so many things I learned from her rather than from the zero-waste movement. Recently, my partner and I bought a large paper bag of baking soda. I use it to clean my home and wash the dishes. Because the bag was so large, I used one of the jars that was home to pasta sauce to transfer some of the baking soda there so I can use it comfortably every day. While I was doing it, I was thinking about zero-waste practices. I implement many of them, but my overall zero-waste practice is not perfect. In the beginning of my zero-waste journey, sometime in 2011, I felt sorrow about available options. I lived in England, and in the city where I lived there was only one shop where one could buy all kinds of zero-waste items. Those options were very basic, such as unpackaged soap bars, household cleaning items, and unpackaged food. As more and more fellow humans began experimenting with various ecologically minded lifestyles (zero-waste, voluntary simplicity, simple living, slow living, minimalism and so on), more and more options appeared. These days one can find almost anything zero-waste. In some ways, it feels like such a positive unfolding. Many of those products (e.g., solid shampoos and conditioner bars) perform better than the ones that were available many years ago. But I'm certainly in two minds about this growth in options. I wonder if it encourages fellow humans to buy more than they really need. Some zero-waste options such as cotton bags and reusable water bottles and coffee cups have become fashion items. As I observe my own practice, I realise that it is the basics that I use every day. Every day, I use cotton tote and net bags, reusable water bottle, upcycled glasses, baking soda. I don't use individual produce bags, stainless steel straws, reusable coffee cups, and many other items associated with the zero-waste movement. I don't even use a bar of soap to wash my body and face anymore. I use it for my hands only. 

374

 Walking

Recently, I've been working on my first editorial for Environmental Values. I'm associate editor in that journal. It felt somewhat vulnerable to send the editorial to our editor-in-chief. He is a kind and empathetic human being, but I was not sure if my editorial was at all what he expected. I didn't write about the contents of the articles (though I hinted at them), but rather about my experiences of being with those articles, what I felt. I wrote about emotions. Hope, anxiety, sorrow. I wrote about the state of academia as I (and many fellow humans) experience it. I wrote about being inspired by non-academic spaces such as children's artworks, the place where I am. Finally sending the editorial to the editor-in-chief felt good, so I decided to give a gift to myself. 

The gift was a very long walk around Copenhagen. While I advocate free public transportation in my work, I personally avoid it as much as possible. I prefer walking. It allows me to engage more deeply with the place, see more, feel more, and appreciate distances. For example, when I walk to Amager to be with the sea, this is the only thing I can do in one day as it's so far away (I live in Frederiksberg). I could use the metro, but I don't. It's ok to do only one thing.

I tried to avoid as much as possible various landmarks, shops, and busy streets. I never thought that cities are places for spiritual experiences. To me, cities feel busy, overstimulating, dependent on so many other spaces (such as the countryside and far-away countries where production often takes place). Nature is where I seek spiritual, self-transcendent experiences. Some months ago a fellow human challenged this viewpoint. He said that it should not be a binary and a hierarchy (nature=spiritual, good; city=not spiritual, bad). It had me think about fellow humans who experience self-transcendence in cities. I don't, but I feel that I'm becoming more curious about the city (Copenhagen) than alienated. There are many beautiful moments. Here in Copenhagen fellow humans seem to smile a lot. I saw birds picking up discarded tissue to use in their nests. Fellow humans breastfeeding their babies in the streets. Fellow humans enjoying each other's company, holding hands. I picked some spruce tips in the local park and ate them right there. In a garden, I stopped to smell magnolia flowers. They have such a wonderful, floral, creamy and feminine fragrance. Bird cherries are blooming now too. It's intoxicating to walk past them.

373

 Spruce tips

In Copenhagen, I live in a green area. There is a cemetery in front of my block of flats. Søndermarken and Frederiksberg Have are nearby. Those are spaces where nature has been transformed and shaped for human pleasure. Though there are trees, bushes, grass and so on, very few spots in those spaces feel like nature. Recently I went to another area near Copenhagen. There is a forest. For those fellow humans who have been in an old-growth forest, perhaps it would not feel like a forest at all. It is interesting how our perception of nature and forest changes. I've noticed that some fellow humans call farmed land nature, and large parks and tree plantations forests. 

I was hoping to forage some spruce tips, but they were not ready yet. I picked only a few to make a tiny cup of tea. I use spruce tips to make tea and in salads. It's one of the flavours I remember from my childhood, though back then I would eat it freshly picked from a tree. I forage spruce tips every spring. They have a mild, fresh, and foresty, lemony flavour. 

372

 Facts and aesthetics

Most fellow humans in our society know the facts about ecological degradation. And even if they don't know precise numbers, they understand that ecological degradation is unfolding. In my field, degrowth, we often say that the current system does not work, we explain why, what it results in, and what the future will likely be if we continue on the current path. In my forthcoming book, I was going to discuss all this as well, but then I decided against it. There is so much knowledge about it already, so many articles and books, including my co-authored book. 

My fellow humans continue to ask me why I am practising extreme minimalism and why I make all my autoethnographic data public, especially considering that individual actions are so small and insignificant. Apart from dreaming about a beautiful feature where humans co-exist harmoniously with non-humans and nature, and with each other, it feels so important to learn more about what exists right now that is alternative to destructive modes of relating with the world. It is important to learn how alternatives exist, what it feels like to be on alternative paths, what constrains and empowers them in different places, spaces, systems, and even seasons. 

I am always very curious to read fellow humans' case studies, results from interviews, and ethnographies. When I study businesses, I use case studies too as I don't have a business myself. But when it comes to consuming and being in the world differently, I study my own practices. I've lived differently (furniture-free, with 10 items of clothing, without electric appliances, and so on) for 15 years or so. My practice changed over time (as I became older, moved countries, my income changed, my health changed, as I moved in with my partner, etc.), but the principles remain the same. Studying this mode of being more formally allows me to understand much about the actual unfolding of practices in reality, and emotions and feeling associated with them. One might say that how my practice unfolds is so different to how it unfolds for others, that autoethnographic data is not useful. What I notice is that many fellow practitioners of zero-waste living, minimalism and extreme minimalism, voluntary simplicity and slow living share very similar feelings and emotions (worries, doubts, anxieties) and face very similar empowering and constraining structures. 

Studying my practice also allows me to show exactly what it looks like. I think that aesthetics is such an under-researched area within degrowth. I don't simply mean the beautiful material aspects of life, such as wild flowers and trees in cities, fresh and colourful fruits and vegetables, natural materials, glass jars and cotton bags. I mean the community aspect. Recently I was walking around Copenhagen and it was unusually sunny. So many people with children and dogs were outside talking and enjoying the sun. The pace of life seemed so slow and beautiful. I also mean values and worldviews that are beautiful. Kindness, care, empathy, solidarity and so on are beautiful. I am curious to understand how fellow humans practise these values in academia and in other spaces. How they resist competitiveness and instead embrace teamwork. How they challenge hierarchies. 

