512

 Being with others

I've been reading Seneca lately and saw the following in his Letters: "Spend your time with those who will improve you; extend a welcome to those you can improve". It resonated deeply with me. When I contemplate the shortness of life and a natural desire to live a good life, I ask myself where I want to direct my energy and how I want to spend my time. I think it has so much to do with living a more sustainable (in many senses) life too: focusing on the essentials and disinviting what is not central to a good life. During my many years in academia, I've observed that very often fellow humans associate improvement with more formal learning and progress. Yet, when I ask myself who these others contributing to my improvement are, I think of non-humans, elderly persons, children, and even those long gone (such as Seneca). I spend much time with non-humans such as stones, trees, the sea and observing animals. They hold powerful reminders of what truly matters in life and of life's essentials. I experience self-transcendence when I'm with the sea and feel encouraged to continue on my minimalist path when I see birds and squirrels. Even when I am at home, I am still with non-humans. What is my tea if not the magical leaves of camellia sinensis (and embodied human labour too)? My table is an embodied tree. Elderly persons remember how things used to be before social media platforms, influencer marketing, and smartphones. Many of the elderly persons I've met practise sustainability in various ways, such as honouring items for many years, repairing, and avoiding fast fashion. The elderly persons I'm thinking about as I'm writing these words made their home into a hub for the family to come together, and for different generations to connect and receive support and advice. I learn so much from children too. It's wonderful to observe how they take their time and persevere in learning. How they try again. One of my dreams is to write an autoethnography of slow, simple, minimalist parenting. It feels wonderful to lose track of the time while being with the words of persons from the past. I think that seeing those authors as fellow others connects us to previous generations and humanity's wisdom. Spending much time with those different others, for me, is an important part of slow living. A reviewer of my autoethnographic work once implied that slow living comes across as doing less of my own job. But what is our job? Some time ago I came to the realisation that whatever one's formal job is, the main career of a human being is being (and constantly becoming) human, in the most humanist sense of this word. Becoming a being capable of kindness, compassion, care, love, self-transcendence. Slowing down and learning from different beings and in different spaces supports me on this path. 

511

 Dust

I woke up and saw that some dust has accumulated in our apartment. It was wonderful to observe it. Before cleaning, I decided to contemplate this dust and learn something from it. Dust is not something that I can disinvite once. It keeps coming back, and cleaning the floor is always a humbling experience. It reminds me that so many things require perseverance. For example, practising sustainable and slow living is an everyday exercise, in the material and spiritual domains. I often wonder if we will ever live in a perfect post-growth world. And if we do, will it really be perfect? Will there still be issues? 

In my practice, I try to persevere in relation to these four things: material aspects of life (my consumption of resources and energy, my own embodiment/materiality), social relations, social structures, and the inner world. These four things are called the four planes of social being in critical realist philosophy of science that my partner and I use in our academic work. Though these planes come from philosophy, I think they are very useful in one's everyday life. They are useful because they are holistic. For example, if I only focus on living zero-waste and ignore my spiritual growth, I don't think it would be truly sustainable living. Or, if I vote for some party with a green agenda (thus taking part in the change of social structures) but treat my fellow humans horribly in my everyday life, it's not sustainable living either. This is not to say that every single day I try to do something in relation to all these four things. Some days, I focus on my spiritual practice. Other days I dedicate to my fellow humans. But I try to be mindful of all these four aspects. 

In my previous entry, I mentioned that I received unfair comments on my autoethnographic work that misrepresent my life. They were part of a review process in a journal. Anonymity/anonymous peer review unfortunately oftentimes creates space for humans to attack others and say things that they would never have said face to face. I decided to write to the editor to explain my feeling of sorrow. I think it's important to share when something goes wrong, when there is disappointment. For example, I write to businesses when something is wrong with their product. I contact government agencies when I feel that something is wrong, too. It's part of everyday activism. Of course writing to an editor to call out a fellow human's offensive comments will not change academia. But it makes a small difference. If more humans engage in giving feedback and sharing their feelings and experiences, I think there will be change in culture, and fellow humans will clearly see what is acceptable and what is not acceptable. Currently, many of the things that should be unacceptable have been normalised. Such things in academia include, for example, temporary and precarious jobs, expectations of mobility, lack of transparency, exploitation of those "at the bottom" of the academic hierarchy, offensive reviews, harassment, unfair treatment and so on. 

