456

Holding my book

My book arrived today. It feels wonderful to hold it in my hands! 

The story of the book goes back to 2016 when I began working on my PhD. I was based in a business school in England (they covered the fees, which, looking back, was not ideal as it made me very dependent for 4 years). I wanted my academic work to be in line with my worldview. By the time I began my PhD journey, I had been practising voluntary simplicity for many years. I immediately gravitated towards ecological economics and degrowth. At that time, there wasn't much about degrowth and business. So I asked myself: what should business be like for a degrowth society to be possible? Eventually it resulted in a PhD thesis that was a monograph and some articles such as my Degrowth business framework: Implications for sustainable development. Looking back, I wish I did some things differently. But back then it made sense to start with a general idea. I remember having disagreements with the supervisors about using the word I. It makes me smile now.  

I didn't want to turn my PhD thesis into a book. It's available online freely anyway. Different humans of course see their PhD journey differently. Perhaps to some it makes sense to get more out of a PhD thesis than I did. For me, it was about becoming, growing, trying. I wanted to give myself some years after my PhD to find my own style, to dive deeper into the topic, to feel more confident about doing science the way I wanted to do it. I had so much growing to do. I was educated in mainstream economics, where statistics and higher maths played an important role. I liberated myself from positivist approaches only towards the end of my masters studies. It took me a long time to bring together my life and my research. 

After my PhD, I moved to Sweden. Then to Finland and Denmark. While I was mainly researching businesses and theorising degrowth transformations, I also began doing autoethnography as a small, personal project. I wrote about my mode of living that is perhaps unusual in this society in many ways. For example, I live with 10 items of clothing, less than 50 personal possessions. This autoethnographic work was initially a side project, but then it became increasingly important to me. I also began to notice how my life and research of businesses intertwined. Much deeper than I initially thought. When I realised that, I decided that my book will be written in a place-based, autoethnographic way. A fellow human from Routledge approached me in the beginning of 2023 and asked me if I was planning to write a book. And so I stepped on this path. By the time I started working on the book, so much had already crystallised in my mind. I only had to convert all of it into paragraphs. 

I never intended this book to be a literature review of degrowth and business. After my PhD, I realised that literature reviews are not my style. There are excellent literature reviews around, and I know that some are on the way too. Since my first article about degrowth and business came out in 2020, many fellow humans (especially masters and PhD students!) reached out to me asking me about doing a similar research. I always encouraged them to do it, and they are doing some wonderful research. I thought that I would not be contributing much if I was reviewing literatures too (something that I did a lot of when I was working on my PhD). I also noticed that inspiration came from so many different sources. From nature, from elderly persons outside academia. I could not include these amazing, deep insights if I was doing a systematic literature review. It still feels uncommon to "cite" a stone or an elderly relative. 

I wanted to write a book in a way that is place-based (I've lived in Denmark, Finland, and Sweden), organic, raw, gentle, and imperfect. At times even repetitive perhaps. It had to read like an email to a friend or a conversation with a fellow human (not necessarily an academic). I wanted it to be playful. There is my grandmother in the Index and a quote from my partner's father. I wanted fellow humans to see how social science is intimate and personal. How one's approach to science goes back to one's childhood. I never wanted to over interpret (or even interpret) what the businesspersons were saying. At times, when I think about degrowth theories (including my co-authored one), bringing about a degrowth future seems simple, despite us saying that it is complex. I wanted to show how messy things really are. I didn't want to present businesspersons as enemies of degrowth, but as fellow humans who are at once our neighbours, mothers and fathers, students, friends. 

I was working on this book while so many things were unfolding in my personal life. My partner and I were stepping on the path of being together. I resigned from my position in Finland. I moved to Denmark. Then my partner and I got engaged. And then we started family planning. On some occasions I thought I should sort things out before continuing working on this book. But then I decided against it. 

I dedicated this book to Mother Nature. 

455

 Things I "need"

I'm feeling overwhelmed by all the things I supposedly need for planning a pregnancy and for being pregnant. The first thing my partner's mother mentioned to us when we told her about planning a family was a car seat. We don't even have a car! Something that the NHS (British national healthcare service) whose advice I read (I'm a British citizen) recommends is taking folic acid. I'm a social scientist and not a medical doctor, so I decided to follow their advice. I bought some folic acid tablets in glass jars. While looking for this supplement, I realised how enormous the market selling stuff to those who plan a pregnancy and are pregnant is. It's always been something I've avoided because I didn't even think that planning a family would be an option for me, considering how insecure most academic jobs are. Now I've become aware of this market. I find it difficult to talk with fellow humans, at times even including my partner, about this market and all the stuff that I need and that our future baby will need. Some items seem to be useful or even essential, but many seem to be absolutely unnecessary clutter. My partner says to me that I need to see the act of buying these things as an act of trying to be good parents that many fellow humans perform. That is to say, they buy these things because they care, not to serve capitalism. He tells me about his own experiences of having his first child, about a dedicated changing table, dozens of pacifiers, diapers, toys, cloths, clothing, things that entered his, his ex partner's and the child's life via the child's grandparents, neighbours, and friends. And yet, my intuition tells me to avoid many of these things. I get the same feeling when I think about the categories of products I personally avoid, such as jewellery, makeup, occasion wear. These things are supposed to make me feel more beautiful and confident (or so is the manufacturers' and marketers' message!), but I feel that they only separate me from nature. I am reminded of a wonderful colleague of mine who once mentioned that she used to play with pieces of fabric as a child. I am reminded of myself when I was little. I played with cardboard boxes, shoes, shoe laces, smooth pieces of wood, and later with my grandmother's jewellery and sea shells. 

I don't want a nursery, a lot of storage and storage solutions, small pieces of furniture (change table, book display), small things that feel so useless (e.g., hangers for baby clothes). Fellow humans say that I will see how useful such things are when I have a child. Perhaps I will. But my experience of my own consumption is that many of the things I was supposed to have were not useful at all or even affected me negatively. I feel that this market's strategy is to make me feel incomplete, lacking in something, dysfunctional as an animal, as a biological body. That I cannot walk without these particular shoes, cannot sleep without this particular pillow, cannot entertain my baby without these particular things. 

454

 Preparing for starting a family

It is scary to step on the path of having a family. It feels vulnerable to write about it. And yet, I want this autoethnography to be a raw, intimate account of my real life, including all the challenges and successes. The main reasons behind my practice of voluntary simplicity and minimalism are ecological, spiritual and aesthetic. Over more than 10 years of practice, I began to feel that my practices have become at least somewhat settled. I feel confident in my self-imposed uniform and let go easily of ill-meaning viewpoints (such as that I have to dress differently to attract men, something a fellow human said to me in the first year of my PhD). My skin feels happy with very minimal care products (tap water most of the time). I genuinely enjoy walking everywhere, thus avoiding cars and even public transport most of the time. Stepping into a new chapter, that of starting a family, naturally brings new challenges. At the heart of our approach is applying (wherever and whenever possible) the same principles to planning, being pregnant, and parenting, that we apply to our everyday life as practitioners of voluntary simplicity, minimalism, and zero-waste. Something that I've noticed almost immediately when my partner and I have shared with our close ones that we are planning to start a family, is scepticism that fellow humans feel towards alternative parenting (slow, simple, minimalist, zero-waste wherever possible). What is the point of trying if we live in a capitalist society anyway? While I understand the difficulties, as a practitioner of an alternative lifestyle and a social scientist, I try to stay away from resignation. I try to embrace imperfection and the journey-like nature of this new chapter in my life.

At times, I feel sorrow about postponing planning a family until later in my life. While it is normal in our society, I ask myself why I personally did this. My answer is career. Many years ago I went through an abortion. I was just over 20 years old. I remember sitting there in an abortion clinic in England, explaining to a medical professional how important my education and career were to me, that I could not take a break from them. And while my work is incredibly meaningful to me, as I'm walking my life path, I am beginning to see the importance of other aspects of life.

There is a whole market that I was not aware of before. I have never, until now, realised how many items there are for those fellow humans who are planning to start a family. After more than 10 years of practising voluntary simplicity, I don't find it difficult to avoid buying those things. Having said that, it's humbling to contemplate how I would have approached this market if I was not a practitioner. If I was not a social scientist who believes in the unity of theory and practice. I'm sure that new (to me) objects will enter my space during this chapter in my life though. 