In the picture above:

When I was in the beginning of my journey, I paid much attention to my personal sustainability practice. My consumption, my energy use, my use of transportation. Over time, I realised that sustainability practice is collective. Collective not only in the sense of raising awareness, voting, living in eco-communities, but in the sense that it involves many fellow humans. It can be as small as sharing and borrowing. In the picture above, some of the objects belong to my partner. We share a lot, and it allows us to practise minimalism in our very small (40 sq. m.) apartment. 

371

 Liberation

The Sun in the Nordics in spring and summer is intoxicating. After long and cold winter months, being with the Sun is a self-transcendent experience. These days, I can see the Sun from my northern window, something I could not do in winter. The stones are the only decorations we have in our home. They were brought home from Bornholm by my partner. He found them by the sea. There are many stones like this, and one day we will return them to nature, as we have done with all the other stones that we've taken from nature for a while. 

I was looking out of the window thinking yet again about our (human) basic needs. Sunlight, clean and fresh air and water. Safe shelter and energy, food, clothing, medicine, transportation, education. Surely some humans need more than others, but generally our basic needs are the same. And this is where our focus as a society should be. It is unacceptable that some fellow humans don't have a safe shelter or enough food while others overconsume. As an anarchist, I do not believe in governments or groups of experts assigning, e.g., carbon permits to citizen. I think that orientation towards basic needs and sufficiency must come from within and be part of one's life's philosophy. 

Spring and summer feel like such perfect seasons for experiencing liberation. During these seasons, I use much less energy to keep our home warm. I wear less clothing. These days, I'm experimenting with letting go of more things. For example, I am using soap only for my hands. I wash my body and my face with water only, and so far it's working so well. I finally closed my bank account in Finland. It feels freeing. 

370

Experiences of writing autoethnography 

It's been two years since I decided to make all my autoethnographic data public via this space, Being of deep transformations. I made it public in the spring of 2022 when I was living in northern Sweden. My autoethnographic data informed this article. 

I had been sketching autoethnographic notes much longer than this, though. When I was a child, I used to have diaries which I never kept. Interestingly, when I was a child, I used a far broader range of methods and materials. I would write poems, include dry flowers and leaves in my diaries. In my early 20s when I left my family home and moved to another country, I stepped on a path of spiritual growth. I wanted to live in harmony with nature, humans and non-humans, and myself. I wanted to live simply, with much less than what was the norm in a materially wealthy society in England, and focus on what mattered to me the most. I wrote notes about this journey. 

In 2016, I started working on my PhD about degrowth and business. I realised that "degrowth business" was not possible without degrowth-compatible consumption. So I began to informally study my consumption pattern more systematically. I was very much inspired by Clive Spash's works that invited fellow researchers to live their ideology, not only write about it. By ideology Clive Spash means a system of ideas and ideals. Like many fellow humans, I want a genuinely sustainable society. I cannot fly, overconsume, exploit humans and non-humans, treat others in an unkind way if I really want a genuinely sustainable society. It always puzzles me when my fellow humans in academia say that they are interested in sustainability, or they study it, and then fly across the world to attend conferences and treat others in ways that are inhumane or even abusive and violent (thankfully such individuals are rare to come by). 

To understand my own consumption, I tracked it for some time to analyse it. I sketched a sufficiency list and have been living according to it ever since. I analysed my expenditure and whenever possible analysed my energy consumption. Generally, I analyse my consumption according to the four planes of social being. It's a model of social ontology (theory of being) in critical realist philosophy. The planes are: material transactions with nature, social relations, social structures, and inner being. For those fellow humans who want to see how I use them, they can see it in the article I linked above. 

After a while, I decided to study my consumption not just for myself, in parallel to my main research on degrowth and business, but more formally. For transparency, I made my data public. The data I analyse in my autoethnography is the text and photographs in this space. 

Since it's been 2 years, I wanted to capture some learnings and observations. 

My research is generally in the field of post-growth and sustainability transformations. My educational background is in (conventional) business and economics. In my field, autoethnography is still not a commonly used method. Some fellow academics welcome autoethnography, others are sceptical about it. In general, I've received overwhelmingly positive feedback from my fellow humans from different walks of life (including fellow humans outside academia). This space has been viewed more than 15000 times in these 2 years. At times, I think I've had more conversations about my autoethnography than about my main work in degrowth and business. There have also been comments that question the value of talking about small-scale, everyday practices and personal growth. There have been comments that perhaps all autoethnographers face, that this method is narcissistic. When doing autoethnography, it's important that the focus is not simply on the self, but the self as part of the world (of society and nature). There have been comments about extreme levels of self-disclosure. In my autoethnography, I have spoken, for example, about resigning from my academic position in Finland, mental and physical health, and about navigating my new role of being a new adult in my partner's child's life. All of these things relate intimately to sustainability practice. I could not misrepresent my life. Otherwise it becomes creative writing rather than autoethnography.

Something that has been important to me (and to fellow autoethnographers) is highlighting systemic factors. Autoethnography is not simply about making a list of practices (though this can be part of autoethnography); it is about social critique. Social systems constrain and empower. Highlighting social systems helps me bring my readers' attention to struggles and privileges. There are also questions of power in relation to social systems. For example, I wrote about realising that despite trying, there was nothing I (or my colleagues) could do to get the Finnish university to replace my manager after the HR took the manager's side. 

No other method gave me the same depth of insight, the same level of detail as autoethnography has done. No other method helped me experience so much empathy towards fellow humans and their journeys. I often say that doing autoethnography and realising that I am not a perfect consumer or practitioner of zero-waste, minimalism and voluntary simplicity helped me feel empathy towards businesspersons when they say that their business practices are not perfect. Can I demand businesses to be perfect when I am not a perfect consumer? 

I've been teaching sustainability, sustainability in business and similar subjects for several years. Often, my students ask me what they can personally do (apart from voting, engaging in local politics, and taking part in protests) to transform unsustainable social systems. They also ask me what I do to transform systems apart from doing research on degrowth and teaching. I feel that I can always give them a full answer. I don't have to say to them that there is nothing they can do or that there is nothing that I am doing apart from waiting for systems to be compatible with degrowth (so I can finally feel comfortable to consume less and avoid flying). In this autoethnography I've written also about my approach to teaching and interacting with students. I strongly believe that interacting in a non-hierarchical way is an important part of sustainability. 

At times, it's difficult to write publicly available autoethnographic notes when they concern experiences with fellow humans. Since I cannot get their consent, I have to navigate this space very carefully. Generally, though I use photographs in my autoethnography, I avoid including photos of fellow humans and disclosing their names. 

I have a feeling that every sustainability researcher should do autoethnography or at least have a personal diary where they make notes about their experiences of sustainability. It's very humbling and helps see nuances, sometimes unexpected ones. 

There is an issue with choosing journals and keeping articles short. I don't know how the journey of my next autoethnographic paper will unfold, but it's not easy to include everything in a paper (theory, philosophy of science, a long discussion on defending autoethnography as a method, material and spiritual practices and systemic factors, and so on). Comments from reviewers can be conflicting. Since oftentimes it is double blind peer review, it creates space for less than gentle comments. And when a work is very close to one's heart (as autoethnographic work inevitably is), it feels vulnerable to send it to a journal. 

