404

 Wardrobe and everything else

I've lived with a very small amount of clothes for many years. My reasons for this, as well as for my practise of extreme minimalism and zero-waste, are ecological, aesthetic, and spiritual. There are also financial and health-related reasons. These days, I live with approximately 10 items of clothing, and I wear the same outfit every day. In the picture above is everything I own (including the laundry bag). It's not only all the clothes I own, but actually everything apart from the backpack with my laptop, water bottle and a few other items in it. In the bag below the clothes rack (tøjstativ in Danish) are my winter clothes (2 pairs of sweatpants, a thin jacket, a large woollen scarf), underwear, documents and some other small things such as cotton bags and medicines. 

My dream is to live in a way whereby everything I live with fits in one large bag. Perhaps the bag in the picture above would suffice, but in reality it is rather small. It's supposed to be a yoga or a beach bag. I've lived this dream more or less for the past 3 years, and with a small number of objects for the past 15 years. In the past 3 years, I've moved from England to northern Sweden, from northern Sweden to southern Finland, from southern Finland to Denmark. Every time I moved, I did so with only one tote bag and a backpack. In Finland, I lived completely without furniture. In Denmark, I began to live with a fellow human, so we invited some furniture into our life. Even though I use it, I don't consider it to be mine. I would happily live without it, and if I move again, I would not take any of this furniture or acquire new pieces. 

I will be moving soon, and perhaps it will be a good opportunity to photograph absolutely everything. 

I think that fellow humans have rather negative associations with living out of a suitcase. It probably is associated with instability, insecurity, being on a move. And while one might say that this is exactly how I've lived, I feel that what I've lived with is lagom (just right in Swedish) for me. Some things that make me feel at home is being in a space where some Germanic language is spoken, being able to make tea, having a few familiar objects, having high-quality things that I know will last and that I don't need to replace often. The other day, I was watching a beautiful sunset. The sun rises and sets, and it makes me feel safe and grounded in this world. 

Life is often compared to a journey. Living this life as a human being is part of an odyssey (it makes me think of Bhaskar's From East to West: Odyssey of a Soul, a book I like a lot). It makes sense to live with very few items. 

403

 Re-reading Walden

I went to my local cemetery, Solbjerg Parkkirkegård, to listen to the sound of leaves and to read. It can be difficult to find calm spaces in a busy city. My window faces a large and noisy road. As I was walking through the cemetery, I fell in love with the sounds. There are many birds, squirrels, insects. Fellow humans walk or run quietly. The atmosphere is majestic, unlike in the other nearby parks, Søndermarken and Frederiksberg Have. 

I'm re-reading Walden, perhaps my most favourite book. No other book connected as deeply with my soul. In many ways, my own worldview aligns with Thoreau's. I like the emphasis on the individual and one's relationship with the world. It feels liberating. Like other fellow humans, I experience social structures. Academic institutions, migration laws and so on. But within those social structures (and not all of them are constraining), I feel that I have freedom to act. 

One of the most important realisations on my journey has been that capitalism doesn't want anything. Capitalism is not a person, it doesn't have a mind and opinions. It is not upset with me for consuming much less than what is the norm in our society. I can live freely with 50 or so personal possessions, and that's ok. Most fellow humans who dwell in Copenhagen do not notice that I wear the same outfit every day. In academia, I have faced very few comments about this practice. 

In my autoethnographic work I am always careful to say that my mode of living is not the mode of living fellow humans should adopt. There are different ways to practise sustainability. Growing my own food would certainly improve my relationship with nature. Living in an eco-community would too. Yet, if a fellow human is interested to try extreme minimalism, nothing should prevent them from doing just that. Many barriers to practising extreme minimalism seem psychological. 15 or so years ago, I was still wondering: am I preventing myself from expressing myself through clothing and makeup? Do I feel that I don't deserve to have objects? I could address such questions through genuine self-love and self-care, not through objects and services, but through realising that I am enough. Some objects make my life comfortable but I certainly don't need to reinvent myself. And consuming much less means I could also work less, thus have time to grow outside work.

402

 Everyday walks with objects

I am so fascinated by our relationships with everyday objects. In this entry, I wanted to write down everything that I use every day when I go for a long walk. It's an interesting space because these are the things I use every single day and what fellow humans see when I'm outside. 

When I go for a short walk, I don't bring anything with me apart from my keys. These days, I prefer to leave my phone at home. When I go for a long walk, I bring my organic cotton tote bag so it can hold the items I'm bringing and also serve as a shopping bag if I pick up, for example, fresh bread from a bakery or vegetables from a food market. I use cotton bags without logos and writing. These days, I've been thinking a lot about cotton bags, and how they have become a fashion statement. 15 or so years ago, when I stepped on the journey of relating with the world differently, cotton tote bags were not as popular or common. These days, many fashion companies sell them. I don't feel that it is a good unfolding, as they don't simply replace plastic bags, but oftentimes advertise a fashion brand that encourages consumers to buy more. I'm thinking of a couple of Danish fashion companies that make cotton tote bags that many fellow humans in my area seem to own. Every season there are new colours. I believe it encourages consumerism rather than environmentalism. The bag I use most often is undyed. Over the years, I have accumulated many cotton bags. Some months ago, I gave most of them away via  a local byttestation so my fellow humans can use them too.  

I also bring an organic cotton pouch with me that I use instead of a wallet. It's undyed and has no text on it. The pouch is home to my bank card (I use a cooperative bank) and a few small things such as plasters and a hair tie. 

I usually take my scarf with me too, to protect my hair from the sun and provide a sense of comfort and safety. The scarf is made from organic cotton. 

These days, I live with a zero-waste sunscreen that I take with me.

Finally, I usually have a stone in my pocket or in my bag. This stone I found on the beach in Amager. Having a small object like this is calming. I live with high sensory processing sensitivity, and it's helpful to always have an object that I can direct my attention towards in a busy space, for example. 

At times, I bring my reusable water bottle with me. At other times, I bring a small glass jar (it originally came with some local honey) with a snack like dried mango or dried blueberries. But most of the time, I don't bring these things with me, unless it's a very long walk. 

401

Everyday sustainability and zero-waste practices

In my academic field (degrowth), it is so easy to come across visions and suggestions that are unrealistic. One does not need to be a professor to paint a vision of a perfectly sustainable society. Wouldn't it be nice if we all lived in small, self-governing eco-communities close to nature, grew our own food, made our own clothes? Of course our current mode of living in materially wealthy countries is unsustainable. But I feel that proposing unrealistic solutions is not enough. They are often beautiful, interesting, and thought-provoking. I hope that many of them will become reality. I believe that fellow humans need to take part in making it happen. Yet, there need to be realistic solutions too, something that fellow humans can start doing today. 

I live in a city, Copenhagen. My partner has childcare responsibilities here. We do not have access to land, so we can't grow our own food. We don't have a garden or even a balcony in our current apartment. Many fellow humans live in cities, just like us. 