453

 Non-humans and thinking of having a baby

Recently, we went for another long walk around Copenhagen, the city where we live. We go for these walks often to connect with the city and non-human beings (sea, animals, trees), with each other, to discover new places and to move our bodies. The first time I was in Copenhagen many years ago, I noticed that there were many ladybirds. There seem to be fewer of them now, but one landed on my t-shirt. I don't remove them from my clothes. I let them sit on me as long as they want. Eventually they fly off. These interactions with non-humans are precious, especially in a city, and I value each one of them. Perhaps the ladybird was tired on this hot summer day. My heart was filled with empathy towards her, and I sensed trust from this magical little being. 

Interacting with animals reminds me of my own embodiment, of being biological. An animal too. 

I never thought I would be seriously considering having a child. For many years, I was so busy with my university degrees and then busy in precarious academic positions, oftentimes doing someone else's job outside my contract obligations, disguised as getting experience (in teaching, marking and so on). I thought that having a child would be irresponsible as I was living on my own, in different countries with short-term academic contracts and residence permits. There was never a good time. I was also worried about my sustainability practices. How would they change if I was pregnant, if I had a child? Like many fellow humans, I was (and still am), worried about ecological degradation and bringing up a human being within capitalism. 

Resigning from my academic position in Finland was an act of protest against violence and harassment in academia. After I resigned from that position, I felt liberated. I moved to Denmark to continue my research here. As I could continue doing my research on my own terms, without harassment and feeling unsafe, I decided to spend as much time as possible on spiritual growth, in parallel with doing my research. During this time, I realised that I was not prepared to sacrifice my life for my academic career, and certainly not for someone else's academic career in a hierarchical system. My academic career was only part of my life, part of a constellation of things that mattered to me. 

I heard so many stories from my fellow humans in academia regarding having (and not having) children. Many felt like having a child would end their academic careers. Many were worried about taking parental leave. Women especially were worried about gaps in their cv. 

I came to the realisation that the perfect moment to have a child would never materialise. I would always have fears and reservations. I decided to simply let them go, as I could not resolve them on my own. Resolving these fears and reservations requires a very different system to the one we live in now. It requires a different culture, different academia. Stable jobs, less competition, more flexibility. No misogyny. No sexism. 

My partner and I talked about this, and we decided to try to have a baby. I don't know how this chapter of my life will unfold, but stepping into this chapter feels right. 

452

Seeing my dream woman again

I came back from my family members' home and I'm in awe yet again. I wanted to write these notes as soon as I came back home, so they will be messy and raw. 

As a researcher, I am inspired by books and articles. But I am also inspired by nature, non-humans, and fellow humans outside academia. She is an elderly Danish woman in her 80s. She used to be a teacher of the French language. In her youth, she worked on humanitarian projects abroad and lived in Paris for several years. She has three children and two stepchildren.

Her stories are wonderful and thought-provoking. We talk about parenthood and how stuff floods humans' childhoods. Endless toys, gifts, activities, devices, even status items. She recalls her own childhood. 

Her biggest wish for her birthday was a fresh cucumber. I am reminded of my own childhood. When I was young, we lived in a remote, rural area due to my stepfather's job. We lived in and with nature and ate mostly seasonal food. In winter, I was often thinking how nice it would be to have a fresh cucumber. At times, my mother and stepfather would bring one home, and it was divided into small pieces and distributed among the family members. For my birthdays, I would often receive normal gifs. Lego, dolls, clothes. But there is only one object that I remember wanting a lot. It was a large chocolate bar. 

I am telling her that there are so many things that I worry about when I think of becoming a parent. How do I protect my child from capitalism's influence as much as possible? How do I avoid stuff and the pressure to do things constantly? How do I practise slow parenting in the modern world? She smiles and tells me a story. She was young, 7 months pregnant with her first child. She was alone in a country where protests were unfolding, and she couldn't buy sugar and milk. She took a flight back home to Denmark, with a suitcase and a bouquet of flowers. She says she could leave those flowers, but she was so grateful for them that she wanted to take them all the way home. I say to her that she is a strong and inspiring woman, and that I am so grateful to have her in my life. She says that she wants me to know that I should not fear. We continue talking about different parenting in our world of excess. She says that she and her husband are too old to start a revolution, and that it is up to us, young persons, to practise things differently. She says I will learn a lot on my path, and most likely experience setbacks and make mistakes, but the only thing I can do is try. 

She tells me that in the beginning, when she became a parent, she and her first husband were not wealthy. She would make clothes for her child from pieces of fabric that she had. She knitted a lot. She says that knitted clothes last a long time. It reminds me of my own childhood. My mother would knit a sweater for me, and as I grew older, she would unravel them and knit another sweater from the same yarn. 

451

 More on fashion: A guided entry

A while ago, I decided to let some of my entries about my everyday practices to be guided by fellow humans' questions. Before I dive deeper into contemplating a fellow human's questions, there are two things I want to say. One is that I am very grateful for the questions I receive. It is a privilege when fellow humans engage with one's works deeply, carefully and with so much understanding, empathy and compassion. I could answer some of the questions I receive privately (and I do that too), but at times I want to answer them here, as these contemplations will inform my academic writing. Perhaps there is an element of accountability too. Many fellow humans who know me in everyday life (such as my colleagues and friends) can observe the unity between theory and practice, something that has always been very important to me. 

I also want to say (as I mentioned in my previous entry) that my experiences may be, and very likely are, different to fellow humans' experiences. My autoethnography is an analysis of my experiences rather than those of fellow humans. For example, I acknowledge that others' personalities, preferences, modes of being, and circumstances are different. Everyone is a unique human being. The same structures may affect us differently. Others' relationship to and with fashion may be different to my own. For example, my grandmother, a playful, artistic, vibrant, extraverted person would always use fashion to create looks, if not personas. Her clothing had to match her persona. One day she is a housewife, lovingly cooking and cleaning all day in a flowy, flowery dress. She is wearing light makeup, or none at all, and some simple jewellery. Another day, she is dressed in a suit, neutral colours. Her hair is perfectly styled, she is going to her office. Yet another day, and she is looking cool in simple trousers, a bright blouse and almost excessive jewellery. She is going to meet her girlfriends for a chat. She would keep her clothes for a long time, take good care of them, repair them, tailor them to fit her perfectly. I learned much about sustainability from her, and it's certainly not my intention to say that her mode of relating with clothing is bad or wrong, or worse than mine. Mine is very different. 

The uniform

I wear a self-imposed uniform. I look the same every day, for all occasions, no matter how informal or formal they are. I live with 10 items of clothing. 

My uniform consists of sweatpants (or shorts when it's warm), a basic top, and a loose shirt. Everything is off-white, grey, or light beige. I feel that it's easier to wash all my clothes together if everything is the same or similar colours, and all my clothes are a background to me, rather than the other way round. Fellow humans notice that I wear a uniform (and at times gently ask me about it), but because everything is so neutral, I don't think fellow humans remember what exactly I wear. I avoid prints, logos and decorations on my clothes. Some of them have lace trims, but I feel that such trims age very quickly, so I will try to avoid them in the future. I don't want anyone to recognise the brands that I wear, as I don't want to advertise companies. I avoid anything that feels uncomfortable, so everything that I wear looks like menswear or pyjamas. To me it is important, for ecological reasons, that my clothes are made from certified organic cotton. Apart from the ecological reason, there are spiritual, aesthetic reasons, and health-related reasons. I want to be me. Recently I saw a picture from some clothing company. It featured a woman looking joyful and walking through a field. It is interesting how clothing companies try to create images in humans' minds, to sell a lifestyle when they sell clothes. If only I buy this dress, I will look as carefree, feminine, and joyful, just like this woman. Yet, in the end of the day, if I buy this dress, I will still be myself, just with this dress. The dress might be beautiful in itself, but it's certainly not something I would wear. It is impractical here in Copenhagen. I imagine how the dress would quickly become transparent in the rain. And all those wonderful cotton plants had to be transformed by fellow humans somewhere far away, for me to experience a few minutes of a dream or a fantasy, just to return to my reality. 

My fellow human asked: are there any situations where you feel very vulnerable or unsafe in your uniform? Or any times when you felt a strong urge to wear something different? 