There are many emotions that accompany any research generally, but in my experience there are even more emotions accompanying autoethnography. I feel anxiety, vulnerability, even fear at times. When I attend a workshop or some other academic space, I know that some of those fellow humans who are present have read about my life. They probably have read about my mental health struggles, failures, and my personal care. 

Earlier in my academic journey, my then co-author and now-partner (and co-author) had exchanges about all our works. He used to read my autoethnography. I asked him not to because I felt that knowing that he reads it would have an effect (even if subconscious) on the way I write. I want my writing to be completely authentic. So my autoethnography is a space that we don't share. 

In my experience, writing autoethnography takes much time. It's never been part of my job, so I had to do it in parallel with other things such as writing about degrowth and business, writing funding applications, teaching. I generally try to write every day and as situations unfold, to capture how things unfold in reality rather than rely on memory later on. I believe that it would be easier to do autoethnography, and more fellow humans would be doing it, if slow academia was the norm. 

For some years, I've kept my study of business and autoethnography as two separate things, but more recently I decided to weave them together in my book. The chapter about consumption (Chapter 9) is based fully on my autoethnography. 

369

 Simple things

This is a scene from my everyday life. I am going out, for a walk and to get some food. With me, I am taking a net bag made from organic cotton, a cotton pouch with my bank card, another cotton bag, and a handkerchief. I don't own a handbag. 

The other day, my partner and I walked through a shopping centre in our local area. There were so many fellow humans. Perhaps some came there because they genuinely needed something. Others probably went there for entertainment, to see what's new, to get inspiration. I was wondering, why have more when I am so much happier with less? I was of course thinking about my own consumption, but I hope that more fellow humans will see benefits of living with less or with what is sufficient. 

I've been studying degrowth business and the relationship between degrowth and business since 2016. Genuinely sustainable business is impossible without genuinely sustainable consumption. It is so strange that often business and consumption are studied separately. I've been practising minimalism (in constellation with zero-waste) in parallel with studying business. I realised that I was doing it not only because I love nature and non-humans, but also because it was so beneficial for my mental wellbeing and for my physical health. 

In the past days, I spent much time with the copyedited version of my forthcoming book called "Degrowth, depth and hope in sustainable business: Reflections from Denmark, Finland and Sweden". The book will be out with Routledge in August 2024. As I was reading the manuscript, so many thoughts came to mind. One was that there is no clear line between different sustainability discourses such as degrowth, sustainability, circular economy, sufficiency, voluntary simplicity. At times, we expend so much effort in academia trying to define and defend a certain concept or a field. Perhaps it would be more useful to establish dialogues. For example, I very much appreciate the anti and post capitalist stance of degrowth, but when it comes to understanding sustainable consumption and its principles, voluntary simplicity and deep ecology feel so much more helpful. I also think that at its heart, sustainability is about very simple and timeless things. Love, care, empathy, solidarity, non-hierarchy, respect, sufficiency, aesthetics, self-transcendence, awe, wonder. I wrote a book that essentially argues for these things. The book is over 85 000 words long, but the message is so simple. Probably we don't even need more books about sustainability. We don't need more concepts. My partner and I were talking about various alternative concepts such as degrowth, circular economy and many others. There are dozens of them and hundreds of definitions of each one of them. Do we really need so many?

We need to implement those things (love, care, empathy, solidarity, etc.), find time for them, nurture spaces where these things can thrive. Some fellow humans criticise autoethnography because it is about experiences of one person. I feel that we need more of examples and raw accounts of experiences and struggles, feelings and emotions that accompany them. 

368

Things and services I said goodbye to

From my early 20s to my mid-30s, I've been walking a path of spiritual growth and simplifying my life. I'm still on this path. My reasons for living a simple life are many - ecological, aesthetic, spiritual, health-related. When I say in my autoethnographic work that I, for example, live with 50 items and don't fly, I do not want my fellow humans to think that one day I made a list of many practices and implemented them all the following day. It's been a gradual process. In some periods and even moments, I made many changes, and in other periods not so many. Partly, I make my autoethnographic data public because I want my fellow humans to see what practising minimalism actually looks and feels like. I also want my mode of living to be somewhat normal. That is to say, there are proposals in sustainability literatures about small-scale, self-sufficient, anarchist communities growing their own food, making their own clothing. But this is not realistic, at least currently, for many people. Many fellow humans live in cities, like I do. I do not think that it would be helpful to say that if one lives in a city, their mode of living is by definition unsustainable and there is nothing they can do about it. There is so much about cities that is unsustainable, but the discussion needs to be much more nuanced. For example, adopting a radically different lifestyle is something fellow humans in cities can do. I like to see this lifestyle is a constellation of different practices of zero-waste, minimalism, voluntary simplicity. As having more of some things (which are often not material at all!) and less of others. 

Over the years, I said goodbye to these things and services:

• I stopped flying in my early 20s
• became vegan and then vegetarian (for health reasons) in my early 20s
• decided to live in a place that is lagom for me. I've lived in small studio apartments, one was 20 sq. m., another one was 29 sq. m. The current one is around 40 (I live there with my partner). 
• decided to forego many opportunities in academia to avoid flying, to dive deeper into connecting with and studying my local region, to have meaningful and close collaborations locally
• stopped wearing makeup, nail colour, and using most skincare (and my skin feels so much better now)
• stopped wearing smart, seasonal, and occasion clothes
• stopped wearing synthetic fabrics as much as possible. In the beginning of my journey, I was not as aware of their impact on nature.
• stopped wearing black. In the beginning of my journey, in my mind I associated black with simplicity and minimalism. Then I observed that black clothes didn't last as long and would fade over time. Clothes and other textiles in beige, grey and off-white were so much easier to care for. 
• decided not to have any physical books despite being in academia
• decided not to listen to career advice that feels intuitively wrong (e.g. "avoid writing with your partner", "write papers, not books")
• stopped going on holidays in far-away places (even when reachable by train)
• stopped using seemingly benign and popular in the zero-waste community products such as essential oils, small net bags for vegetables, and stainless steel straws. When I began practising zero-waste, I thought there were particular things I had to have, but then I realised that it was not so. I wanted to live only with what was necessary for me. 
• stopped buying conventional (i.e., not organic) food as much as possible. When I began my university studies, I met fellow humans who would try to spend as little on food as possible to be able to buy clothes, makeup, perfume, and accessories. Food, after rent, is my largest expenditure. 
• closed a conventional bank account in a conventional bank. Banking with an alternative financial institution was one of the more recent practices I implemented. 
• stopped using public transport as much as possible. I started walking instead. Moreover, public transport in Denmark is very expensive.
• I stopped cutting my hair regularly and decided to let it grow naturally. I don't style it, don't dye it. I only use shampoo that my partner uses, but I try to minimise my use of shampoo as well. I air dry my hair. 
• Stopped updating my devices often. When I was growing up, getting a new laptop or a phone from parents for some holiday was the norm. At that time, I would have a new phone before the old one stopped working. I'm ashamed of this. When I left my family home, I only get a new device when the old one stops working and cannot be fixed. It happens very rarely. I also used second-hand devices. 
• I said goodbye to perfectionism. In the beginning of my journey, I felt ashamed of using medicine packaged in plastic. It took me some years to see how bad this approach to myself and my practice is. Sometimes, I had to acknowledge (to myself) that a zero-waste practice does not work for me. For example, I went back to using razors with replaceable heads for mental health reasons.
• I resigned from my position in my previous university as an act of zero tolerance towards violence. It meant acknowledging that there was nothing else I could do, foregoing my income, stepping into the unknown, losing my residence permit, moving to another country. It also meant freedom (including freedom of research), living authentically and in line with my values, regaining my mental health, and uniting with my partner. 
• stopped going to restaurants often. I used to go out with my friends every week. These days, I go out very rarely. I much prefer to cook. 
• stopped wearing jewellery. I never liked jewellery, but I would wear some pieces occasionally. Now I only have my engagement ring. 
• I gave away most of the things I lived with apart from 50 items or so 
• stopped using handbags. In my early 20s, I still had a handbag. I gave it away. Then I decided to use my backpack when I travelled and/or needed to take my laptop with me and simple cotton tote bags for everything else. 
• I try to avoid overstimulation (advertisements, shopping centres, tv, cinema and so on) as much as possible. Instead, I engage in calming activities such as walks, swimming in the sea, foraging. 