Below is what I do every day to live sustainability and not only theorise it. I practise minimalist, zero-waste, simple and slow living as an act of activism, because I believe that theorising degrowth is not in itself sufficient. I don't think that writing makes me an activist. 

Walking. I do not have a car or even a bicycle. I avoid public transport as much as possible too. Public transport here in Denmark is expensive. But even if it was inexpensive, heavily subsidised or even free, I wouldn't travel often. I came to the realisation that even public transport is fast. For a long time, I thought of travelling by train as slow travel. It is slow in comparison to travelling by plane, but it's not slow at all. And I want to live a slow life as much as possible. When I walk, I contemplate and connect with the city. 

Cooking. We buy most of our food in a supermarket. Some food we buy in a farmers' market and food markets. We also buy bread and fikabröd in local bakeries. The food we buy is mostly organic, local, unpackaged, and seasonal. I don't have a list of what to buy before I go to a supermarket. I decide what to cook when I'm there because I plan, say, my meal for the evening depending on what is available that also satisfies my criteria for sustainability. I cook very simple food, and when I cook, I think about life and connect with the vegetables and fruits that provide nourishment. I feel gratitude and joy. 

Cleaning. I live in a small studio apartment and practise minimalism, so my home is very easy to clean. It doesn't take long as there are very few things, but I take my time when I clean my space. For cleaning, I use a reusable cloth and water. I use baking soda and soap too when I need to, but no commercial products specifically designed for cleaning one's house. 

Wearing the same thing. My wardrobe consists of 10 items. All of them are basic, organic clothes without patterns, in neutral colours such as off-white and beige. Every day in summer I wear shorts, a top and a linen shirt. I don't want to reinvent myself for different events, occasions, moods, seasons, etc. I don't want to take part in normalising looking different every day. 

Washing my body with water. For my personal care, apart from toothpaste and a toothbrush, I use only water. I am feeling so much gratitude for beautiful, delicious, safe water here in Denmark. I want to be mindful of what I return to this water. I find that I don't need specific products. My partner and I share natural hand soap, natural shampoo (I use it occasionally), and zero-waste sunscreen.

Writing. Writing about degrowth in Denmark in itself is not activism. But I write my autoethnography about being in the world differently almost every day. I think that everyone should try to have a personal journal about relating with the world differently. It doesn't have to be a formal study as it is in my case. I notice that I grow through this research. I feel empathy towards others' struggles and I notice mine more acutely. 

Communicating. I receive emails from fellow humans every day. To my co-author and I, gentleness and care are the values at the heart of sustainability. I struggle to imagine a harmonious human being who understands sustainability deeply, practises it and at the same time is violent in their communication. I strongly believe in non-violent communication. If I come across a fellow human who communicates in a violent way  - by which I mean harsh, abusive, offensive or otherwise lacking in gentleness and care - I withdraw myself and my energy from such person. I think that there should be zero tolerance towards violent communications. On some occasions, I opposed such communications when it felt like the right thing to do, but most often I choose to direct my energy into beautiful spaces (kind, safe, nurturing). 

Inner dialogue. I spend much time in solitude. I feel that when I'm alone (or with non-humans), I am more creative. I often find myself in the zone. For example, I can write what I want to write more quickly and then spend more time being with nature. When I'm on my own, I feel inspired and recharge. It feels so important to have deep internal dialogues be on a sustainable sustainability journey. 

Avoiding. I avoid busy and violent spaces as much as possible. For me, this is part of self-care as well as everyday activism. It can be difficult to avoid busy spaces in a city at times, but I notice that it's also possible to live a slow and calm life in a city too. For example, I avoid shopping centres and streets that are crowded. Walking in the city helps me discover better ways to get somewhere while also avoiding crowded areas. There are non-physical spaces that I avoid, such as mailing lists where aggressive discussions may take place. I would much rather use this time to meet with students to help them on their research journeys, or walk to a food market to get local vegetables. 

Small things. There are some practices that have become so commonplace in the zero-waste community. Using a reusable water bottle, cotton bags, composting, upcycling. I've been doing these small things every day for many years. I see much value in such practices. They normalise more sustainable behaviours and encourage fellow humans to do the same. 

Deleting emails. I do not keep the emails I don't need or that I'm not going to respond to. More recently, I have become more attentive to electronic clutter. 

Small businesses. This is not something that I do every day, but I do it routinely. Whenever I buy something (e.g., hand soap), I try to buy it from small, local, independent businesses. Since 2016, I have been researching small, sustainable businesses. I believe that there should be many small businesses in a degrowth society, so I try to support them. 

I love this quote from Roy Bhaskar's From East to West: “Ultimately all change in the social world depends on self-expansion leading to self-transcendence”. I believe that nurturing goodness (empathy, gentleness, compassion, kindness and so on) in oneself makes one a more harmonious person who relates with the world (also the material world!) in a genuinely caring way. And doing all those things I listed above contributes to my personal growth, gives me energy and strength to continue on my path. 

400

 Electronic burden

Electronic clutter is so much easier to ignore than physical objects. 

I've always had a minimalist approach to photos. Apart from the photos I use in my autoethnography, there are probably five or so personal pictures. But over the years, I've accumulated many electronic academic articles and books. I started to accumulate them in 2016 when I began working on my PhD. I've never printed them but they still felt like electronic burden. All of them are accessible through the library, so there was no need to keep them or the books. 

If I was to keep only two books, they would be Walden by H.D. Thoreau and Power of Gentleness: Meditations on the Risk of Living by the French philosopher Anne Dufourmantelle. After reading hundreds of books and articles on my academic journey and before, these two books are my favourite. 

I've deleted most articles and books from my computer. I've kept only a few books and articles on critical realism (the philosophy of science perspective that I use in my works), humanistic geography, deep ecology, and a few key reference works in my field. I've kept my own works too, to be able to send them to my fellow humans when they ask for them. 

On my desktop, I have only eights folders. 

• One contains my autoethnographic photos. I use them for this autoethnography and in teaching.
• One contains a few files for the course on which I'm teaching.
• One contains all of my own works.
• One contains all the books and papers that I've kept.
• One is entitled Everything. It contains a few pictures and a few electronic documents.
• One contains some ideas for the next steps on my academic journey.
• And two contain the projects that are in progress, a chapter for an edited volume and my book.

Living with so few files feels liberating somehow. 

399

 Sunscreen

When you live with less than 50 personal possessions (and not so many other objects), every new item stands out. I try to be intentional when I invite new objects into my life. Every item requires materials and energy, and very long supply chains, to come into being. Apart from this ecological reason, I also prefer to live with less. It feels light, liberating, and calming. 

My personal care for some months now has consisted of a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a shared shampoo. I stopped using soap on my face and body as an experiment. Washing with just water feels so wonderful and natural. My bathroom looks uncluttered. It's easy to clean and keep tidy. My skin looks good. Whenever I walk past the stores selling personal care and so-called beauty products, I feel free. I don't have to buy any of those things. 