"Dear [editor],

thank you for sharing the reviews. Could you share the comments of the third reviewer as well please? From your email, I couldn't understand which field it was (degrowth, critical realism, or autoethnography) and I'm not sure what they are asking us to reflect on/address 😊

[My partner] and I, like anyone else, at times receive critical comments which we are always happy to contemplate and address. We never write to editors about such comments, but on this occasion I wanted to share some reflections with you because I find some comments of reviewer 1 ill-meaning and offensive. Hope it's ok to share. I'm sharing because I believe that this practice of communicating openly makes academia a better place. 

While I understand and appreciate reviewer 1's invitation to say more about the context, the following text I find unacceptable: "pious/smug naval-gazing/narcissistic over privileged academics playing at solving a problem by withdrawing from the world". There is no reason for the reviewer to believe that this is what fellow humans would think, so to me it feels like the reviewer's own judgement. What is the point of being offensive towards the people they don't know or towards people in general? I am especially unhappy about the assumption about over-privilege. I'm an immigrant on a temporary visa, from a European ethnic minority. I've never had a safe and secure position in academia. My PhD supervisor plagiarised my work, and I left one of my academic workplaces due to sexual harassment (me and 5 other women complained, but nothing was done). I've not been employed for over a year. I can continue with more details of some awful things that happened on my journey of being in academia, but these are just some insights into my story to say that I wouldn't call it "over-privilege".  And the same goes for the reviewer's assumption that we are academics with secure, well-paying jobs (this is simply not true) and no surveillance. What sort of surveillance are they talking about? Why should humans work under surveillance?

Why would anyone assume that our practice is "playing"? I've been a practitioner of an alternative lifestyle for 15 years, for 2 years my autoethnography has been public. My data has been viewed over 25000 times, and I published several autoethnographic works and interacted with hundreds of persons in and outside academia. No one has ever assumed anything close to what the reviewer is saying. 

I find it sad that the reviewer marginalises everyday practice as a form of activism. Why would everyday practice be "withdrawing from the world", while e.g. being part of a network (which we also are) is degrowth activism? How about plural ways to be an activist? The reviewer doesn't know us. I live with a condition that prevents me from doing some forms of activism (I still try to do as much as I can). 

The reviewer seems to paint an unrealistic picture of us in their own mind and attack that picture. For example, they wonder about other humans who pay rent and feed their children, perhaps assuming that we are not paying rent and do not have children. We do exactly the same thing as others (pay rent, feed a child), though in another location. We cannot speak for fellow humans located elsewhere and their unique lived experiences. Why would experiences of someone in Copenhagen be less valid than elsewhere? They are just as valid. 

Why would the reviewer mention "doing less of their own job"? When I worked, I often worked overtime and weekends. 

I find the following ill-meaning: "would be incredibly easy to dismiss it and mock the authors. This is not a good outcome if you have taken the time in your slow day to write a thing for some purpose other than career". As I said above, no one in the past 15 years has felt the desire to mock me/us. Why would someone even have a desire to mock persons who try to live more sustainably/slowly/with less? I find that it's the reviewer's personal attitude. And if they find it within themselves a desire to mock authors (rather than feel empathy, compassion, solidarity etc.), I'm really sorry about that. Their constant mentioning of our career in the review is disturbing. As I said, to me it feels like they imagine something about us and run with it. 

What is puzzling to me is that the reviewer seems to be an expert in degrowth/sustainability. It's heartbreaking to see so much bitterness, hatred, and a desire to mock someone exists in such a person, when for sustainability we need more care, empathy, kindness etc. I'm not saying that invitations to improve and clarify should not be there. But being rude and offensive is not the way forward. 

Best wishes,"

For those fellow humans who are interested in what happened next, the editor responded. I disagreed with some points they made in their email. Here is my response:

"Dear [...],

thank you for your response. 

I respectfully disagree with some of the points in your email. I think that truth matters. If someone is unemployed, it would be wrong to say that they have a well-paying secure job. It's ok to ask for clarifications, to say that this needs to be addressed. But it is not ok to simply assume something about the authors. 

I do not agree that the responsibility for the impression created by a manuscript lies wholly with the author. One can read a manuscript with gentleness, care, kindness, a desire to help the authors improve. One can also read it with anger, hatred and other negative emotions. When I handle manuscripts as an editor, I can see that the same manuscript is handled very differently by reviewers. And I can see that oftentimes it is not the authors' fault, but the reviewers' own attitude. I also think that it's impossible to satisfy all kinds of audiences, and for this reason it's good that commentaries exist. For example, the reviewer can publicly share their view (or what "someone" might think, as they say and you quote) on such modes of relating with the world that we describe in the paper. I am certain that they would be more careful in their writing, as they would risk presenting much misinformation and being factually wrong. Moreover, the second reviewer, or hundreds of other fellow humans who read my work, don't seem to have the same impression as the first reviewer, so once again I think that the issue lies within the first reviewer's attitude. 