None of it is to say that adopting a more sustainable mode of being necessitates foregoing the same things and services that I said goodbye to. I feel that a transformed, harmonious mode of being should not be about giving up, sacrifice, going without, suffering. It should feel like liberation and becoming more authentic. I feel better now than ever before. I feel happier and healthier with less. 

I want to acknowledge my privilege. For example, I could forego driving and using public transport because I either lived close to my workplace, or I could walk long distances. I resigned from my job knowing that I had enough savings to support myself for a while and my partner would be willing to support me. Having said that, I would resign anyway and do my best to find a new job as soon as possible. 

There are some things that I gave up that would be associated with too high emotional costs for others. For example, I don't see my brother anymore as he lives far away. Other things I decided to forego for health reasons. For example, I live with a skin condition that restricts substantially what I can use on my skin. 

367

 Failing at slow living

Slow living is sacred to me. For many years, I've been trying to be much more intentional with activities. It feels wonderful to dive deep into one thing, no matter how small or everyday it is. Cleaning, cooking, writing an article, reading a book, having a conversations with a fellow human, being with a tree. I think I've been generally good at slow living. I learned to say no, to ignore the fear of missing out. But recently so much has unfolded at once. After being ill, I became ill again. I wanted to focus fully on recovery. Then I received my book manuscript back from the publisher's subcontractor to go through the edits they made. I had only one week to work with the edits, which coincided with my illness. It's interesting to witness how academia and academic publishing works. The pace is so fast. Apart from the book, there are some other projects that are unfolding. 

I spent much time trying to remove the label from a glass jar. It was a wonderful moment of peacefulness and stepping out of the busyness. I will probably use the jar for snacks or small items.  

After working on the book and other projects intensely for several days, I finally got the time and felt well enough to clean my home. We live in a 40-something sq. m. studio apartment with few possessions, so this space is very easy and pleasant to clean. I was thinking, what if I lived in a larger space with more objects? It would probably feel unmanageable or like a chore. To me, it feels that both slow pace and simplicity are such important principles for sustainability. I am currently reading a paper that argues that the degrowth movement has not proposed sufficiently how a degrowth society can be achieved. It's not my feeling that it is so (there are indeed many proposals!), but here are some things I personally do as a consumer:

• living with 50 personal possessions
• living in a small space
• living with 10 items of clothing
• living with minimal technology
• wearing the same outfit every day
• living with 5 or so personal care items
• having a "sufficiency list" instead of a "wish list". I have no "wish list" at all, I just replace the items when I need to. 
• walking everywhere and using public transport where necessary
• avoiding far-away conferences. Generally attending conferences rarely, and only the ones reachable by public transport. 
• excluding many categories of goods and services from my consumption 
• sharing everything with my partner, borrowing whenever I need something
• passing on the objects I don't need (this includes gifts)

And here are some things I would like to do:

• grow my own food
• work on my own research project
• work more with my local community
• shop less in a supermarket
• have more time for activities such as foraging and visiting food markets 
• avoid renting
• live in a society where UBI (universal basic income) is implemented and UBS (universal basic services) are normalised 
• have a stable job and be part of slow academia, not be judged on the number of citations, publications, and so on
• have an opportunity to stay in the country of my choice without it being tied to a work contract. As a British citizen, I cannot stay in Denmark where I live and where my home is, without a contract. 

366

 Foraging wild garlic (ramslök/ramsløg)

These days, there is an abundance of wonderful wild garlic in Denmark. As my partner and I were walking through our local park, we decided to forage wild garlic to use in a pasta dish in the evening. He has foraged wild garlic for many years, and his brother uses it to make pesto. Some fellow humans dry wild garlic, but I use it fresh in various dishes. Our local park is not an ideal place for foraging. It doesn't feel as clean as a forest. 

Foraging wild garlic made me think about foraging again. Apart from wild garlic, in the spring here in the Nordics I usually pick birch leaves and spruce tips to make tea. Spruce tips can also be used as a vegetable in salads. There will also be some dandelions and nettles soon. They are wonderful to make herbal tea with. My grandmother often used nettle to make hair rinse too. 

Later, there will be raspberry leaves and currant leaves that I will use to make tea as well. 

My partner and I have a dream to do a small project about foraging. Foraging is an alternative food "production" (in reality, gathering the gifts of Mother Nature) practice. Both him and I have foraged since we were small children, and my mother, stepfather, and grandparents foraged too. Usually, I forage mushrooms, berries (e.g., blueberries, lingonberries, wild raspberries, currants, rowan berries), apples, spruce tips, yarrow, dandelion, nettle, wood sorrel (harsyra in Swedish). I've written about foraging in this autoethnography at times, but never looked into my experienced more systematically. There's such a great contrast between foraging and buying food in a supermarket. Foraging feels so much more intimate, meaningful, playful. Everything that I ever foraged was also delicious, so full of flavour and life. 

365

 Contemplating elders' knowledges

In the beginning of my PhD journey in 2016, I was reading so many academic articles, trying to comprehend the state of knowledge in my research field, find so-called gaps in knowledge. As I walked my path, I began to feel that many articles were repetitive. In some ways, it is good because it seems that many fellow humans agree on what needs to change for a genuinely sustainable society to come into being. I was seeking inspiration beyond academic spaces. And I was inspired by other than academic spaces. Interacting with nature and non-humans is such a great source of inspiration. I am in awe of non-human animals and how little they need. For example, I've mentioned it in my autoethnography before that observing non-human animals made me feel more comfortable about wearing the same outfit every day. 