I've lived without a sunscreen for years. Before I moved to northern Sweden, I lived in England where I used sunscreen occasionally. The sun felt very intense there, and I got sunburned a couple of times. Most of the time though, I relied on clothes for sun protection. I would use sunscreen constantly only when I went to southern France. I live with an autoimmune skin condition, and many products intended for personal care irritate my skin. Sunscreen often felt especially irritating. In northern Sweden, there is not much sun during winters. Summers are very short, but bright and warm. For sun protection, I relied on clothes again. After northern Sweden, I moved to southern Finland. I lived there from the end of December until October. The sun can be intense there in summer, but I still felt that clothes were enough to protect me from the sun. 

After Finland, I moved to Denmark. I didn't know what to expect, as the climate feels so different in different places. For example, before I moved to northern Sweden, I did not realise that the air there is incredibly dry. In England, hot days are suffocating, and cold days feel colder than in northern Sweden though the temperature is much higher. I was surprised that the sun felt so intense in Denmark. I was afraid of getting a sunburn. It took me a while to choose a sunscreen. When I invite a new object into my life, I want it to be made from natural materials, without plastic. It needs to feel good too. I found a zero-waste sunscreen with zinc oxide. Its packaging is made from paper. The sunscreen is a water-free balm, so it takes a bit of time to spread evenly. I try to live a slow life, so taking my time to apply sunscreen doesn't feel like a chore. It feels like a beautiful time that I can spend with my body. 

398

 Walking the path

I've been on the path of a more sustainable living that combines various elements of extreme minimalism, zero-waste, simple and slow living, for 15 years. At times, I felt that I achieved a perfect constellation of practices. But every time I thought so, I was wrong, and it's wonderful. As I'm walking this path, I am always discovering something new, something new comes to light and becomes more significant. And other things become less significant.

I've received the proofs of my forthcoming book called Degrowth, depth and hope in sustainable business: Reflections from Denmark, Finland and Sweden. I decided to do the index myself. The index for my book that came out recently (Deep transformations: a theory of degrowth) felt too extensive and cluttered to me. We didn't compile the index ourselves, but for my own book I decided to do the index the way that feels right. I want it to be very simple and minimalist. 

Taking my phone with me when I go outside has been a long-term habit of mine. At times, it's useful to have my phone with me, such as when I travel by train or meet my partner. But oftentimes I simply go for a long walk or to a supermarket. I began leaving my phone at home more often, and it feels so good. Perhaps the worst habit of mine was often checking work related emails on my phone. 

I've stopped reading the news. My partner still reads the news and we talk about what is unfolding in the world. When I was younger, a PhD student in 2016, I used social media more. I felt that I wanted to repost something from the news, link that event with capitalism, explain to my fellow humans why capitalism is bad. After a while I learned that many fellow humans already know that capitalism is exploitative, destructive, and violent. I was not contributing to their knowledge. I decided to focus more on my own practice and reveal the nuances of living a more ecological and harmonious life. I wanted to talk more about the structures that constrain and empower. It resulted in deeper conversations with fellow humans and I feel that I grew so much as a person and a researcher.

397

 Slow food practices

The slowest way to relate with food would be to grow my own food and to forage. Unfortunately, growing our own food is not possible for my partner and I because he has family commitments in the city. We still try to forage whenever we can. Yet, most of our food comes from supermarkets, a food market and farmers' markets. 

I believe that even if one finds themselves in similar circumstances, it is possible to practise a slower mode of relating with food. 

While growing our own food would be the slowest method, the fastest would be to get food (ingredients or even ready meals) delivered to our door. I avoid this practice completely for many reasons and have never ordered food to be delivered. One reason is avoiding giving support to the industry that normalises precarious jobs that does not fulfil human potential and does not contribute to personal growth. My fellow humans are not my servants. I would feel uncomfortable sitting in my home, reading philosophy or writing an article and waiting for someone to drive in the rain to deliver something fancy or something that I simply felt lazy (or too entitled) to cook. It goes without saying that food delivery is a good option for the elderly and for those who cannot get food via any other methods. But I am able to walk to a food market, cook my own food and structure my day to fit those activities into my schedule. Another reason for avoiding food delivery is slowness: I want to slowly choose what to buy according to zero-waste principles. 

To get our food, we walk to a supermarket through a park. It's a wonderful walk, though there are quicker ways to reach the supermarket. In the supermarket, we look for organic, unpackaged, local food. It often means avoiding planning our meals and deciding what to cook based on what we find. We try to buy seasonal produce. Being in a supermarket for a long time could feel like a waste of time, but for us it is the time we can spend together. Because I study my practices via autoethnography, I often take mental notes (or notes in my phone) about some aspects of my practice while we shop. 

At times, we walk to a food market. It's also a wonderful walk through Copenhagen. We don't take the most efficient route. We walk through small streets and pay attention to what surrounds us, how the city changes as the seasons unfold. In the food market, we look for local, organic, unpackaged, seasonal vegetables and fruits. 

We often buy bread from local bakeries. I'm always fascinated by how beautiful bread crust is. 

When we want something special, like honey, we look for small, local producers. We also rely on small businesses if we need to source, for example, dry fruits. We use them as a snack for my partner's child. 

We cook very simple food. Pasta dishes, soups, salads, potatoes. When we cook, we take our time and avoid various kitchen gadgets. When I prepare food, I do not wish to be elsewhere, to do anything else, to delegate cooking to anyone else. I genuinely enjoy it. Preparing food, though there is such a great diversity of practices, feels timeless. It's something that connects me to my fellow humans across time and space. At times, my partner cooks. When I cook, he often plays guitar. 

We eat slowly. When we eat, we don't only focus on the food, but also on being together. 

We eat out very rarely. When we do, we avoid fast food restaurants and choose local cafes most of the time. 

We travel rarely, but when we do, we try to stay in places with a kitchen so we can continue to implement our usual practices and not rely on restaurants. 

396

 Exploring the city as an autoethnographer

There are so many aspects of slowness that I intend to capture in my autoethnographic work. I've written about slowness from the very beginning of my autoethnography, but I used to do it in a more fragmented way. These days, my study of slowness in everyday life is more systematic and intentional. 

Writing about slowness means contemplating every day, every activity, every practice. Focusing on the ones that I or we (my partner and I) do differently to what is the norm. Though our life feels normal to us, we were wondering how fellow humans would feel if they visited us for a week or a month. Would they find our life too slow, uneventful, boring, local? Or would they feel liberated, refreshed and regenerated? In any case, they would probably notice a very different pace of life. 

In my new autoethnography, I pay attention to things like food, clothing, everyday activities such as cleaning and cooking, relating with fellow humans, nature, rest and work. I talk about transportation and relating with the city where I live (Copenhagen). 