I no longer feel vulnerable or unsafe in my uniform. But at times, in the very beginning, I did. I was in my early 20s. I gravitated to certain colours and styles, but didn't know how to put together a uniform that I would love to wear every day, how to ignore the looks of men when I was wearing a t-shirt without a bra. I made many mistakes. For example, I tried wearing navy and dark grey, but my cat's hairs were so visible on those items, and the colour faded very quickly. I notice that ivory and light beige last so much longer. My uniform had to be effortless, but navy, grey and black uniform was difficult for me to maintain. I tried wearing dresses and skirts, but it was so windy in England, I couldn't wear them. I tried wearing smart clothes, but I felt to overdressed in many situations, such as going to a supermarket or going for a walk in the park. I felt vulnerable partly due to the choices that I made. Over the years, I realised that wearing sweatpants, a basic top and a loose shirt worked well for me in the climate where I live and considering my lifestyle. Light beige/ivory made this outfit suitable for many occasions. Apart from falling in love with the incredibly simple aesthetic of this look, more importantly I was falling in love with my imperfect body. The uniform became a veil that gently separates me from the coldness of the outside world in winter (I live in Denmark) and something that gently protects me from the looks that I would rather not have directed at me. At times, though rarely, I feel uncomfortable when someone looks at my chest when I wear only a basic top without a bra. But I don't see it as my fault. I would feel ashamed if I realised that I was staring at a fellow human. Developing a healthy relationship with my body and my uniform made me feel indifferent to fellow academics' comments about me not claiming power via my outfit choices, not doing enough to attract men. After all, it's just a viewpoint of one (or even several) beings among billions of beings. In such moments, I pick up one of the stones that I brought home with me from a Danish beach and ask it what it thinks about my outfit. It remains silent. I look at graceful cats, majestic magpies, elegant swans. None of them are interested in fashion. They look the same every day. I am infinitely inspired by them. I am also inspired by fellow humans who wear uniforms, and it's empowering to share our experiences. My partner wears a uniform. It's a white shirt and black jeans (or light-coloured shorts in summer). He has multiples of the same item. He also has several shirts for formal occasions and a couple of sweatshirts for winter. His father wears a uniform too. 

The strongest urge that I feel, when it comes to clothes, is to not wear anything when I am, for example, by a body of water. In Denmark, it is legal to swim naked, and many fellow humans practise naturism by the sea. In such situations, I feel a strong desire to wear only my own, imperfect skin. At times, I feel cold, and I feel that it would be nice to wear something warmer than a linen shirt. I borrow something from my partner then. Strangely, most of the time I simply feel the desire to wear exactly the same outfit every day. Even though I live with only 10 items of clothing, I noticed that I've been wearing only a few of them. Some of them I wore almost every day and they wore out. My soul rejects reinventing myself. I would not want to, say, wake up to discover that my hair or eye colour or my height is different: I want to be me. And it's the same with clothing. 

My dream is to wear exactly the same item every day. Another dream is to discontinue wearing shirts. I feel that they have too many details on them (collars, buttons), and a plain top feels more in line with simplicity. Currently, I am contemplating what I should do in the situation that arose recently. My partner and I will be hosting his child's birthday party. The theme of the party is blue. It's the child's favourite colour. For a moment, I thought, wouldn't it be nice to wear a blue dress for this special occasion? I decided not to, as I will not be wearing this dress for other occasions. My partner will wear his one and only blue shirt himself, so I can't borrow it. I don't know what I will do yet. 

450

 Fashion

It feels difficult to start writing this entry, but when I decided to make all of my autoethnographic data public, I also stepped on the path of vulnerability. It's difficult to write this entry because I don't want to manifest disrespect towards my fellow humans who feel genuinely empowered by the fashion industry, for whom fashion is intimately linked with their self-expression and creativity. I will write about my own experiences. Oftentimes fellow humans say to me that even if one (like myself) chooses to wear simple clothing and a self-imposed uniform, they also do it to express themselves. It is so. I'm not indifferent to what I wear and what I communicate via my outfit choice. I wear things that communicate my values, such as durability and simplicity. I want to communicate non-hierarchy, serenity. I wear clothes that look like menswear and pyjamas. I've been wearing a self-imposed uniform for several years (sweatpants or shorts, basic tops, linen shirts). I experience the fashion scene (including fashion companies) that is available and affordable for most persons as hostile. Trends feel overwhelming. Companies try to sell a lifestyles to persons, while it is very rare when the items they sell are meant to last. I am fascinated by various companies' presence on social media. If only I buy this dress, I will look romantic, feminine, or sexy, and live in house like this, with this kind of furniture. I will be happy. 

While many fashion companies these days will probably communicate that empowerment of humans is one of the values they stand by and for, in reality it feels that they want to make humans feel insecure about themselves, incomplete without something. Since my early 20s, I've been on a journey to love myself as I am, as mother nature created me. I want to feel my best when I am wearing nothing. And then I add a layer or two of clothing, to honour the norms of my society and to feel warm. 

As a business researcher, I feel sorrow about the state of the clothing industry. There are companies that produce high quality, durable goods, but those items are not affordable for humans at large. Businesses with sustainability initiatives oftentimes run those initiatives alongside engaging with trends and using synthetic fabrics. Businesses that are established on sustainability principles oftentimes offer products that are not high quality. As if they hope that a person will donate/throw away the item before they notice how poorly made the item actually is. 

I live with 10 items of clothing. It's interesting to live with so few items, as I can witness their ageing process and observe how I feel about wearing the same items every day. Recently I spent some time with those items to see how they are. Some of them have become discoloured, stretched, and stained. I've taken a few items to a textile recycling bin. I could turn them into cloths, but we have enough fabric cloths in our home to last us a while. I don't yet know what I will replace those items with. I am trying to approach my wardrobe carefully not only for ecological, spiritual and aesthetic reasons. I want my stepdaughter who is almost 5 to see that it's ok to wear the same things every day, to avoid jewellery. I want her to know that it's possible to wear very basic clothes and be happy. 

449

 Being with trees

We live in a large city, and to connect with nature we try to spend time with trees. Usually we go to cemeteries, because there we can enjoy both trees' company and silence that is so difficult to find in a city. Being in a cemetery also reminds me about death and my limited time on Earth in my current form, as a souled, conscious, human being. 

I developed a relationship with trees when I was very young. I was born in a large city, and my mum would take me to a local park very often. I believe that being in a park, playing with pine cones and pine needles made me feel safe in the universe and in nature. My mum would always present trees as beings and encouraged both my brother and I to hug them or to simply put our hands on their magical trunks, to feel their energy. We moved to a rural area after several years in the city, and in the rural area my brother and I would climb trees. Sitting on a branch of a tree felt like sitting on our mother's lap. I would talk to trees. I could see them from my bedroom window. They were moving so gracefully in the wind, and I thought that they were talking to each other. Oftentimes I would fall asleep trying to understand the stories the trees were telling. I thought that at some point, just like I learned to understand and speak human languages, I would also understand those trees. My mother told us that there is something every human being had to do in their life, and it was to plant a tree. My brother and I planted some birches. We brought tiny fir trees home too and planted them in the garden. 

These days, my mind takes me back to those experiences very often. I observe that my ecological worldview goes back not so much to the academic books that I've been reading since the beginning of my PhD journey, but rather all the way to my childhood. Those books did help me structure my worldview though. They helped me acquire a vocabulary to describe my experiences. I'm thinking of words such as self-transcendence, oneness, awe, gratitude, for example. 

448

 Summer notes

Since we came back home to Copenhagen from Bornholm, we have been walking a lot. We've been connecting with the city, discovering new to us buildings and spaces. As I'm writing these words, it's very warm and still. There is no wind at all. The sky is blue. The space is filled with magical sounds of swallows (svaler in Danish). 

In the past days, I've been wearing a white t-shirt that I've borrowed from my partner. I've been doing it on and off for a while. Wearing clothes feels so unnecessary when it's 25 degrees outside, but due to social norms I still put clothes on every day. I try to wear minimal and simple clothes, so the separation between nature and I is minimal. It's interesting to observe how humans' relationships with their bodies changes as we approach the waterfront in Copenhagen, or the beach in Amager. 