I am also inspired by elderly persons. At times, they say things that are more eloquent, deep, humble, and profound than what I see in academic articles. I went to see my partner's father and stepmother who are in their 70s. They are wonderful, wise persons. Both of them were teachers, and my partner's stepmother lived abroad for a while and took part in humanitarian projects. It allowed her to see so much diversity in the world, that there is so much more than Denmark, Danish issues, Danish design. We were talking about things such as furniture and decorations. These elder persons and I live very differently. I practise minimalism and live with very few possessions. Their home looks cosy with many items (so many books!) that they have invited into their life over many years. Yet, we agree that there are more important aspects to life than stuff. They are love, care, peace, ensuring that everyone's basic needs are met. We talked about human-nature connection, the importance of being with nature as children. It reminded me of my childhood that I spent in nature. We talked about how things were in the past. There was so much I wanted to ask about sustainability practices but I didn't have time; time flies in the presence of these fellow humans. 

364

 Writing and repairing

My editorial is due in 10 days or so. I decided to take my time and write slowly. It will be my first editorial, so I've been reading (slowly) my fellow humans' editorials to see how others have done it. Naturally, I will still write it in my own way. In the past few months I've been talking so much with my fellow humans about the state of academia. It feels to me that there is not enough gentleness and care, and I want to take extra care to manifest these values in my writing and being in the world generally. 

While contemplating the editorial, I was repairing this snood that my partner gave me some time ago (it was his old snood). There was a hole that I repaired but I noticed another one. By repair I don't mean anything sophisticated. I'm not very good at it, but it's ok. It's so interesting how meaningful, humbling, and therapeutic simple, everyday activities such as repairing, cooking, and cleaning are. I would not want someone else to do them for me, unless I don't have the skill (or capacity, e.g., when I'm ill) myself. Perhaps these activities are enjoyable because they are made easy by modern technology, such as vacuum cleaners and washing machines. But even when I chose to live without these devices for some time (10 months in Finland), I still enjoyed my life and these activities, though they took more time. I feel that being present deeply in and with simple, everyday activities makes me a better human, better researcher and editor. I pay more attention to details that matter. 

These days, my partner and our colleague and I have been working on a piece about academia and transformations. I've been thinking a lot about slow living and how important it is to me. I would never want to give up cleaning, cooking, walking, being with non-humans, reading for hours, writing this autoethnography (not the most popular method in the social sciences!) and so many other activities to pursue conventional success. Apart from the fast pace, normalisation of precarious position and overwork, something that makes me feel uncomfortable about pursuing conventional success is utilitarian approach to fellow humans. One's value is reduced to their status and position in the academia hierarchy. At times, it feels that communications are not genuine, or they depend on who one is talking to. I would love to see and feel more authenticity, kindness, gentleness, care in academic spaces. Less hierarchies, utilitarianism, exploitation. 

363

 A day

We went for a long walk, to connect with the Sun, the city, and to buy a natural, certified wooden brush we use for cleaning. We could get a brush in a nearby supermarket, but since we were going for a walk, we decided to do better, and buy the brush from a small, local, independently owned ecological shop here in Copenhagen. Perhaps to some it would feel like a waste of time, but being present in every action, no matter how small, has over the years become incredibly important to me. Cleaning my home, washing dishes, buying something zero-waste that I always use are not chores. They are transformative practices. Such important parts of slow and simple living. 

I wore my uniform, something that I choose to wear every day as a practice of simplicity. I wore sweatpants made from recycled cotton. I recently cut off the elastics from the sweatpants because they were uncomfortable, so the edge looks raw and perhaps a bit uneven, but this is ok. I wore a basic top and a linen shirt that has holes in it. I also wore socks and sandals. Recently I was very ill. I still haven't recovered fully. My sense of smell isn't fully back yet, I cough a lot, I can't take a deep breath, I get tired more quickly than before, and my body temperature fluctuates. So I took my jacket with me in a cotton net bag. I try to avoid medication as much as possible, and to recover I drink a lot of water and tea, and try to feel cosy as much as possible. 

On the way back home, we got lunch in a smørrebrød store. We don't eat out often, but at times we visit local, casual cafes and food outlets. 

Then my partner left to fulfil his childcare responsibilities. I stayed home to write. Writing about this topic feels vulnerable, but I spend much less time with his child than we originally planned. We agree that this is a good option for now, though perhaps he was hoping that we would spend more time together. We are social scientists but we don't know what is best for a child, so we are navigating the situation we are in to the best of our abilities. My partner shares childcare responsibilities 50/50 with his previous partner. Over time, we realised that my partner and I have very different approaches to parenting. I don't have children, but I feel inspired by slow parenting, alternative parenting, and zero-waste parenting practices. I believe that it's important for children to spend much time in and with nature, with non-humans, to engage in calming and creative activities, to engage (in a playful and supervised, safe way of course) in simple, everyday practices such as cooking and recycling. His approach is different, and it's ok. I also live with high sensory processing sensitivity, and I found that spending much time with a child whose personality is very different from mine is overstimulating and difficult for me. She enjoys everything that I used to dislike as a child, such as theatre, cinema, plastic toys, tv, competitions, and spending much time with fellow humans. Having said that, I love her and appreciate her unique, vibrant, sparkling personality. I appreciate our differences. I haven't yet figured out my role in her life though and haven't found ways in which I can contribute to her wellbeing and personal growth. The values I would love to offer to any young fellow human being feel very different to the values her parents have in mind, which makes it challenging for me to understand my role. Perhaps there is no single, perfect way to be a stepparent. I was brought up from birth by my stepdad, and my mother was brought up by a stepdad too, since she was around 13 years old. Those fellow humans, i.e., my stepdad and my mother's stepdad played very different, though positive, roles in our lives. 

362

 Storage

It feels wonderful and so liberating to live with less. Living with less than 50 personal possessions surely did not happen overnight. It was a long, 15 or so years journey of letting go and growing spiritually. Because I live with so few possessions, I don't need conventional storage. No plastic boxes or closets. I live in an apartment block, and we have storage space downstairs (it is common here in the Nordics). I don't keep anything in that storage space, though my partner has a few items there such as his suitcases, a chest he has had for many years, some clothes, sentimental items, and packing material.

For storage, I use organic cotton bags. I've been doing it for many years. I used to use cotton tote bags, but more recently I decided to use cotton net bags. Somehow, I think they manifest transparency and simplicity. Every fellow human who visits me can see what I live with.

For storing small items, I use cotton pouches. I used to have many of them, so I gave some away. I use them mainly to store my medication and for my mobile internet when I travel. I would love to live without medication, but I live with some health conditions and need medication at home, just in case. I used to feel bad about it because these pills are packaged in plastic, but then I said goodbye to perfectionism. 

Everything I live with fits into the cotton tote bag in the picture below. If I were to move, I would simply put all my possessions in this bag and my backpack, and leave. It was easy for me to move from Sweden to Finland and from Finland to Denmark because I only needed to pack everything in a tote bag and a backpack, and return the kitchen items I borrowed to my friends. I don't just keep this bag for travelling. I store underwear, socks, my woollen scarf, cotton tote bags that I use every day, and other small things, in it. 