I came across this text recently, and it resonated with me:

"Following a map or using a GPS will help you get from point A to point B, but by itself it will never teach you your way around. To do that, Wittgenstein says, you must actually walk around the city. You must get lost a bit. You must meander, apparently directionless. You must transverse the same paths multiple times, while noticing something different about them each time you take them. You must suddenly approach a familiar spot from an entirely unexpected direction. After a while, he says, you will have come to know your way around." (Burbules, 2020, p. 1450). 

Reference

Burbules, N. C. (2020) Slowness as a virtue. Journal of Philosophy of Education, 54(5), 1443-1452.

395

 Walking slowly

My partner and I went for a walk around Copenhagen again. We worked for some hours in the morning, but left home (where we work most of the time) at around 10 am. We decided not to have a plan for our walk, and just walk wherever we felt like it, intuitively. Walking helps you notice so much. 

Walking also helps me enact my decision of finding good and even spiritual experiences in the city. After living in northern Sweden and then on an island in southern Finland, I thought that I would not be able to get used to Copenhagen. There is so little nature. When I moved to Copenhagen, I missed nature a lot. For me nature will always be the space where I find most joy, authenticity, peacefulness and self-transcendence. Many activities associated with the city are not what I enjoy doing. Shopping, visiting museums, theatres, cinema, networking events. But Copenhagen is a beautiful city, and I wanted to walk in the city to connect with it. Little by little, I began to feel happy. No one could make me engage in consumerism and visit museums and theatres. I realised that I could live slowly. There was no speed police. At times, there seems to exist an assumption that capitalism wants something, forces humans to do something. But capitalism doesn't have a mind. It's a system, but not a person who wants. It certainly has powerful logics, and structures that find themselves into the minds of humans, that constrain and empower. Yet, capitalism does not care that I choose to walk and avoid shopping. It cannot care. To think this way felt liberating and it gave me hope that I could live a good life in Copenhagen until we can move closer to nature. 

394

 Slow day

Living slowly can be scary in our fast-paced world. I think that practising slowness, taking part in its normalisation, talking about it openly, learning from others about their ways of living slowly are acts of everyday activism. 

I decided to write about this day, sketching notes throughout rather than in the end of the day. Nothing special is happening on this day. Yet, just like any other day, it's still special. These days are very warm and sunny here in Copenhagen, and the sunlight feels intoxicating. 

I woke up early, between 5 and 6 am. It's not because I set my alarm to wake up early and "get things done". Rather, it's because the sun rises very early these days. I don't have curtains, so I naturally wake up earlier in spring and summer. I stayed in bed for a while looking at the rays of the sun visiting my home. It's such a magical experience after a long Nordic winter, living in a studio apartment whose only window faces the North. I stopped using my alarm clock on a daily basis many years ago, as it always felt like a violent way to wake up. These days, I use it only several times a year perhaps in situations when I need to get up extremely early, e.g., if I'm taking a train. Most of the time I can avoid it via scheduling my meetings later on in the morning and taking later trains. I came to a realisation that when it comes to most meetings, there is no urgency, and nothing bad will happen if a meeting takes place at, say, 11 am instead of 8 am. 

Before diving into some work tasks, I decided to wash the towels in the shared washing machines downstairs. I never use the elevator, even though our studio apartment is located at the top floor. So early in the morning, around 6 am, there is no one around the space where the washing machines are.

I took a slow shower, staying there a few extra minutes. I don't use soap on my face and body any more, so I enjoy simply being there with beautiful, fresh and safe water. I made a cup on tea and enjoyed it together with the sun rays. 

Between 7 and 10 am, I worked slowly. I usually start with responding to my fellow humans' emails. I don't write emails fast because I want to be fully present with what I write. I want to manifest gentleness and care in my emails. Apart from the emails, I sketched some thoughts for my piece on slow living. 

Between 10 and 11 am, my partner and I decided to walk to a health store and a supermarket. We chose a long way through the park. The weather was magical and many fellow humans were out enjoying the sun. There is so much to notice and enjoy when you walk! Many trees are still blooming, people smile, the crust of fresh bread in bakeries looks so comforting and delicious. As we were walking, I was thinking about the pace of the modern life. I was also thinking that we could simply order everything we needed online. We avoid online shopping as much as possible because it contributes to a sense of busyness ("I am so busy, I have no time to get it myself from a store!"). We could also go to one of the supermarkets near the heath shop, but we went to one further away because it would entail a wonderful walk through a park. On the way, we got scones and bread from a local bakery. 

In the supermarket, we took our time to choose the vegetables we came there for. We shop slowly because we look for unpackaged vegetables and check where they come from. We also try to buy vegetables that have uneven shapes and that fellow humans would probably be less likely to buy. 

I was observing how walking and thinking were intertwining. My partner and I work together and often write together. As we were walking, we were sharing so many ideas and giving each other feedback on our works. 

We had a late lunch at 1:30 pm. For lunch, we had houmous, vegetables, and bread. Having food together is sacred for us, and we do it as often as we can and very slowly. After lunch, we returned to writing. I received reviewers' comments on one of my articles. I read them slowly and carefully. It was heart-warming to read their comments. 

At around 4 pm, we went to get some ice-cream from a local ice-cream store and sit in the park. We were discussing all the things we would have been doing if we didn't live a slower and simpler life. Perhaps we'd be going to a gym, some networking events that we are oftentimes invited to (but never attend). We would be attending workshops, classes and so on. But we don't. We spend much time with each other, with our local parks, with the place. We spend time on simple everyday activities like taking a shower, drinking tea, cooking, cleaning. We spend time on the things we love doing and that are parts of our professional life, such as reading and writing, preparing lectures. 

Just before 6 pm, we decided to make dinner. For dinner, we made a salad and served it with fresh bread from the bakery and houmous that we also had for lunch. We were talking about life, what we value, and reading paragraphs from Walden, one of my favourite books. 

At around 9 pm we made some tea and were watching a breathtakingly beautiful sunset. I was thinking about a popular saying "don't put off until tomorrow what you can do today". Most of my life it has somehow made sense to me, but the more I thought about it, the less it felt intuitively right. I feel that this mindset encourages fellow humans to not simply do what is important and sufficient for one day, but to put too much on our "to do" list, to increase our productivity. It seems to be especially so in our overproducing and ever busy society. I try to do only one important thing a day. I let myself contemplate tasks that are not urgent. I begin to realise that there are in fact not so many tasks that are genuinely urgent. 

I fall asleep when it gets dark. Before I sleep, I like to simply sit and contemplate. 

393

 Slowness

I decided to sketch another autoethnographic work over the coming months (or even years!). I want to write about slow living. I don't know what this work will be, if it will be a chapter, a paper or just extensive notes for myself. With me stepping away from overwork and perpetual busyness in academia, I want to take things slowly. 

In my consumption and life in general, I focus on the basic needs. I consume very few material things and services that don't fall into the basic needs categories. I'll reflect on those categories in relation to slowness. 