Some time ago, my partner got a screen for our balcony, and I spend hours on this balcony. Just me, the sky and the sun. Sometimes the stars too.

As I walk through Copenhagen, I notice apple, pear, and plum trees. There are many calendulas too. Yarrow, blackberries, and roses. So much food could be grown in this city! 

We are planning a birthday party for my partner's child. I've never organised a birthday party for a child before. She is being brought up in a normal way by her parents. With plastic toys, tv, fast fashion. Our home is extremely minimalist and I'm worried about it feeling empty and not festive enough for this little girl. 

447

Nature-connectedness in a city

When I moved to Copenhagen, I was worried about feeling disconnected from nature. After living on an island in southern Finland and in a small city in northern Sweden, Copenhagen felt large, busy, loud, fast and overwhelming. But this city became my home, and I decided to seek ways to connect with nature nevertheless, to grow spiritually in this city. 

In my field, oftentimes it feels as if the only pathway to living a genuinely sustainable life is moving out of cities, living very close to nature or even in nature, practising self-sufficiency. I lived in and with nature for many years in my childhood. And indeed, nature-connectedness in a rural area felt so organic and easy. But many fellow humans live in cities, as I do now. Here in Denmark for example, 88% of total population is urban. 

Urban areas can look different. Copenhagen feels more overwhelming to me than Umeå, but much less overwhelming than, say, London or Paris. 

In a couple of months, it will be a year of my life in Copenhagen. Something that I've realised over this year is that a city feels different to different persons, depending on the spaces they interact with or choose to interact with, how they choose to live their life. When I stepped into this chapter of my life, I realised, for example, that I didn't have to visit large shopping centres, theatres, cinemas, restaurants, bars, museums. I could use public transport minimally and walk almost anywhere. I chose to live a slow life in a large, busy city. To shop in smaller shops, to visit local cafes, to spend much time in cemeteries, parks, gardens and at home. I chose to socialise less and spend much time with myself, my partner, non-humans and likeminded humans. I chose to interact with alternative organisations whenever I could. I chose to live a beautiful, boring life and let go of the fear of missing out, let go of society's expectations as much as possible. I still hear in my mind my stepfather's voice. He felt so much sorrow about me choosing to live a boring life when I could choose to visit museums, theatres, shopping centres and the airport more often. But via living this beautiful, slow and boring life, I could connect more with nature. With the sun and the air, the sea, trees, animals in the city. I could also connect with nature via connecting with my own, animal body. I wear a uniform in a city that has so much to offer in terms of fashion. I avoid makeup and styling my hair in the city where wearing makeup and cutting, styling and dyeing one's hair is the norm. In the city where one can find so many stores with home décor, I choose to live with stones that I found on a beach and a jar of sand that I brought with me from Bornholm. 

446

 Holidays and sustainability practices

This holiday season we decided to simply be in Denmark, in Copenhagen where we live and in Bornholm. It's not a compromise, but a decision motivated and empowered by a deep desire to connect with the place where we live, to fall even deeper in love with it. Copenhagen feels different in summer. Some small shops where we usually shop are closed. In some spaces there are many more fellow humans, in others, fewer. 

I'm not working these weeks, apart from gently editing the final version of a chapter I've written with a Swedish colleague. Editing this chapter doesn't feel like work at all. As I'm editing the chapter, I am thinking once again how important it is to work with kind fellow humans. 

I'm contemplating my autoethnography and sketching some notes for the entries I want to write. I want to check in with myself and my minimalist practice. This summer, I feel that inspiration for living with what is lagom for me and for focusing on my basic needs is everywhere. I look at non-human beings and feel inspired by them wearing the same outfit every day. I've been doing it for a while, but I'm feeling it even deeper that I'm on the right path. I've not invited many objects into my life, but let go of several. Something I invited into my life recently was a washcloth. I use only water to wash my body, and using a washcloth made from natural materials allows me to be more present with my body and celebrate its imperfections. I've given away many of the items that I thought I would never give away because they were green. I've given away one of our stainless steel water bottles and many of our cotton tote bags. We simply had too many. 

I've not invited anything holiday related into my life. No summer clothes or swim suits. I wear what I already have. I swim naked, as it's legal here in Denmark. 

In the summer house, we borrowed a badminton set from my partner's mother so we didn't have to buy our own. 

Every day, I am falling in love with everyday activities such as washing the dishes by hand and cooking simple food. I observe that it feels vulnerable to say that I genuinely enjoy these things. I enjoy them no less than doing research and working on my academic articles. 

445

 Coming home

To get back home, we walked for an hour through a forest and a town. Then we took a ferry to Ystad, a train to Malmö, another train to Copenhagen, and yet another train to our station. We could walk home from Copenhagen central station, but it was getting late, and I missed home. The journey took us 3 hours from the moment we took the ferry. It could have taken much less time if we flew, but we avoid flying for ecological reasons. And, slow travelling feels magical. 

The first thing I noticed when we came back to Copenhagen was the air. It's so different to the air in Bornholm, which is clean, delicious and intoxicating. Then I noticed that it took us 10 or so minutes to unpack everything. We took very few things with us, and brough back the same objects plus a small jar of sand, some stones, pasta and honey that were made in Bornholm. 

444

Notes from Bornholm 2

Initially, I was seeing un-sustainability everywhere around me here in and around the summer house. Waste is not sorted, the garden is not used for growing food. As days have gone by, I began to notice many things that are inspiring. Many objects have been in this summer house for generations. The towels belonged to my partner's grandparents, and must be 40 or so years old. The house itself serves as a summer home for some weeks to my partner's mother, her friends, my partner's child, brother and his family. It feels humbling to share a space and prepare it for my partner's family's arrival. 

In the picture above is a "shopping list". It might be from the 50s, when all kinds of pasta in Denmark was referred to as makaroni. The shopping list is fascinating. It made me think about my own sufficiency list that I've written about many times here in my autoethnography. It's a playful list that I've maintained for many years and that outlines my needs and everything that makes my life comfortable. The list is very short, and it feels good to have it while the market is overflowing with goods, and every day there is a new must-have and a new trend. 

And, to some extent it's up to us what practices we bring here. A few times, we walked to a supermarket. Most fellow humans would probably drive there, but we decided to combine the need to visit the supermarket and walks on the beach, in forests, through the local town. 

We will be going home soon, and as souvenirs we will only bring pasta that is made on this island and a few stones that we found on the beach. With us, we will take plastic packaging that we can recycle on the ferry. 

443

 Notes from Bornholm

These days, I try to spend as much time with nature as possible. I've been sketching some notes in my mind and after a long walk I decided to write them down here as well.

I've been thinking about privilege. The summer house where my partner and I are staying has belonged to his family for generations. It's by the sea. We fall asleep and wake up to the sound of the waves. We spend hours walking along the shore. Genuine love for nature is so much easier to develop when you interact with Her. 

Waste is not sorted in this municipality, and food waste cannot be composted in the garden (due to rats) so we are collecting waste to take it to the ferry with us.

The nearest supermarket is an hour away. We walk there. In the supermarket they sell some products made here on the island. Local honey, local pasta. Initially I feel drawn to them, as a researcher who looks into small and independent businesses. But those products are luxury goods. They are incredibly expensive and are not something that we would buy every day.

There are some wild cherries growing in the garden, gooseberries, and a fig tree, but the owner (my partner's mother) doesn't grow food here. 

Because this space feels secluded, I try to wear nothing most of the time. Many people swim naked, and so do I. It feels wonderful. There is nothing that signals status. No clothes, no jewellery. I don't even bring a towel with me when I go swimming. I'm looking at the scars and stretch marks on my skin, and I'm feeling joy and acceptance. 

We went to collect some stones on the beach, to use them as decorations in the bedroom where we are staying. We will return most of them to nature, but some we will bring home to Copenhagen to connect with Bornholm and to feel grounded. 

On one of the walks, by partner gave me a stone and said that it was a gift. He was looking for a stone that made him think about me and that he thought I would like. He's given me stones from the beach as gifts before, and I appreciate it so much more than if he just bought something for me. 

I've brought only one pair of sandals here. I was wearing them on my journey as well. Most of the time, I walk barefoot. There are ticks in Bornholm, and my partner's mother mentioned (jokingly) that I would get them as I'm exactly the person who gets them. I'm not worried or afraid. I used to get them often when I was a child. 