361

 Extremely minimalist wardrobe

In this autoethnography of relating with the world differently (to what is the norm in our materially wealthy society), I often sketch some notes about my wardrobe. I feel that it is important because clothes is one of our basic needs. In my consumption, I focus on basic needs (food and water, shelter and energy, clothing, transportation, personal care and medicine). I generally avoid consuming things that are outside these areas (e.g., jewellery, home décor, makeup, trips to far-away destinations, etc.), and I try to satisfy my basic needs in the most ecological way possible (living in a small space, using renewable energy, using public transport, minimal personal care, etc.). I also try to take part in changing culture. It feels important to normalise looking casual and comfortable, to normalise looking the same every day and for all occasions.

I live with 10 items of clothes. Apart from that, I have 1 jacket that I wear in winter, 1 woollen scarf, underwear, socks, 3 pairs of shoes (1 is worn out so I will let it go), 1 backpack and several simple cotton bags (and 1 made from linen). All my clothes are beige, grey and off-white. All of these items are made from organic cotton and linen. I avoid fast fashion and I also avoid second-hand shopping. Avoiding second-hand shopping is something that my fellow humans find surprising, since it's such a common practice in various sustainability movements. I am not against second-hand shopping (indeed, it's a very good practice), but it doesn't go well with my other practices, principles, and values. I want to wear the same outfit every day, every year, and avoid reinventing myself. This is possible if I repurchase the same items. I repurchase things very rarely though, as I don't discard items when they develop holes or have small stains on them. I also avoid shopping as much as possible, which includes second-hand shopping. Perhaps I would shop second-hand if I chose to wear something different for events (I would not want to buy something new just to wear it once or twice), but I wear the same things for events that I wear every day. For example, for my partner's brother's 40s birthday, I wore shorts, a basic top, and one of my two linen shirts that has holes in it. I was under-dressed in comparison to others, but that's ok. 

I find the colours I wear calming. This is not to say that I believe that others should avoid bright colours. My grandmother had a rule to never wear black. She loved bright colours (red, purple, yellow, blue) and avoided wearing the colours I wear (off-white, grey, beige). She looked wonderful. She is in her late 80s now, and recently she wore a bright yellow sweater, something I would never wear. She looked breathtakingly beautiful. In my private life, I find bright colours overstimulating. But I live with high sensory processing sensitivity, so perhaps bright colours don't affect my fellow humans who live without high sensory processing sensitivity in the same way. At times, I want to interact with bright colours, and for that I look at the sky on a sunny day, or walk around Copenhagen. 

There are many reasons for my practice of extreme minimalism. Ecological, spiritual, aesthetic, ideological, and my mental-health. I also want to mention the financial side of this practice. I did not step on the path of extreme minimalism for financial reasons, and though extreme minimalism helps me avoid debt, it does not make my financial situation much better. The main outgoings in my case are rent and food. I do not spend much on clothes at all (perhaps I will write about that in one of my entries). Spending less on clothes than what is the norm in our materially wealthy society allows me to make better decisions in other domains. For example, public transport is expensive, but I always take trains and avoid flying. Organic food is expensive, but I would rather spend more on this than on clothes. Locally made, natural personal care is expensive but I would rather spend more on this, as it supports local, small and family-owned businesses. Recently I saw this article (in Danish) in the news. It says that for the second year in a row, more farmers are abandoning organic farming. From 2022 to 2023, the number of organic farms decreased by 135. This is heartbreaking. Here in Denmark, as in many other places, food is very expensive. Generally, the cost of living is very high. What I find especially sad is when those fellow humans who can afford to buy organic food, choose not to. I consume organic food not because I am scared of eating conventionally grown food or believe that it is toxic. I buy organic food because I believe that organic farming is more gentle towards non-humans in a broad sense (animals, plants, soil, water). It needs to be supported. Many years ago, I accepted that practising this would mean spending more on food and less on other items. And that's ok. What is more important than food? To me, surely not jewellery, fashion items, status items, paintings and so on. This is not to say that systems of food production is personal responsibility of consumers. Organic farming and organic food should be subsidised, and governments must do so much more to reverse this trend we are seeing here in Denmark. But I cannot allow myself to wait for governments to act. I cannot sit and wait for a post-growth society to manifest, and only when it's there feel good about practising things differently. My small actions (buying organic food, living with just a few items) on their own will not bring about sustainability. But collective actions will. 

360

 Holes

I live with 10 items of clothes. 2 pairs of sweatpants, 2 pairs of shorts, 2 linen shirts, and basic tops. Every day, I wear a uniform. Not because I have to, but because I want to take part in normalising looking casual every day, disregarding fashion trends, wearing the same thing every day. I believe that what we wear and do carries a political message, a message about the world we want to see, our values. As an academic researching and writing about genuine sustainability, I do not want to make a fashion or a status statement, to look "successful" and different to my students. 

There are good aspects of living with less clothes. Everything I live with fits me. I like all the items I live with equally. Everything I live with is either beige, off-white, or grey. So I can wash all these clothes together. My reasons for living with 10 items of clothes are ecological, ideological, spiritual, and aesthetic. There are also downsides of living with less. At times, it attracts criticism. The main points of critique are me not doing enough "to attract men" (that's right), and me not "claiming power/authority over my students". The first point of critique is infuriating. The second point of critique shows that my values and the speaker's values are very different. I do not see it as part of my job to claim power. I see my job as em-powering students. As an anarchist, I do not believe in hierarchies and I want to do my best to make the student-teacher hierarchy flat. Apart from critique that doesn't affect me much, but that could affect another person in my position, there is another downside to living with very few items. They wear out. In our materially wealthy society, one sees worn out clothes (e.g., in a workplace) very rarely. Fellow humans replace worn out items quickly. Or fashion trends change, and items are being discarded/recycled/donated far before they reach the end of their life. If I replaced my clothes every time they showed a sign of wear (developed holes, had small stains on them), my practice would not be sustainable. I would have to shop often, and this is something I do my best to avoid. I want to mention that the linen shirt that developed holes was not from a fast-fashion company. It is good quality, and I bought it a while ago to replace a sweatshirt that I wore almost every day in northern Sweden and that developed many holes. I bought a shirt instead of a sweatshirt because I was moving south (from northern Sweden to southern Finland). I wore this shirt almost every day, so the signs of wear are not surprising. 

Some holes I repair, but others I just let be. In the case of this shirt, the holes are mainly on the back, and there are thinned out patches of material, probably due to wearing a heavy backpack. I will let these holes be. I want this item to communicate that it's ok to wear old items, and that one's capacities for love, care, creativity, empathy, solidarity and so on (everything that actually matters) do not diminish if one wears a shirt with holes. 

In the long term, I will not replace this item because I am on a path towards greater simplicity, and a shirt has too many elements and details (collar, buttons, etc.). 