Food 

Many years ago, at times I would have fast food with my friends. When I stepped on the path of extreme minimalism and zero-waste, I stopped consuming fast food. I generally avoid restaurants too and prefer to take my time to cook. It's such a meditative activity that I would not want to give up. Most of the food I eat is very simple. I don't consume meat and haven't done it since my early twenties. I often spend a lot of time on buying food too. Often, my partner and I walk to a food market. The slowest way to get food would be to grow our own but we do not have access to land. 

Shelter 

I take my time to clean my home. We live in a tiny studio apartment and practise minimalism, so cleaning never takes long. When I lived on my own, I even cleaned the floor and washed my clothes and home textiles by hand. To clean my home, I don't pick a certain day of the week, but rather I try to do it when it's sunny and pleasant. I find so much joy is slowly cleaning my home and experiencing gratitude towards everything I live with. 

Clothing

In my late teens, I still had several fast fashion items, but I quit fast fashion in my early twenties. I've never liked fashion, and large fast fashion stores always felt overwhelming to me. I've written a lot about clothes in this autoethnography. As for slowness, I take my time to repair my and my partner's clothes by hand. 

Transportation

I quit flying in my 20s. I travel by train to every destination I can't walk to. Whenever I can, I walk. I don't own a bicycle. Walking allows me to connect with the place more deeply.

Personal care 

My personal care is minimal. I used to live with 5 items, but more recently I stopped using soap on my face and body (and this works so well for me!). Though my personal care doesn't take long, I still take my time. I don't need products to spend time with my body. At times, slow personal care includes taking some more minutes in the shower, or slowly drying my hair in the sun. 

392

 Celebrating

When I was young, celebrations always meant parties and events. Food, gifts, many fellow humans. As I got older, I began to have a much more nuanced perspective on celebrations. At times, I would celebrate Christmas by myself. At other times, I would celebrate something with a cup of tea and sunlight. During those moments, I would reflect on some unfolding and feel gratitude for it.

Today, our book was finally launched. To celebrate, my partner (who is also one of the co-authors) and I went for a walk in Copenhagen. It's such a magical time of the year with many trees blooming. We walked to a food market to get a simple lunch and unpackaged vegetables for a salad. Instead of fresh flowers, we decided to get a large bunch of dill. There is something so wonderful in using food as decoration, and then of course eating it over time. I use fresh dill in salads and simple pasta dishes. I often use fruits and vegetables as decorations.  

391

 Our book

My co-authored book, called Deep transformations: A theory of degrowth is finally out. It can be downloaded for free here. I'm so glad that the book is open access. It always feels unfair that some fellow humans have to pay for the knowledge me and other researchers create. Knowledge should be accessible to all equally. Some prefer to buy books to support the authors. We will also receive royalties from the sales, but it is just a few percent. To genuinely support authors (and everyone else) there needs to be a universal basic income. So I would recommend that everyone who is comfortable with reading an electronic version should get a free copy. Alternatively, I believe it'll be possible to borrow this book from the library. 

It feels good that this book is out. It constellates our thinking about degrowth and what needs to happen in the domains of civil society, state, and business. These days, I am working mostly on deep spiritual transformations and my autoethnography. I am most interested in slowness and sustainability practices. 

390

 Waking up

Deciding to step on the path of slow living felt like waking up. So many unfoldings were leading up to this moment. Feeling deep sorrow about overwork and busyness in academia, experiencing wonderful benefits of living a simple life with very few things, spending quality time with myself and having inner dialogues. I asked myself what kind of life I wanted to live, what kind of human being I want to be. And then something shifted in my consciousness. For some, stepping on a path of a more ecological living is a one-off decision. For me, practising zero-waste, extreme minimalism, simple living has definitely been a journey. Most changes were gradual and gentle. When it comes to practising, say, extreme minimalism, changes are material and obvious. It is clear what practices extreme minimalism entails. With a shift in consciousness towards slow living, it is not yet clear to me what it entails and what changes it will bring. 

I've been incorporating slowness in so many aspects of my life for the past 15 years, but it was very fragmented. For example, early on in my journey I decided to stop flying and choose slower means of transportation instead. I even chose not to invite a bicycle into my life, as I wanted to walk everywhere. Early on I also decided not to consume fast fashion and fast food. I didn't want anything "fast" in what I consumed in general. Anything that I need to replace or re-do often, such as haircuts. I decided not to use an alarm and wake up slowly and naturally instead. While I was excluding such things from my life, I also overworked and overcommitted myself to things. For example, in my academic journey I said yes to things that were not part of my contract, just because someone above me in the hierarchy was busy or felt like they had more important things to do. I said yes to my partner when he proposed without taking my time and thinking carefully about what a new mode of being together entails. For example, we didn't come to an agreement about potentially having a child, or what will happen if I take a job somewhere else. I said yes to moving to another apartment that I had reservations about. 

Somehow I feel that a shift akin to the one I'm experiencing should have happened many years ago. I've been reflecting a lot on that. I was thinking why it didn't unfold in my late teens or early twenties when I felt so profoundly that I wanted to live a simple life, with a lot less than what is the norm in our society. Perhaps I was used to a faster pace of life and making decisions quickly, re-enacting insecurities and social norms (such as thinking that someone else knows better). It's a journey of un-learning. 

389

 Writing together

In the very beginning of my career in academia, I was afraid of working with fellow humans and writing with them. My PhD supervisor plagiarised my work. He copied the literature review section of my PhD thesis, added his name and sent the file to me requesting that I went through the file and added the references. I didn't do it. Instead, I asked him to meet. I told him that I saw it as unethical. In response, he said that my work would not be published, that no one would read my work even if it did get published, and that I needed him for my work to be published. I complained about his misbehaviour and used his original email as evidence. It was a scary thing to do in England, where universities are still hierarchical and feel old-fashioned. The supervisor, who was a senior lecturer, retained his job. He claimed that he was not going to publish that work. The university removed him from my supervision. Though it was the very minimum they could do, I was glad they did this. This situation resulted in my PhD journey taking a year longer than it would have done and in awful mental health outcomes. For this reason, most of my early works are single-authored. It was difficult for me to trust fellow humans in academia after that experience.

Then I started writing with my now-partner. We work well together. Many fellow academics warned me against writing with my partner. One male professor said that he would never give a job to a woman who co-authors with her partner. I think it's a bad piece of advice. It assumes that a woman is clueless and benefits from a smart and charitable man, which is offensive. Writing together with my partner feels safe, meaningful, and our work benefits so much from thinking together. This experience of writing with my partner encouraged me to feel safe and not be afraid of thinking and writing together with others. I've written several works with my fellow humans, and those have been beautiful experiences.