These days, I'm not reading or writing, but I feel like I'm learning constantly. I saw swallows' homes as we were walking by the shore. Every time I observe non-humans, it's such a humbling experience. I think about my genuine needs. Food, home. 

442

 How my zero-waste practices have changed

Recently I've been thinking so much about my zero-waste practice and how it has evolved over the years. I stepped on the path of more sustainable living in my early twenties, around 2010-2011. I had not been living un-sustainably before then. For example, I spent a large proportion of my childhood in and with nature. Fast-fashion played a very small part in my life, I've never gotten into it. I used makeup for some years, but I never used much. I've never had a car. Generally, I've never felt attached to things. I never had collections of anything. I used to fly, and I feel sorrow about it. Due to some health conditions, I couldn't surround myself with too many things, wear and otherwise invite into my life many bright colours. I couldn't wear just any type of fabric or use any kind of personal care item. 

Zero-waste was not necessarily the name of the lifestyle I wanted to live, and is certainly not the label I would use for my lifestyle, but referring to many elements of my practice as zero-waste helped me find common ground with many fellow humans who are, like me, on sustainability journeys. 

Around 2016, the year I started my PhD in ecological economics/degrowth, I was trying to practise zero-waste perfectly. There were no zero-waste shops in my city, and I would travel by train to another city to pick up some items from a zero-waste shop. I invited into my life some products that I thought were necessary to live a more sustainable life. The most sustainable way to approach stuff is of course to use what one already has. But I didn't have much to begin with, as I moved countries with almost nothing. Over some years, I invited cotton net bags, cotton tote bags, reusable water bottles, metal straws, a reusable razor into my life. Some of those things served me better than others, while others were not necessary at all. 

Products marketed as zero-waste often look very beautiful. Some say that sustainability is not an aesthetic. I want to gently disagree with this. I think the aesthetic component is very important. As a sustainability researcher, I want to connect with my fellow humans not only via discussing facts about (un)sustainability, but I also want to connect with their hearts and souls, via discussing beauty. I don't want to shame anyone (including myself) for wanting to see beautiful things. Beauty of course goes far beyond objects, it includes beautiful values too. Yet, when it comes to objects and sustainability, beauty can be highlighted, but those objects do not have to be new or bought. Here are some things I find beautiful. Old items received from family members, stones found on a beach, flowers and fruits picked in nature, upcycled jars, a durable piece of kitchen cloth, imperfectly repaired clothes. 

When I think about many of the zero-waste products that I invited into my life, despite taking good care of them (and them being expensive), they lost their beauty and even functionality rather quickly. Soap bars became soft even in soap dishes, water bottles rusted over the years, tote bags shrank. The safety razor rusted too. Because I use so little on my skin, many DIY ingredients such as oils and DIY items went bad. Sometimes, my partner and I would have doubles of everything. E.g., a solid shampoo bar for me, and shampoo packaged in plastic for him. Toothpaste tabs for me, and normal toothpaste for him. Just like me, my partner understood the need to practise sustainability, but many of the zero-waste products were not performing as well as conventional ones. Or they were much more difficult to use, or were inconvenient (e.g., using a vinegar rinse after using a shampoo bar). Recently I spoke to my ex partner about his sustainability journey, some of which we were on together. He mentioned that he could never find a cotton shopping bag that would work for him and would last. He has used a nylon one for many years, and its functionality hasn't changed. It's been incredibly durable. Its shape hasn't changed. It dried quickly, which is important when one walks everywhere (like me, he doesn't drive), and it rains a lot in England. 

Talking about a shopping bag perhaps feels shallow or trivial to fellow humans. But somehow it provides an example, and some learnings derived from it apply to other practices too. When my current partner and I moved in together, he brought perhaps a dozen of synthetic bags into our new home. Those bags came from various Danish supermarkets. They were very comfortable to use, but I could not make myself use them. I thought a cotton one was better. It is more beautiful, more sustainable, doesn't release microplastics. When I walk around Copenhagen, fellow humans would be inspired to use cotton bags as well. In fact, I even bought some just to avoid using the synthetic bags. When I think about this now, it was not a sustainable thing to do at all. Cotton bags have become a fashion item in the recent years. I don't signal sustainability when I use them. Perhaps it would have been the case in, say, 2010 when single use plastic bags were still available in English supermarkets. At times, cotton bags signal status too. Think Irma branded bags here in Denmark. Recently, I saw one for sale somewhere for DKK 700 (around 94 euros). They were 4 or so euros when I bought them years ago when Irma still existed. They shrank a lot in the wash and became unusable for grocery shopping as I would need to bring several of them to a store. 

Practising extreme minimalism is something that has helped me on my sustainability journey. I live with 50 or so personal possessions (after the holidays I should write about this and what's changed). So generally I keep the items I live with at check. Yet, I wonder how my home would have looked if I wasn't practising extreme minimalism. Perhaps it would be cluttered with various and mostly unnecessary zero-waste swaps. 

There are many zero-waste swaps that I have avoided successfully. Perhaps I became more mindful after buying metal straws. I've never used them after buying them. For example, I'd avoided various things to wrap food in and to cover bowls and other food containers, such as beeswax wraps. I've never used foil and cling film in my life, so those swaps would not serve me. I use glass jars for small food items and a bowl with a plate on top of it for food leftovers. Because I don't wear makeup or nail polish, I never needed reusable cloths and rounds. Because I don't bake anything, I never invited reusable baking sheets into my life. And here I want to remind my fellow humans that everyone's experience is different, and what is not useful for me might be very useful for someone else. 

I've always avoided second-hand shopping too. I'm not against second-hand shopping. For example, I think it's great for furniture and kitchen items. But it can also become a consumption trap, as a person feels like they are not contributing to ecological degradation, and everything is affordable (it's only 5 euros!). I live with very few items and don't want to invite more into my life (second-hand or otherwise). And I would much rather donate this money than buy some cute vase that I don't need. Having said that, my partner and I surely use items that belonged to other humans, and I borrow his items at times. 

Fellow humans in my social circle quickly learned that I was on a sustainability journey. Many zero-waste swaps came into my life as gifts from them. For example, I received many cotton net bags. I had so many of them. I passed them on to other fellow humans. I received bamboo toothbrushes. They never worked as well for me, and never lasted as long, as toothbrushes made from recycled food plastic. I also passed them on. I received several water bottles as gifts, and I gave them away too. I received a reusable coffee cup, and I passed it on. I would almost never buy coffee in a take-away, single use cup. So a reusable one was not necessary for me at all. I tried using it at home for a while, but it was not pleasant to use, and coffee stained it very quickly. Those stains were difficult to remove, and I began to miss simply using an upcycled glass jar or a mug that would take a few second (and much less water) to clean.

Over the years, I've invited many zero-waste personal care items into my life. Then I realised that my skin and hair feel their best with just water, and very occasional shampoo. Solid conditioners, solid face creams, face scrubs packaged in metal tubes felt so unnecessary to me. The last thing I gave up using was a multi-purpose balm. Perhaps I will use it again in winter, because it can get rather cold here in Denmark, but I didn't repurchase one after I ran out. 

There were some items that I tried to use but eventually I gave up. I surely felt bad about having them in my life and not using them. For example, I tried using small net bags for fruits and vegetables. Then I realised that I was spending my time on it completely unnecessarily. These days, I simply put all of them together in my shopping bag. In the Danish cooperative supermarket where my partner and I shop, items (such as lemons and bananas) are priced by piece. I store all fruits and vegetables together too, as we go through them rather quickly and repurchase them often. I've tried using metal containers that we had for my partner's child's snacks. But an upcycled glass jar was so much easier to use and clean. I tried to carry my handkerchief everywhere, but I would actually use it perhaps once a year. I realised that using a tissue that found its way into our home from some café or an ice cream shop (or just a piece of toilet paper) would be much better. 

Here are some zero-waste things we still use and do, and that work well for us:

Unpackaged food. Every time I sort our so-called waste to recycle it, I observe that most of that waste is packaging from food. To the best of our abilities, we try to buy food that is unpackaged, seasonal and organic. 

We still use baking soda and vinegar. These days, we also use liquid soap that we refill. It actually lasts much longer than a soap bar and is easy for my partner's child to use. We also refill our dishwashing liquid. We don't have specialised cleaning products.  