One might think that this is such a trivial matter, that it doesn't deserve attention when severe ecological degradation is unfolding, when we urgently need change in our systems. I believe that small, everyday actions matter, they contribute to change in culture and change in our systems. It might be surprising but my fellow humans from all walks of life often ask me about small, everyday practices. 

359

Modvækst

Recently, this book (in Danish) was brought to my attention. I love how it presents degrowth (degrowth is modvækst in Danish, literally counter-growth): "Dette navn (Modvækst) signalerer to betydninger. For det første at vi opfatter os som en modstandsbevægelse, der kæmper mod det herskende vækst-paradigme. For det andet at vi arbejder på at fremme en vækst i modsat retning af den herskende, dvs. en vækst i alt det, som trædes under fode af det nuværende paradigme, altså f.eks. natur, livskvalitet, nærvær, fællesskab, omsorg, solidaritet – kort sagt de basale livsværdier". It presents degrowth as signalling two meanings: opposition to the prevailing growth paradigm and growth in everything that the current paradigm disregards or works against (e.g., nature, community, care, quality of life). This definition is similar to how my co-author (who is also my partner) and I conceptualise degrowth. We see it as a dialectic of less and more. We believe that degrowth should emphasise reduction and growth at the same time. Thinking about degrowth as a dialectic encourages us to contemplate, for example, what all the bad aspects of social being need to be replaced with and what would help us transcend or eliminate the bad, i.e., what would help us counter growth. Many fellow humans, including students, businesspersons and fellow practitioners of voluntary simplicity/zero-waste that I've met feel sorrow about degrowth criticising something (e.g., capitalism, ecological degradation - and rightly so), but not offering alternatives. My feeling is that this has changed somewhat in more recent years, but these efforts are still insufficient. For example, inner being is not discussed enough. There are few proposals for transformed academia. 

Spending time with the book I mentioned above made me think about languages other than English and how much knowledge exists in other languages. There is a scholar at my current university who chose to write most of his works in Danish. From a conventional perspective, this is not a good strategy. In academia, I believe, most humans know how to succeed. Publish in English, in highly ranked journals, do not waste your time on independent journals and writing books, collaborate with big names. It's wonderful to see fellow humans intentionally going against this. Of course there are consequences of doing things differently, and I feel so much awe when I think about fellow humans who accept these consequences and try to use their agency to make the world a better place.

In the picture above is just a simple, organic cotton net bag. I use it for everything. Storage, as a hand bag, for groceries, when I travel. I think its simplicity makes it incredibly beautiful. It is also relatively inexpensive (this one was around DKK 40, I bought it from a small, independent shop here in Denmark). It doesn't signal status. I hope that in a degrowth society there will be a growing appreciation for simplicity. Simple clothes, simple food, simpler access to education, healthcare, housing and other services. 

358

Learning from my grandmother

Recently, my stepfather shared some pictures of the photo album my mother kept from the time I was a newborn to when I was a pre-schooler. It was so interesting to see. I've seen it before, but it is only now when I noticed that some of it was written by my mother like an autoethnography. It described her experiences of motherhood, of having her first child. Her and I were never close. She was an extraverted person who wanted my brother and I to succeed in conventional ways. To do well in our studies, to attend a university. She died when I was 17. Among the photos there were some with my grandmother Frida. 

As a researcher, I learn from books and articles, from fellow scholars' talks, from conversations. But I also learn from fellow humans outside academia and from non-humans. For example, spending time with non-humans such as the sea, the sun, stones, and trees puts everything into perspective. I see clearly what is timeless and genuinely important, and what is temporary and insignificant. Spending hours with the sea and other non-humans helped me resign from my position at a Finnish university as an act of protest, to say no to something that is seen as desirable and choose something that is better. I chose love. I am inspired by non-human animals' confidence. Observing them empowered me to wear the same outfit every day, to be humble about my academic credentials. When I am in a forest with birds, squirrels, and deer, none of them care about the number of publications and citations I have. To them, my PhD means nothing. 

I learned many things from my grandmother. She was born in 1936 and had a challenging childhood because of the second world war. She is Jewish. She worked her whole life, but never prioritised her career. She has always been a playful person who loves to dance and sing. She surely does not call herself a practitioner of voluntary simplicity, zero waste, or minimalism, but many of the practices I enact in my daily life are things she has been doing her whole life. It is humbling to realise this. At times, minimalism and zero-waste feel so new and recent, but so much of it is not. 

Frida has always cooked from scratch, and often it was simple food. She never followed recipes, and I learned from her that it was important to know the techniques and general principles of making food, but it was not important to be prescriptive and dogmatic. This empowered me to practise zero-waste in relation to food. When I go to a supermarket or a food market, I do not have a list with me. I simply take a look at what is available that is local, seasonal, organic, and unpackaged. And then some dish or a meal will come to mind.

She has always looked after the objects she lived with. She took good care of them, would always repair things. Though she would always take good care of objects, she was never attached to them. When I was very young, I liked to play with her jewellery. When I asked if I could play with it, she would jokingly say no but then almost immediately would say yes. I knew she would allow me to do it. 

She used reusable bags and food boxes far before I started to do it. 

She always felt comfortable with nature. She knew what mushrooms, berries, leaves to pick. She would often harvest wild nettles from nature to make a natural remedy for her hair. She had plants at home that she used for her skincare. 

I was always inspired by her style. She certainly has more clothes than I do and wears different outfits for different occasions, but she never changed her style because of fashion trends or something she saw on tv. 

She prioritised her family and other fellow humans. Motherhood, children, her partner, friends, community. She never saw her job as the main aspect of her life. She would share a lot with her friends and community, would always try to get something for her friends if they couldn't. I was inspired by her approach to female friendships. She had many close female friends. In her youth, therapy was not as popular as it is now, and I believe that the support network her girlfriends and her had was good for their mental health. She looked after my stepfather's aunt when she was very old. Recently, she said that she wanted to look after my partner's child from his previous relationship. 

She took long holidays. This is something I am still learning to do. Even after many years of practising voluntary simplicity, at times I still feel guilty for doing nothing if I don't write for a long time. 

Frida has always been non-hierarchical. I believe that fellow humans always loved her for this reason. She would treat everyone with kindness and care, irrespective of their position in society and their journey. 

She has always been interested in everything unconventional. Natural remedies, crystals. While I've always shared her interest in natural remedies, I could never understand her interest in crystals and other new age practices. Over time, I began to appreciate her searching for insights in different domains of reality, including dreams and intuition. In her bookshelves, one could find classic literature and books about crystals. It feels playful. 

In her home, she has always kept stones and shells. I share with her deep love for these beings. 

I was inspired by Frida's loving relationship with her husband. Both of them were funny, cool, caring, relaxed humans. They were never arrogant, overconfident, disrespectful. I think they succeeded in life. 