This morning, I had a meeting with a PhD student. She is incredibly talented and such a kind human being. We are planning to write an article together. After the meeting, I was thinking about the state of academia and strategic writing. Writing with big names does not feel appealing to me. Oftentimes, fellow humans in academia say that academia is male-dominated and hierarchical. But it is not enough to say these things. It's important to work with early-career researchers, especially women. The meeting with the PhD student didn't feel like work. It felt like a safe and creative space. Recently, I've been taking so many notes about slowly academia and my awakening whereby I so clearly felt that I no longer wanted to contribute to overwork and perpetual busyness in academia. My decision to exist the mindset and practice of overwork and busyness (and their normalisation, glorification and celebration) does not mean that I would step away entirely. But it does mean setting boundaries and becoming more intentional with my time and the quality of academic spaces I dwell.

388

 Borrowing a thread (sytråd)

I borrowed a piece of navy coloured sewing thread (sytråd) from a fellow human to repair my partner's navy shirt. At home, we have only one thread, in white, because it works for all my clothes, my partner's white t-shirts, and all our home textiles. I could buy a navy one too (from a charity shop or a small local shop, for example), but there is something in the act of borrowing that an act of buying does not fulfil. Borrowing celebrates healthy and normal dependence on fellow humans, allows others to be of help, encourages one to live with only what is lagom (just right in Swedish) and no more than that. It normalises borrowing and thus takes power away from capitalism, though of course in a small way. I think it inspires fellow humans to become more open to other options, such as borrowing, taking things for free from byttestationer (swap shops), gifting, rather than buying and selling. When I was growing up, borrowing was seen as something done only in the situations when a person cannot afford to buy something. This is so wrong! Over the years, on my minimalist and zero-waste path, I have borrowed a lot and have become very comfortable with it. I borrowed all kitchen items when I moved from England to Sweden and from Sweden to Finland. I borrowed clothes from friends. My partner and I have borrowed tools from his ex partner and children's clothes from her too, when their child stayed with us. It feels that there are so many things that can be borrowed rather than bought. 

387

 What helps me live a slow life

Recently I've been thinking so much about slow living. For many years I've been trying to live more slowly and become more aware of my patterns of overwork. Because overworking was not consuming stuff, at times I felt that I was doing nothing wrong. My research focuses on post-growth, so I thought that overworking in this case was ok. Realising how detrimental overwork and busyness (and their normalisation and glorification) are felt like waking up. While stepping on a path of spiritual growth and minimalism 15 or so years ago was more akin to a process for me, giving up working hard (read: overwork, overcommitment, overperformance, normalisation of busyness) felt like an abrupt shift, awakening. 

Of course many things were leading up to this shift. For example, in the past months my colleague, my partner and I were working on a joint article about transformations in academia. I also wrote my first editorial for Environmental Values where slow academia was one of the themes I wanted to highlight. I've seen so many emails from my fellow humans in academia, sent late at night or on the weekends, mentioning how busy they were. These days, many fellow humans have autoreplies stating that they are busy and that it might take them a while to respond. I feel it puts pressure on others to create similar autoreplies, as everyone is busy. I decided to dive deeper into my own patterns and reasons for overworking. I also noticed that I get so much more done when I work much less. My co-author (and partner) and I noticed that even though since we moved in together we spend fewer hours working, we are happy with what we have created and we've completed everything we wanted to complete. But evenings, weekends, holidays, and days when I feel tired or need time for myself are sacred for me now. During these times I invest my energy in healing and being present with the self, or human and non-human others, or nature. 

Like many fellow humans in academia, I always thought I had to work hard to achieve something. I've never worked with big names, never liked networking and never invested my time in it. I wanted to pursue authenticity and give myself permission to work with whomever I genuinely like to work, to step away when something felt wrong (such as plagiarism, harassment, abuse, unfair treatment). I've always been open about working together with my partner, and we have enjoyed it immensely, despite fellow academics' advice to avoid disclosing it or even to avoid working together. 

Working slowly, especially in combination with working your own way, comes with financial consequences. I want to write down what helps me, while also recognising that every human's situation is different. Here, since it's an autoethnography, I discuss my own experiences. Though over the year of doing autoethnography, I notice that fellow humans recognise themselves in some, or even many, of my experiences, and this is why autoethnography is valuable and beautiful. 

Extreme minimalism helps. In academia, I always earned more than I needed. Some of it I donated, but I also saved some of the money for periods of unemployment. Finance was never the reason why I stepped on my path of minimalist living. My reasons are ecological, aesthetic, spiritual and health-related. But spending less allowed me to, for instance, work for a year and take a year off. My partner's practice of minimalism also helps. He practices minimalism for ecological reasons. Spending less overall means that we could live on one academic wage (mine or his). 

Practising minimalism doesn't feel like a sacrifice. We live with what we genuinely need and like. We spend more on the areas of consumption that are important to us (living in a safe area, buying organic food, using public transport that is expensive here in Denmark). We spend nothing on things that don't matter to us or that would make our life less pleasant. For example, we don't buy occasion clothing (or seasonal, or fashion clothing), jewellery, seasonal items, holiday décor, home décor, foreign travel (apart from rare occasions when we travel by train for a conference), kitchen equipment, cleaning products (apart from soap and baking soda), makeup and gender and age specific skincare, multiples (e.g., something we like in many colours), souvenirs, tools that we can borrow easily from family and friends. We do not own a car. Being introverted means we love spending time with each other or on our own. We don't go out much. We find so much joy in simple, everyday activities such as cooking, spending time with my partner's child, spending time with nature, walking, reading, writing, talking. We pursue harmony and authenticity in our life and do not want to live like anyone else. 

If we wanted to live more normal lives (i.e., what is normal for our area), we would need to own a car, a house, consume much more, travel abroad more often and further away. We would need two academic wages, and even that would probably not be enough. At times, we talk about having a child together. It's not impossible to live as a family on one academic wage, but that means (providing there is no financial support or inheritance) living a simple and slow life. 

Above, there is a picture of a linen bag. The bag is made from French linen, in Europe. Recently, I've been using it as a laundry bag, and it currently has most of my wardrobe in it. I've written rather a lot about my extremely minimalist wardrobe in this autoethnography. I often think that I would need much more money if I lived with a more normal wardrobe. 

386

 No busyness

During my PhD, from 2016 to 2020, I worked a lot. I didn't receive support from my supervisors. They would not be the persons who'd help me with my career. In fact, in the final year of my PhD, my first supervisor plagiarised my work. I complained about his behaviour, and the university removed him from my supervision. The second supervisor took his side in that situation and I refused to see her in the final year of my PhD. Technically, I was supervised by the head of (neoclassical) economics who had not read my work until it was finished. She was a kind person, but stepped in very late, after the university removed my supervisor from my supervision (though he retained his job as a senior lecturer), and degrowth certainly was not her area of interest or specialism. My PhD was funded internally by the business school, so I could not finish it elsewhere. At that time, I realised that I had to work a lot. This continued into my post-doc. I would work evenings and weekends. I felt that this pattern of work was wrong. It clashed with my worldview as well. It felt hypocritical to write about degrowth and transformations, reduced productivity and slow living while working non-stop. 