We use laundry sheets that come in paper packaging.

We use upcycled gin bottles for cold water. I don't drink water from the fridge, as I prefer water from the tap. But my partner always drinks cold water.

Upcycled glass jars. We use them for many things such as the child's snacks, our snacks, storing small items, storing food, storing tea, foraging. 

Hair ties. I use biodegradable hair ties made from organic cotton and tree resin, and they work better for my hair than any other ones.

We reuse packaging. My favourite one is envelopes, as I write on them. To be fair, we don't get much packaging at all. We prefer to pick something up in a store rather than shop online. And more generally we don't shop much. 

I repair our clothes and home textiles. We don't get rid of an item just because it's imperfect. 

Here are some practices from my pre-sustainability era that I implement now:

Plastic razor with replaceable heads. I do it for mental heath reasons due to my history of self-harm.

Shopping bags made from synthetic materials. I avoided them for many years, but we have them and I want to use them instead of replacing the cotton tote bags that changed shape with new cotton bags.

Natural shampoo in a plastic bottle. I like to wash my hair with just water, so I cannot justify having another shampoo in our shower. When I need to, I will use whichever (certified, natural) shampoo we have. 

Dish brush made from recycled household plastic. We still use the wooden dish brush that we have, but when the time comes to replace it, I want to replace it with the one we used to have many months ago. It lasted much longer. 

I believe that all these are signs of growth on my journey. It feels like for us, humans, it's hard to comprehend that all these beautiful and natural things made from wood, bamboo, metal, cotton and glass still harm nature. They require materials and energy to be produced. Wooden items and items made from cotton embody non-human beings (trees and cotton plants). 

441

 Before holidays

There are some sustainability related practices that I do before holidays. 

I use this time to step into holidays, to slow down my pace of life even more, to engage more in down to earth activities rather than in my academic work. 

Cleaning. It's very easy to clean a space with very few furniture pieces and very few things in general. In our home, we have a table, 4 chairs, 1 bed frame (for my partner's child), our mattress, a chest, and a bench. We have some built-in storage too. That's all. No shelves, no bed frame for us, no separate desk. No home décor. As I stepped into my adulthood and saw how fellow humans in my social circle were walking through life, I began to notice that hiring someone to clean their homes was one of the most popular things they did. They wanted to use their time for more productive or more enjoyable activities. I have never hired anyone to help me with cleaning, and I would never do this for several reasons. There are surely situations when help is required, e.g., if one's health does not allow one to clean their home. My health conditions do not prevent me from cleaning. I feel responsible for my home and I feel gratitude towards my space. I want to honour it and express that gratitude via my actions. For this reason, I clean the floor by hand after using a hoover to remove the dust. When I lived on my own, I did not own a hoover at all. Cleaning the floor by hand is a meditative activity. I relax when I do it. I feel oneness with my space. Another reason, apart my personal joy that I experience when I clean the floor, is that I do not think that cleaning is a lesser activity for me, that I am "too good" for it (and some fellow human is just right to clean my home). My home is my responsibility. 

Washing. I also take my time to wash kitchen towels and bedding. More recently, I invited several kitchen towels into my life. I find that they last much longer when I don't let them get too dirty and wash them well. I keep a bioplastic bag (the ones we get for free here in Denmark) in my kitchen and put used towels and cleaning cloths in there. When enough of them accumulate, I wash them in the washing machine (oftentimes with other things). 

Post and emails. I check the letters I've received to see if anything is urgent. I keep some envelopes for notes. For example, sometimes I go to a supermarket without my phone, and I write a shopping list on a piece of paper. I don't want to buy paper. After having lived in Sweden, it seems that Skatteverket will be supplying me with paper forever :) 

Food. I do my best to avoid food waste. I try to use up food by making something with the food I have left. I also freeze the food that can be frozen (e.g., some vegetables). 

Recycling. I take the packaging and bio waste to the recycling place. I like to think of these objects as packaging and other items rather than rubbish. Rubbish sounds dismissive to me. 

Upcycling. I keep many of the glass jars that come with food. I always remove labels from them to avoid signalling brands (even if I like some company, e.g., if it's small and local). To remove the labels, I soak the jars in the sink with hot water for an hour or so. Some labels can be easily removed with just water, and they separate very easily. Others have a different glue. In this case, I remove the paper part of the label (it becomes soft after being soaked). Then I use a home-made paste to remove the glue. The paste is a mixture of baking soda and any oil from the kitchen. I don't follow any recipe, just mix those ingredients in a glass jar to form a somewhat thick, not runny, paste. If it's too thin, it's too difficult to apply. Recently, I used some melted coconut oil and canola oil. I apply the paste with my hands. I put the jars covered in this paste on a plate and leave them be. The following day, I remove to paste with a piece of toilet paper. I don't think it's a good idea to wash this paste off. Oils can clog the pipes. 

I use glass jars for my partner's child's snacks, my snacks, to give snacks to friends, to store small items, as vases, for foraging smaller things (such as spruce tips and birch leaves), and to store food (tea, pieces of vegetables etc.). Glass is my favourite material. It doesn't have a taste, it lasts a long time, can be recycled, and I find it incredibly beautiful. When I feel I have too many jars, I give them away via our local byttestationer (swap shops). 

Giving. If there are some objects that I think fellow humans can benefit from and that do not serve me, I give them away. 

Plants. I live with an orchid that was a gift and a mint plant. I make sure I water them before I leave. When I used to live with more plants and travel for extended periods of time, I would make arrangements with fellow humans so they could come to my home and water the plants. 

Setting intentions. During my holidays, I plan to connect with nature, be with the sun and the sea, feel oneness with them. 

Informing fellow humans. I let my close colleagues, friends and family know that I will be away. I think it's so important that academics highlight the need to relax and regenerate. I don't force myself to avoid writing down ideas and notes when I'm on holidays. After all, academic work is creative, and creativity doesn't disappear when I'm on holidays. But I don't emphasise work.

Plan what to take with me. Because I live with so few possessions, every time I go away, it looks like I take everything with me, even though it all fits in one cotton tote bag. I still plan what I take with me because it is an opportunity to reflect on what I genuinely need, what makes my life comfortable. It is wonderful to know that I need so few things to live a comfortable, meaningful and fulfilling life. Just a few objects are enough. 

440

 Visiting elderly relatives

I learn from academic books and articles, but there are so many other sources of knowledge and wisdom. Nature is. I also learn a lot from elderly family members. My partner's father and his stepmother are wonderful humans. I am in awe of their life paths and life philosophy. I am inspired by their practices and how they relate with the world.

I always walk to visit them, even though there are more efficient ways to get to their place. I don't choose the shortest path, but rather the one where I can meet non-humans such as trees and animals on my way. 

With me, I brought a cotton pouch that serves as a wallet, a large woollen scarf (to protect me from the rain), water bottle, and a small gift for Her. They live with everything they need, so food feels like an appropriate small gift. I love receiving food as a gift. An apple from a fellow human's garden, a piece of home-baked bread. I packaged the jam I got for Her in a pouch made from organic cotton. My hope is that she will either use the cotton pouch in her everyday life or will use it to wrap a gift for someone else.

When I was about to leave, they gave me a piece of home-made cake as a gift. They wrapped it carefully in foil and a plastic bag. I don't buy plastic bags, but I do keep the ones that come into my life to use them for something. For example, when it rains, I wrap my laptop in a plastic bag. 

439

 Travelling light

Many years ago, my ex partner and I went to southern France. We travelled there by train from England. I thought I was travelling very light. I would not bring a suitcase with me, but I would still bring personal care items, some makeup items, a swimsuit, a couple of different outfits, spare shoes. 

In a couple of days, my partner and I will be going to Bornholm where his family has a summer house. I don't have any personal possessions in the summer house, but there is a bed, kitchen, towels and hopefully a bar of soap. We will travel by train and ferry, and for the journey I will wear my uniform. Shorts, a basic top and a shirt. With me, I will bring my laptop (and its charger), mobile internet, phone (I will charge it via the laptop), cotton pouch with my bank card, water bottle, sunscreen (for both my partner and I), a tin with petroleum jelly (for both my partner and I), toothbrush, toothpaste (shared), two basic tops, one pair of shorts, underwear, a large woollen scarf, and a cotton tote bag to pack all of these items into and also to use for grocery shopping, walks, and the beach. It might seem odd that I intend to bring a woollen scarf with me in summer, but here in the Nordics this item doesn't feel seasonal. At times, it's cold in the evenings. I also use it to protect myself from the rain, to sit on the ground. Or I would wrap my laptop in it. 