Best wishes,"

On my academic journey, many fellow academics came to me because they wanted to share feelings of frustration, sadness, disappointment they experience in academia. Sharing in safe spaces is such a beautiful, liberating, empowering and healing practice. But apart from sharing with friends and close colleagues, it is also important to share with those who have power or control in a certain situation. I hope that more fellow humans will be doing it. With kindness, gentleness, compassion. 

510

Negative feedback on autoethnography

I am grateful to my fellow humans for the overwhelmingly positive feedback that I receive on my autoethnographic work. Most of the time, fellow humans (academics and non-academics) read my autoethnography with care, empathy, compassion, solidarity. They share their own stories and experiences, ask questions, offer gentle and generous feedback. My second autoethnographic article is currently in production and I look forward to sharing it with others. I will say more about my experience when the article is out, but the comments from the academic reviewers and the editor were wonderful. Generous. Helpful. Caring. 

At times, I receive negative comments too, and I want to be honest about them. Autoethnography is a polarising method, and I think that most humans who decide to use this method in their work foresee that they will be accused of narcissism, self-centredness, excessive self-disclosure and so on. I still think that autoethnography is worth it, because most of the feedback is very good (i.e., fellow humans see value in this work) and I feel that this is the only method that allows me to truly dive as deep as possible into everyday practices of sustainable living, as well as understand better various empowering and constraining factors, including policies. 

A fellow human writes that my partner and I are "pious/smug naval-gazing/narcissistic over privileged academics playing at solving a problem by withdrawing from the world [...] The two seem to live in Copenhagen, are academics with what seems to be secure employment good incomes and little surveillance of how they fulfil a work contract, and refer to this as normal". 

Peer review is anonymous, though in my field many fellow humans can guess that an article is authored by me, as I make all my data public and I often mention my mode of being in my lectures and talks as an example. Many fellow humans try to review autoethnography in a compassionate manner, as they are dealing with someone's life story and there is greater acceptance towards methods that are not traditional. It is very rare when one chooses to judge, rather than ask questions to clarify something or offer suggestions. 

The words of the fellow human above provoked much sorrow in me. 

I do not think that one should call fellow humans they do not know smug, narcissistic and so on. It is offensive, and I do not believe that this is how humans need to interact with one another. Unfortunately I've observed this heartbreaking tendency on a few occasions on my academic journey. Some fellow humans who say that they are passionate about sustainability treat others with utmost disrespect. And yet, for a genuinely sustainable society to manifest, we need more kindness, care, gentleness, love, empathy, solidarity.

As for the privilege, one can certainly say (and I say it very often) that we are privileged because we live in a peaceful, safe country with many social systems that empower (and also many that constrain, of course). This is not something to be ashamed of. This is something to reflect on and do everything we can to make the world a better place, so what is a privilege available only to some becomes the norm for everyone. 

I do not consider myself a privileged academic. All the academic jobs I've had have been temporary. I've not had an income for a year now. I've never had a supervisor or a mentor who would guide me on my career path or provide me with career opportunities. The fellow human I've quoted above is thus wrong about my employment. If I was writing this review and felt that the income and employment question is important, I would invite the author to say a bit more about these matters rather than assume that the person is necessarily one with a stable and high-income job. 

Because I do not have a contract, I do not have surveillance. In my previous positions I certainly had it. In some jobs and countries more so than in others. Generally, I do not believe that anyone needs surveillance. Humans need support, guidance and opportunities to work on their passions and interests. 

Living in Copenhagen itself is not necessarily an indicator of a luxurious life. I moved to Copenhagen to start a life with my loved one who has childcare responsibilities here. Ideally, I would love to live close to nature. Living in Copenhagen is not easy on one wage, though it's been possible due to our practice of minimalism that I write about in my autoethnography. 

The fellow human mentioned withdrawing from the world. I received a similar comment on my first autoethnographic article (though written in a much gentler way). Though I cannot see how I am withdrawing from the world (ontologically, it is not possible), I do believe that there are many ways of living sustainably and being an activist. It depends on one's personality. I prefer to live sustainably in my everyday life, write about it openly, study it, do lectures and talks, interact with alternative organisations. Someone else might prefer taking part in protests, be active in a network or in local politics, or doing something else entirely. 