357

 Discussing self-transformations with my fellow humans

Today, our university's (Roskilde uni's) Department of Social Sciences and Business organised a space for my co-author and I to talk about self-transformations towards a degrowth society. I'm feeling grateful for it. My co-author is also my partner. Together, we think about degrowth transformations, theorise them, and we also practise sustainable living. Self-transformations is one of our favourite themes to write about, discuss in our home and with our fellow humans. My partner is more interested in the spaces where self-transformations unfold, i.e., eco-social policies, structures that empower and constrain, and in culture. I am more interested in the everyday and how we relate with the world (the self, human and non-human others, and nature). I'm interested in practices and reasons for them, feelings, stories of fellow humans, values. We based much of our talk on our common works, including our book called "Deep transformations: a theory of degrowth" and our article called "Less and more: conceptualising degrowth transformations". 

We started our talk by saying that degrowth calls for downscaling of our economic activities and looking for alternatives. Alternative ways of doing things, producing things, being in the world. There is no single, agreed-upon definition of degrowth. In fact, there are so many definitions of degrowth these days! And we have our own. We theorise degrowth as deep transformations unfolding on the four planes of social being (material transactions with nature, social relations, social structures, inner being). This four planes framework comes from the critical realist philosophy of science. We use the four planes framework because it allows us to avoid reducing transformations to some single thing, such as a policy, or spirituality. Transformations need to unfold in all sites of society (civil society, state, business), on all scales (from the psyche to the transnational scale). Transformations, in our view, are possible because humans are inherently good, capable of empathy, love, solidarity, gentleness, care, concern. This is not to say that humans are perfect and not capable of evil as well. But to assume that transformations are possible necessitates a positive view of human nature. Otherwise, why would anything change? As for the direction and the aim of transformations, we imagine it to be a harmonious society, co-existing harmoniously within itself and with nature. It's hard to tell what this society will look like. Personally I see this theorising as dreaming and a somewhat artistic pursuit. In our theorising of degrowth, we emphasise more. Growth within degrowth. By that, we do not mean material growth or economic growth. We mean growth in the non-material. In empathy, love, care, creativity. We also mean growth of alternatives. More alternative organisations, more opportunities for alternative lifestyles. More access to land. And so on. 

Preparing for this talk made me reflect about self-transformations. Within degrowth, self-transformations are often overlooked. It could be because degrowth scholarship wants to avoid pushing responsibility onto consumers, onto individuals. Degrowth scholars advocate change in systems. In this, I fully support degrowth advocates. At the same time, I do not think that there must be an either/or situation. We do not have to choose between change in systems and change in our selves. Self-transformations can unfold at the same time as we think about change in systems and work to bring it about. Also, human beings are everywhere. For example, I research businesses. I see businesses as communities of humans. Change in business at least partly depends on those humans. This is not to say that systemic constraints don't matter. They surely do. 

As a practitioner, I experience self-transformation as a dialectic of less and more, of shedding some things and nurturing other things. Because it is a process, I see it as a journey rather than something than some final destination. I do not believe that there is some final, self-transformed state. In my practice, I always learn something new, something always comes to my attention. Conversations with fellow humans can be humbling. One of the fellow humans who attended our talk is our colleague who lives in an eco-community. Reflecting on his experiences made me realise that there is so much that I am not doing. For example, I do not grow my own food. I do not interact with the soil and non-human beings as much as I would have liked. 

I finished our talk by saying that self-transformations need to manifest in practice and that there is no single, perfect path of self-transformation. There is a great diversity of circumstances and lifestyles. Every human being's practices constellate in their own, unique way. 

The questions and comments we received in the end were humbling and thought-provoking. My partner and I do have our own theoretical differences, so I will sketch my own thoughts. One fellow human asked us about psychoanalysis. In our theorising of human nature, we mainly use humanism and humanistic psychology, Bhaskar's philosophy of metareality, and critical realism's conception of the self. In my own work, I use existentialism too, because I am interested in our being in the world, as selves, with others, and with Nature. I am curious about the everyday, our experiences. I am also curious about how we feel (eco-anxiety, hopelessness, angst) and about authenticity. I believe that capitalist systems erase our authenticity and it takes much time and energy to be on paths of authenticity. Perhaps unlike some existentialist thinkers, I do believe in human goodness and essential characteristics of humans. In this, my thinking about humans is close to Bhaskar's metareality.

Another fellow human mentioned the need for political perspectives for social movements. I do not see degrowth as a political project. Perhaps anti-capitalism unites degrowth scholars into an academic movement, but I see so much diversity, even plurality, within degrowth, that I am not sure if it can be called one political project, let alone that it is possible to produce a political programme that every degrowth advocate would agree with. 

Another fellow human mentioned that spaces such as eco-communities can be seen as microcosms of transformations in practice. I love this perspective. I think there are many such spaces. I experience several alternative spaces as this, even my home with my partner where we practise minimalism. Some collaborations feel this way, when co-authors want to transform academic spaces and treat each other in a gentle, kind, empathetic way. Yet, I believe that fellow humans need more free time to be able to engage with alternatives such as eco-communities, community gardens, tool libraries, repair cafes. Perhaps a shorter work week could help. 

Another fellow human was curious about the lifecycle of alternative lifestyles. He was curious about trends, whether movements such as minimalism are growing. I don't do quantitative analyses, so I don't know much about it. And my perception is influenced by my own participation in movements such as voluntary simplicity, zero-waste, (extreme) minimalism. Many persons in my social and professional circles are, in different ways, practitioners of sustainability. I think our analysis of social movements is complicated by the language. For example, there are so many overlaps between voluntary simplicity, deep ecology lifestyle, minimalism, zero-waste, sufficiency and other movements. If I ask my grandmother if she practices zero-waste, she probably would say no. She doesn't know what it is. Yet, she implements many zero-waste practices. She did this before zero-waste became a popular concept. 

Yet another fellow human reflected on flat hierarchies and human-nature relationship. In relation to this, I'm thinking about deep ecology, extending a fellow-feeling towards non-humans. 

Another fellow human asked about boundaries of plurality. It's such an interesting question. I suppose that degrowth is still at the stage where it is looking for ideas and ideals. Perhaps there are even schools of thought within degrowth. Not long ago, I found myself in an unusual situation. An independent journal was planning to do a special issue about my area of expertise. Their editorial team approached me and asked me to contribute an article. I decided to put together all my learnings from the past 8 or so years of researching degrowth and business and sent the article to them. After a while, the editorial team wrote to me saying that they would not publish my article because my definition of degrowth was not the one they used. It made me think about different schools of thought that arise in the field of degrowth. At times, my partner and I jokingly refer to ourselves as the Nordic school of degrowth. We base our exploration in critical realist analyses. We are inspired by humanism, unity between theory and practice, non-violent communication. 

We also had an exchange with a fellow human about "less and more" vs "less is more". In my view, in some aspects of being, less is indeed more. As a practitioner of extreme minimalism, every day I feel the benefits of living with a lot less than what is the norm in our society. I feel liberated. I live only with the objects that I need, that I use every day, that I enjoy wearing. Yet, growth is incredibly important to me. Naturally, I do not mean more stuff, a bigger house, more citations. What I mean is experiencing self-transcendence often, feeling oneness with nature deeply, spending more time with nature, doing the things I love more often.