In Denmark, we have a right to swim naked, and for this reason I am not bringing a swimsuit with me. In fact, I don't even own one and I don't plan to invite one into my life. I believe that swimming naked in seas, lakes and rivers should be a human right. I don't want synthetic fabrics to separate me from nature. Generally, it feels to me that here in the Nordics humans have a gentle and understanding attitude towards swimming naked, and I've not had issues with it here. I also plan to generally avoid wearing clothes as much as possible. Apart from connecting with outer nature, I want to connect with my body which is of course also nature. I want to see the scars and stretch marks uncovered, in the bright light and feel love towards them. I want to feel sorrow about the system that makes humans feel bad about our "imperfect" bodies. The summer house is by the sea, and there are not many fellow humans walking by. 

When I need to wear clothes, I will wear my uniform (shorts, basic top, linen shirt) for all occasions. If any of my clothes get dirty, I will wash them by hand. 

I am not bringing shampoo with me because sea water usually makes my hair feel very clean, and more generally I don't need anything apart from water to wash my hair in the short-term. My hair's texture also changes by the sea, and I'm curious to experience it again. While I hope there is a soap bar to wash my hands in the summer house, my partner and I will buy one if there is none. I don't want to travel with one just in case, and if we buy a soap bar, my partner's brother and his family will use it after us. 

On my journey, I will have to find places to refill my water bottle. Usually, I simply ask fellow humans in cafes if I can refill it. I have never had issues with this. At times, at least in Swedish cafes, there are taps where one can refill their water bottle. At other times, the staff are incredibly helpful and fill my water bottle with very cold water. Recently, I gave to charity the other water bottle that I had. 

The journey is three hours or so, and I will not be bringing any food. It's interesting that usually humans can go for many hours without food between, say, lunch and dinner, but even a short journey is somehow different. I think that if we get very hungry, we can buy something (e.g., fruits) on the go. 

At home, I have a beautiful stone that my partner picked up on a beach in Denmark and gave to me as a gift. I will not bring it with me because I plan to spend much time on the beach in Bornholm looking at wonderful stones. I will borrow one from nature to temporarily decorate the room we will be living in. 

I will not bring any just in case items with me. Generally when I travel I don't think about various scenarios, as it can encourage more consumption and packing more than necessary. On some occasions over the years I've found myself in a situation where I would need to buy painkillers or plasters, but it was not a big deal. I used them up afterwards. Plus, a bank card is lighter than almost any other item I am bringing. Instead of buying just in case items, I would rather have a tiny fund to buy them if the situation arises. Borrowing from fellow humans is always an option, and on many occasions I have borrowed things from fellow humans I didn't know at all (and fellow humans borrowed from me as well). 

Something that helps me is inviting into my life only those items that are durable, high quality and preferably multi-functional. For example, the water bottle that I've kept is insulated. I use it for both water and hot drinks. The basic tops I live with were sold as underwear, but I use them both under my shirts and as tops. The shoes I live with last a long time and are very unlikely to break. If something happens to them, I can walk barefoot. 

438

 Where I started my minimalist journey 

I believe that my path started already in my childhood, though at that time I didn't have the right tools or the right vocabulary to understand and express my needs. I was born in a large city but I spent my childhood in a remote, rural area where I fell in love with nature. Human-made things never meant very much to me. I didn't want sentimental items, family jewellery, or sophisticated decorations in my room. Something that my family members told me was that it surprised them that I couldn't come up with anything when they asked me what furniture I wanted to have. Due to sensory processing sensitivity, I always gravitated towards gentle colours that don't overstimulate my psyche. 

I left my family home in my late teens and moved to another country. I didn't take much with me. Everything I took with me fitted in a tote bag and a backpack. I did accumulate objects in the new country but probably already back then my home would seem very minimalist.

For this reason, I've never done a full scale decluttering. But in my early 20s I still wanted to understand what I lived with and why, what served me and what did not, analyse my relationships with objects and my consumption pattern. There were certainly some categories of objects that I used to buy and that I don't buy now, such as makeup and various clothes. It coincided with me wanting to step on a sustainability path for ecological reasons too.  

I don't think there is a formula for decluttering or a perfect way to do it. Some fellow humans turn it into a game of some kind. They start with some area of their home and go though all of them. Or they focus on the number of object. Or they pack everything away and bring back only what they use and let go of the rest. When I asked my fellow humans in my social circle about their journeys (or when I simply observed them), they all used different ways to change their relationships with objects. One fellow human started with their hobbies, another one with their clothes.

I started with my personal care. It was not because it was the most cluttered category or the most expensive one, or took the most space. I wanted to start where the spiritual return (in terms of my personal growth) would immediately be the highest. And this would then help me change my relationship with myself, which would then help me change my relationships with objects and spheres of consumption. I stopped wearing makeup overnight. I just quit it. I started to use less stuff and love my body and my hair more. At that time, hair straighteners were popular in England where I lived. I gave them away and promised to myself to never use them again in my life, to celebrate my natural wavy hair every day. I wanted to let my skin heal. I wanted to smell like a human being and not like factory-made perfumes.  When I started using less, I very quickly saw the benefits such as calmer and healthier skin. I felt on the somatic level the benefits of living with less. I learned that I was enough.

It took a while for me to reach my current pattern of consumption. In the beginning, I still had more products. Right now my personal care products are as in the picture above. They include a toothpaste (shared), toothbrush, and sunscreen (shared). There is also a small metal tin with petroleum jelly that we have in our household. I don't usually use it. I use it only to cover a small eventual scratch (instead of a plaster), or a crack in my skin (I live with an autoimmune skin condition), or for my partner's child's needs. My partner uses it at times too. We keep it instead of a natural balm because it lasts many years and doesn't go bad. I oftentimes joke that the only personal care item I have is a toothbrush. In our household we have soap and shampoo. I use soap only for my hands (and water for everything else). And the shampoo I use very occasionally. 

After personal care, I focused on my clothes. This domain was also important to accept myself and my body as is. These days, I wear the same outfit every day. Then I focused on the kitchen and the furniture. My ex partner and I donated many of our possessions to charities and gave many to the neighbours we knew personally. Giving items to our neighbours was probably the best way to let go of objects because we knew that those persons would benefit from the items that were not serving us. 

437

 More regrets

After I wrote down my notes about some items I regret inviting into my life, I spent some hours reflecting on many other objects that I've had in my life. I was contemplating the zero-waste and sustainability aesthetic and the sustainability market/industry. I want to sketch more notes about my regrets to show how this journey has not been perfect or linear for me. 

Bamboo toothbrush. My feeling is that many fellow humans who try to live more sustainably invite bamboo toothbrushes into their lives. Such toothbrushes look very beautiful when they are new. I found that in my case they don't last as long as the ones made from recycled food plastic. In the beginning of my journey, I felt strong aversion towards plastic and wanted to avoid it as much as possible. I still do but I'm also ok with some objects that are made from plastic if they last much longer or perform much better. In particular, I prefer recycled plastic. I think that in my household we are very good at recycling, and the system of recycling here in Copenhagen seems easy to use (though I observe that many fellow humans don't recycle properly). I also want to consume products made from recycled plastic to take part in this system even more deeply. Many months ago, we had a dish brush made from recycled household plastic, and it lasted much longer than the wooden dish brushes that we use these days.

Shirts from a fashion company. I live with two linen shirts. Both of them were made by a Danish company that has many sustainability initiatives, yet it is still a fashion company (though not fast fashion). I invited these shirts into my life a long time ago. I recently repaired one of them as it has holes. I still intend to keep wearing these shirts. In general, they lasted a long time and washed well, but I do not want to support businesses that take part in setting new trends and encourage consumers to constantly reinvent themselves and buy more. I wear the same outfit every day, and I prefer to buy from companies that remake the same products.