Around me, I observed how this work pattern was normalised in academia. Fellow humans would stay at the university in northern Sweden until 10 pm. My colleague and I jokingly called having coffee at night at the university a "10 pm fika" (there is a fika break usually every morning at 10 am). Those fellow humans in temporary and precarious positions who have not made it in academia (such as postdocs) would work especially much. They would struggle to say no to additional tasks such as marking and teaching outside their contracted hours in a hope that such compliance would make them more appreciated by those above them. Wherever I look around me in academia, every human being is busy and overworked. Burn-outs are the norm. Fellow humans in academia would send emails late at night and during weekends. They would struggle to find the time for meaningful activities such as supervision meetings and sharing experiences. Lunch breaks would always be meetings rather than breaks. 

It feels so odd how normal things such as talking about life during a lunch break or not working on a weekend seem radical and transformative in academia. After being in academia for many years, I asked myself, what am I doing with my life? On both the somatic and spiritual levels I felt such deep revulsion towards phrases such as "I've got too much on my plate" and "I've been extremely busy". I began to ask myself how I could reclaim myself from this (over)performance culture, how I could manifest the things that I value rather than those I despise, how I could become a better role model for fellow humans including students. I value so deeply gentleness, care, sufficiency, simplicity, presence, slowness, authenticity. For me, aligning my values and behaviours has been a journey. I'm still on this path. 

In the coming months, I want to dive deeper into feelings and emotions that I am experiencing on this path. There are certainly conflicting feelings and emotions. For example, I am feeling liberated, calm, joyful, and authentic when I work intuitively and take my time. Yet, at times I still feel residual guilt and shame. 

There are negative financial consequences to my mode of being. Something that helps me is practising extreme minimalism. I practise extreme minimalism for ecological, spiritual, aesthetic and health-related reasons, but financial wellbeing is one of the positive effects that this practice has. I can take my time and say yes to those unfoldings that I genuinely value and no to those that are detrimental to my life and do not align with my values. If I had a car, a bigger home, would shop more, travel to far-away destinations, I would need a lot more money than I need currently. Then I would feel the pressure to make it in academia. I think that many fellow humans feel exactly this pressure, and it reinforces overwork and busyness. In the worst cases, it encourages violent, exploitative, abusive, instrumental behaviours. 

385

 Doing nothing

I lived a day without doing anything professional such as writing articles, reviewing fellow humans' articles, reading. I simply lived that day with my partner. We went for a very long walk around Copenhagen, all the way from Frederiksberg where we live, to Valby, the waterfront and the little Mermaid (den lille Havfrue). This time of the year is magical because lilacs, bird cherries, chestnut trees and many other trees are blooming. Some years ago, I would feel ashamed if I did nothing all day. Fellow humans often talk about various productivity tips and tricks. I feel that we need more discussions on how to be less productive in meaningful ways that stimulate spiritual growth and that do not require spending much (or anything). Both my partner and I avoid travelling for ecological reasons, so we find magic around us, in our everyday life. Going for very long walks, foraging, cooking, spending time with his child, talking, visiting his father and stepmother. I am so inspired by elderly fellow humans. Oftentimes I feel that I learn more from them than from academic articles. 

Slow and simple life feels so fulfilling. Both my partner and I began to work less when we moved in together. I notice when we do work together, we are creative and happy with what we create. Interestingly, it takes less time to write an article, to do revisions. I have more time to talk to fellow humans in academia, including students, and be fully present in these meetings. 

I do not want to take part in glorifying overwork and celebrating busyness. 

384

 Negative experiences and spiritual growth

In the morning, I was drinking water and looking for reviewers for some articles I'm handling as an associate editor of the journal Environmental Values. I was also thinking about my own revision that I'm going through these days. It's interesting to be both an author and an editor, and see how the whole process of peer review unfolds.

Instead of glasses, I use various jars that came with food. There are other sustainable options, such as borrowing from friends, family and one's community (when I lived in Sweden, I borrowed glasses from my university department), buying in a second-hand/charity shop, getting them for free in a swap shop (byttestation in Danish). But I personally prefer to use food jars because to me they represent ultimate simplicity. I remember the times, many years ago, when some family members were worrying about what glasses to use when they had fellow humans over. They had what others might consider beautiful crystal glasses. They cared so much for and about such objects. At that time, I realised that when I could make my own choices, I would pursue freedom from such things. 

One comment from a reviewer made me think deeply about negative experiences in life and spiritual growth. Negative experiences, states and emotions (think grief, frustration, sorrow, anxiety, loss, and so on) can stimulate spiritual growth. I have certainly experienced that. For example, my mother died in a car accident when I was 17. It was a shocking, unexpected unfolding. She was healthy and in her early 40s. This unfolding made me think much about life, meaning, what I want to do with my time on Earth. It encouraged me to dive deeper into growth. When I resigned from my position at a Finnish university, I much more clearly realised what I was not prepared to accept as a researcher and a human being, what was important to me, how I wanted to be treated by, and how I wanted to treat, my fellow humans. I grew spiritually through these experiences and many others. 

And yet, I think we need to be very careful. We need to avoid glorifying or romanticising negative experiences. Some of them might result in spiritual growth, but some might not. They might result in worse outcomes. Much depends on the circumstances. For example, when my mother died, I lived with my stepfather and my brother. We were there for each other. When I resigned from my position, my partner was there for me. I could continue to live a good life. His university helped me with a residence permit for Denmark (I am a British citizen), and I became a visiting researcher at that university. I could continue doing my research without interruption. My partner also proposed to me. At times, I ask myself if things would have been different if I didn't have this support system and positive unfoldings that balanced the negative ones. 

Some believe that coping with difficult circumstances and going through very difficult situations makes a person more resilient and stronger. It makes them tough. I completely disagree with this. I would like to see more gentleness in this world, more care, kindness, genuine concern for others. I think that society must do everything to protect humans from suffering, not hope that suffering will result in spiritual growth. It might result in resignation and suicide. 

383

 No personal care items

I feel uncomfortable with the way the so-called "beauty" industry uses the word beauty, as if beauty is something that can be bought. I also feel uncomfortable about how carelessly the word care is used by this industry. It seems to apply to everything from what could be genuinely helpful to useless and even damaging things. I believe that fellow humans spend so much on "beauty" and "care" items, and the "beauty" industry does its best to make fellow humans believe that they need all these things.

I live with an autoimmune skin condition. My skin reacts negatively to many ingredients in personal care products. I grew up in a normal family (that is to say, they were not practitioners of an alternative lifestyle), who believed that if there is in issue, there is something that can be (and should be) bought to address this issue. When I was young, my family members would buy various products for me to help me cope with my skin condition. They meant well. But none of those items were helpful, and in fact most of them caused more pain. 