Glasses and mugs. I didn't buy them. When I lived in Sweden and Finland, I borrowed them from my university department and from a friend. I much prefer jars that come with food such as jam, pasta sauce, and honey. Somehow I also find them more beautiful and down to earth. More recently I decided to use jars when I teach, instead of a water bottle or a branded reusable cup (I gave it away). Something that I'm becoming more aware of these days is signalling status. Green goods have become a status symbol. Some reusable goods are cool and very expensive. I want to step away from this and use basic (though still good quality, ethically made and durable) items as much as possible. 

436

 Regrets and things I wish we didn't have

Even though I've been practising minimalism for a very long time (over 10 years) and I feel that my pattern of consumption is somewhat settled, there are some things that I live with that I regret welcoming into my life and some things that were not my choice to bring into my life in the first place.

Water bottle that is not insulated. In the country where I live (Denmark), and also in the countries where I have lived previously (Sweden and Finland), summers are short but warm. Winters are long and cold. The water bottle that I have doesn't keep water cold in summers and is unsuitable for hot drinks in winter. Even if I take plain water with me in winter, it becomes too cold. Since inviting this water bottle into my life, I welcomed an insulated one too. It is heavier, but it's more useful. In fact, my partner and his child use it as well at times. I use the one that is not insulated only very rarely. It looks beautiful and simple, and probably will last many years if not a lifetime. But I find myself thinking that if I want plain water in a light bottle, I would rather borrow a plastic bottle from a fellow human (I don't buy water in plastic bottles). What stops me from doing this is signalling to the fellow humans around me that it's ok to use plastic bottles. There is no way for them to know if I bought one or borrowed it from someone. As a sustainability researcher, I do not want to take part in normalising behaviours that I find damaging. 

Many cotton tote bags. Several cotton tote bags that I live with shrank in the wash so substantially, that it became difficult to find a new use for them. I wish I dived deeper into understanding the fabrics and materials before inviting them into my life. Some manufacturers produce cotton bags with care instructions that state that washing should be avoided altogether. But such bags, if used very often, do get dirty. I believe that manufacturers should make these products easy to care for. Otherwise they are no different to single use objects. In the very beginning of my sustainability journey, I had a couple of bags made from recycled synthetic materials. They didn't feel as pleasant as cotton ones, and I was worried about microplastics being released into nature. But those bags lasted many years. 

Metal snack containers. We used them mostly for my partner's child's snacks but then we realised that a simple glass jar (that came with food) was much more convenient. I prefer glass for snacks too, and glass jars are easier to use for other purposes. For example, I use glass jars as vases and to store tea. If a fellow human visits me and then travels somewhere, I offer them a glass jar with snacks. I don't need them to return it to me because I would get a new one when I finish a jar of jam. 

Backpack. I have always found backpacks uncomfortable, but they were often given to me by my loved ones as gifts. Perhaps there is an association that humans have in their mind between minimalism and backpacks (everything must fit into a backpack!). After my previous backpack wore out, I invited a new one into my life without asking myself if it was the best option for me. So many things were on my mind at that time of my life, so I decided to just get one. I have used it many times, especially when I needed to bring my laptop somewhere, but then I noticed that I was trying to avoid using it as much as possible. I felt guilt and shame because this kind of item should serve a human being for many years. The kind of backpack that I had is very popular here in the Nordics and elsewhere, so I gave it to charity. I should not have bought it in the first place, but I hope that it will find a new home. 

Plants. I believe that humans love nature, and plants bring joy to us. The best way to invite plants into one's life is ask friends, family and one's community if they can share some cuttings. I personally prefer edible plants or even no plants at home. Having no plants at home encourages me to go outside and spend time in gardens and parks here in Copenhagen. We had a few plants in our previous home but they were consumed by insects. It's a very common issue that I've encountered before. Currently, we have only one orchid at home. She was a gift. There is also a mint plant on the balcony. 

Ring. I don't wear jewellery. I don't find them necessary for me. When my partner proposed to me, he ordered a ring. It has symbolic value and is made in a Nordic country from recycled gold. I tried wearing it all the time, but then I felt there was no reason for me to wear it. It doesn't serve me, and I don't need a physical object to remind me about my relationship. I also found it difficult to use a bar of soap when the ring was on. 

Hats. Even though I live in the Nordics, where it might feel compulsory to own a hat, I much prefer scarves. I wear a large woollen scarf on my head when it's cold. I also use the same scarf in other seasons and when I travel. A hat only serves one purpose. I gave away the hats that I had. 

Personal care items. These days, I use only a toothbrush and toothpaste, soap for my hands and very occasionally I use shampoo that my partner and I have in our home. We also have a jar of petroleum jelly at home. I used to use many more products in the beginning of my journey. This "many more" is still a lot less than what is the norm in our society, but it was more than what I have now. In the very beginning of my journey, I replaced all conventional personal care products with natural and zero-waste ones (after I used up the conventional ones). I used to have shampoo, conditioner, soap for my body, face and hand, moisturiser. I would have a lip balm, a deodorant. Essential oils and other oils. Body cream or a multi-purpose balm. Over the years, I downsized this collection to just a few items. I wish I started using nothing (as I do now) in the very beginning and invited only those objects that I genuinely needed. I did this with makeup. I just stopped using it one day in my early 20s. 

And here are the things we live with but I wish we didn't have:

Fabric screen for the balcony. I very much like our balcony. My partner wanted to have a fabric screen to increase the feeling of privacy, but it blocks much sunlight and prevents me from being with the sun. 

Bath towels. I prefer to live with smaller towels for my body, hands and hair. They dry quicker and don't take as much space in the laundry or in my bag if we visit the sea. 

Sparkling water maker. My partner brought this device from his previous home. We were not using it in our first home, but when we moved to a larger place, the sparkling water maker became part of our kitchen-scape. I like sparkling water but I can live just as happily without it. It feels like an unnecessary device. 

Chest. My partner inherited a large wooden chest from his grandparents. It was one of the heaviest items to transport when we moved (we moved everything by hand and on a bicycle). The chest is very beautiful, but we have nothing to store in it, and even if we did, it would probably be the most inconvenient place to store objects. I welcomed the chest into our space because co-living entails compromises, but if I lived on my own, I would certainly not have it in my space.

Lamps that are difficult to clean. We have two lamps in our home that my partner also brought from his previous apartment. They accumulate much dust and are difficult to clean. When I lived in Finland, I didn't have lamps at all, and my life was no less joyful. We use these lamps very rarely, but I find myself cleaning them very often. 

Meditation cushion. We invited it into our life originally not for meditation but to elevate my partner's leg when he had a knee operation. Looking back, anything else could do an equally good job and we didn't need another object. Then we were not using it for many months. In our new apartment, we use it to sit on the balcony, but I would be happy just sitting on the floor (or the yoga mat that we have). The meditation cushion is made from cotton and kapok fibres, and I feel sorrow about these plants being used for something that is not useful to us.

Inherited objects. Luckily, we don't have many inherited objects in our home, but we still have some, especially in the kitchen. I always think that other objects would have served so much better and be more functional and even beautiful. I'm not a sentimental person, but my partner is. It brings him joy to use, say, cups and plates that his grandparents lived with. 

Dishwasher. It came with the apartment but we never use it. 

An expensive knife. For many years, my partner has had an expensive knife that travelled all the way to Denmark from Japan. This knife requires special care and very careful use. I find the knife uncomfortable to use, and we cook incredibly simple food that doesn't require a very sharp and long knife. We have another knife that was made in Germany from stainless steel, and it's the one I use every day. To me, the other knife feels like a burden. 

A lot of storage. This apartment was probably designed with a normal lifestyle in mind. There is so much storage in the form of built-in furniture everywhere. We use some of it but mostly it's empty. I would much prefer an empty space. 

Storage room. It's very common here in the Nordics to have extra storage room downstairs in apartment blocks. Nordic apartments are oftentimes small, but also clean and tidy. I can see how a storage room can be useful (e.g., for seasonal items, sports equipment etc.) but it can also encourage accumulation of stuff. 

Unsustainable children's items. My partner has a child from his previous relationship. At times, his child visits us, and many of her items are in our home. She is brought up in a normal way, i.e., her parents are not incorporating slow parenting, zero-waste parenting or minimalism when it comes to her upbringing. It is of course their decision to make. But I would have preferred it if there were less plastic toys and fast-fashion clothing.