In my late teens and early twenties, I could choose myself what I wanted to use on my skin. It coincided with me stepping on a path of being in the world differently, practising minimalism, voluntary simplicity, and zero-waste. In my 20s, I was doing research in ecological economics. I was reading much about ecological degradation and came across various reports and other literatures on microplastics and overconsumption. I decided to use only natural care products. Oftentimes, natural products were more expensive, and the word "natural" could (and still can) mean various things. In the beginning of my journey, I made a mistake of simply replacing the products I was using with certified "natural" options. A better approach would be to contemplate more deeply if I needed those products. Over time, I minimised my personal care to what I considered to be the bare minimum. Those items included shampoo, soap, multi-purpose balm, toothpaste and toothbrush. At times, I would buy something that I thought would be useful and helpful, such as a solid conditioner and a lip balm. Because all those items were zero-waste and certified "natural", I felt good about consuming them and didn't think I should question my personal care. But then I began to question it. All those natural products still required materials and energy to be made. Oftentimes, those materials would come from far-away destinations. Moreover, I noticed that the only thing that helped my skin heal during flare ups was not using any products at all. I began to wonder if I really could not live without the items I had. I had to let go of some believes. For example, I stopped seeing my personal care as a routine, apart from brushing my teeth. Or perhaps I just started to see my care routine in a very different way. Washing my body, face, and hair with beautiful, clean water became my "routine". I began seeing eating organic and whole foods as part of my skin and body care routine. Walking and living slowly, with as little stress as possible, became parts of my routine. I realised that I would rather spend the money on organic food than skin and body "care" products. At times, my fellow humans said that for them using various products is part of self-care. Personally, I also take some moments to spend with myself every day. But I don't feel that I need to invite any products to share these moments with me. I simply sit and do nothing. I breathe and look at the sunset. 

I did not throw away the products I lived with. I simply did not repurchase them when I ran out of them. My personal care consists of a toothbrush. 

There are some items we have in our household. They are soap that we use for our hands and toothpaste. There is shampoo that my partner uses and that I use at times when I feel I need it, but mostly I wash my hair with just water. In our medicines pouch (we use an organic cotton pouch for all our medicines), there is a jar of vaseline. There is also a deodorant that we use at times. We do not have any items in our home that are gender or age specific. All of them can be used by us and my partner's stepchild who is 4. 

I haven't used makeup since my early 20s, and even back then I used only a few items and for a short period of time. I much prefer the way I look without makeup, and my skin feels better without it. 

I do not use perfume, natural or human-made. I used to have lavender essential oil, but I do not use it anymore. 

382

 Slow living in practice

In academia, we often say that we need to consume less, produce less, live slowly and so on. There are good arguments as to why we need to relate with the world differently. But it's not clear what it looks like in practice. The aesthetics of a post-growth society is such an under-explored space. For 15 years or so, I've tried to live differently. I want to reflect on what slow living means and looks like for me, while acknowledging that every human's circumstances are different, and slow living will look different for everyone. I also acknowledge that there are social structures that constrain and empower me, but I will not focus on them in this entry. 

I focus on fewer things in life, on the things that feel important to me. They include nature, manifesting care and gentleness towards the self and human and non-human others. In practice, I combine my hobbies (reading, writing, being with nature) and my work, weave together my practice and theory. I never wanted my work and my hobbies to be different. I spend much time with myself and not so much time with fellow humans. But when I spend time with them, I try to be fully present. I live with very few things, only the things that serve me. 

I take my time and feel good about doing one thing a day or even doing nothing. It's much more convenient to go to a nearby supermarket, which I do at times. But often my partner and I walk to a food market to pick up some unpackaged vegetables. It takes much time. Yet, when we are walking through Copenhagen, observing the world unfold around us, nothing else matters. The only thing I feel that I must do in life is to strive and be a good human being. By good I mean kind, empathetic, caring. I feel that I'm on this path. 

My partner and I oftentimes joke about conventional success. Material wealth, working for large corporations, having more, working at a highly ranked university, having many citations and publications (both of us are in academia). In the grand scheme of things, none of it matters. I could be writing a paper to submit to a highly ranked journal, but I choose to do autoethnography and to watch rain drops on flower petals in a local garden. In practice, extreme minimalism helped me save a little bit for periods of unemployment. 

I say no to things I don't want to do and things that don't feel right. When I was still at the Finnish university, I realised that it was not good for my mental health. It was not good for my partner's mental health either, as he was worried about me. I resigned. It was an act of activism against violence, and it was the right thing to do. 

On my path, I realised that I will never tailor my funding applications so they come across more mainstream. I will not teach mainstream economics and business. I feel good about gaps in my cv. 

In practice, slow living means walking, cooking from scratch, repairing clothes, cleaning and finding joy in all these things. It means letting go of fomo (fear of missing out). I can live only my own life, and it is a unique constellation of activities, values, decisions, relationships, things, and so on. I certainly don't want to live anything else, and neither can I. At times, I'm inspired by fellow humans (and also non-humans). In such situations, I contemplate it in depth, trying to understand why I feel this way and what it means for my own journey. For example, I was inspired by a cat who every day looked so confident and unapologetic in the same coat. I began to wear the same outfit every day. 

Slow living for me entails reflecting on my journey and the mistakes I made (with self-compassion). For example, on my journey I invited into my life many items that were natural, especially personal care items. I then realised that natural products also use resources and energy, they also take up space, and I decided to live with even less. I avoid inviting stuff into my life, be it "natural" or human-made. I consume more mindfully than I did years ago. 

I listen to my intuition. I am a social scientist, but I believe that intuition is an important source of insight. At times, something looks like a good opportunity, but it doesn't feel like one. 

I don't prioritise fellow humans higher up in the hierarchy. Academia is very hierarchical, even in the Nordic countries. Something that I observe at times is fellow humans who treat those higher up in the hierarchy with respect while disregarding (or worse, exploiting) those lower in the hierarchy. I never want to be this person, or associate myself with humans who behave this way. 

I celebrate small things such as a sunny day, writing an article that feels authentic. 

381

 Stones

It feels so normal to think that if I want to see works of art, I should go to a museum, if I want to decorate my home, I should go to a shop. And yet, breathtakingly beautiful and meaningful objects can be found in nature. In fact, this is where I go to when I want to see something magical or find something to decorate my home with. I do not use human-made objects to decorate my home. It's not to say that fellow humans shouldn't be using human-made objects in a genuinely sustainable society. Craft objects, hand-made objects, objects found in a second-hand shop or inherited objects, all of these are more sustainable options too. But I prefer the ones that I can borrow from nature and return back to her at some point. 

I found these stones on a beach here in Denmark. I never buy stones at stores because I don't know how they were mined, where exactly, and by whom. I believe that local stones are just as beautiful and one can have a deep connection with them. At times, I bring home shells, wild flowers, and branches of trees.