The reviewer wonders if someone in a different part of the world could live like we do. This is not the purpose of autoethnographic work. The purpose it to tell our own story. Other fellow humans should be able to tell theirs. They mention that others have rent to pay and children to feed. The same applies to us. We pay rent and feed a child. 

The fellow human says that it is easy to mock the authors, considering the story that we are telling. Why would anyone have a desire to mock someone? Humans are capable of so many beautiful things such as care, kindness, compassion, empathy. In my experience of interacting with the readers of my autoethnography, I notice that no one chooses mocking someone over other reactions. Most choose kindness. Some choose gentle scepticism, which is ok. Whenever I read someone else's story, mocking the author is certainly not on my mind. I feel gratitude for their self-disclosure, a deep desire to learn from them. Though my own life and circumstances are different from theirs, I am still curious. Would I accuse them of playing sustainability? Would I think that I live true sustainability while they must be merely playing it? Certainly not. 

509

 Wearing things out

It's so interesting to observe that in our society many things look new. Growing up, I noticed that things were often thrown out or donated when a very tiny imperfection showed up, when something was "out of fashion", or when the owner felt like they simply wanted something different. People seemed so ready to sell their precious, in fact priceless, time to replace things quickly, to satisfy their cravings which never stopped manifesting. 

I wish I could spend more time with my family when I was a child. But consumption seemed more important to my family of origin, as both my mother and my stepfather worked most of my childhood. They didn't do it to make ends meet, but rather to sustain a certain level of consumption. I was also prepared for a life of consumption with an enormous pressure to do well at school and extracurricular activities. I would approach parenting very differently.

The sandals in the picture above are only 1.5 years old. They are one of the two pairs of shoes that I live with (the third pair is worn out and I wear those shoes only indoors). The other ones are around 3 years old. I wear these sandals almost every day. In winter, I wore them with thick woollen socks. In warmer seasons, I would walk 10-13 km per day in them very often. In places, the soles and the insoles are worn out and cracked. I still wear these shoes, but I will replace them soon-ish because they are becoming unsafe to walk in when I walk downstairs from the 5th floor where our home is located. They catch on the edges of the stairs. 

I hope that wearing old and worn out things becomes normalised someday. 

Earlier on my minimalist journey, I donated many items of clothing to various charities. These days, I donate mainly those items that are given to me as (unwanted) gifts. I try to wear things out. 

508

 Stone

In summer, we visited Bornholm, a Danish island. We went to a beach to look at, and collect, some stones. We brought home a few of them to use as decorations, to be reminded of the island, and to spend quality time with non-human beings. 

The other day I went to our local supermarket. They had so many seasonal decorations, made cheaply from plastic. It's heartbreaking to see nature being transformed into plastic spiders and artificial pumpkins. I feel that this is where our, consumers', agency matters so much. We can choose something different and infinitely better. Stones, shells, seasonal flowers, colourful fruits and vegetables, herbs, nuts. I've been using such things as decorations for many years, and they always feel more magical than human-made objects. Though children's drawings are also beautiful! 

507

 Buying nothing

On my minimalist journey, there have been so many months when I bought nothing. And yet, it is somehow only this month when I felt it so acutely. I felt immense joy. I was not doing a no buy challenge. I was not actively preventing myself from shopping. I was not talking myself out of buying stuff. I simply lived my life. I was not thinking about consumption at all. A small disclaimer: not buying doesn't apply to food and compulsory outgoings. 

I generally avoid overconsumption for ecological, spiritual, aesthetic, health-related and financial reasons.

Ecological: everything that is produced requires resources and energy to come into being. Some of these so-called resources are in fact fellow beings such as trees, animals, or their habitats. 

Spiritual: I want to step away from accumulation of stuff, status signalling and so on, and focus on what truly matters to me (being the best human being I can be, doing something good in the world). In his book Why Things Matter To People, Andrew Sayer says that people can flourish or suffer. It's so simple. Why would I want to contribute to suffering? Why should I invest my time and energy into anything other than my and others' flourishing? 

Aesthetic: Having too many things in my space is not my aesthetic. What I personally find beautiful are empty spaces and neutral colours. Recently, I wanted to invite more colours into my life. I borrowed my partner's clothes and wore those items for a couple of days. 

Health: Living with a lot less than what is the norm in our society has been incredibly good for my mental health. Using less skin, body and hair "care" products and wearing only natural fabrics has been good for my autoimmune condition. 

Financial: Inviting fewer objects into my life, living in an small space, not owning a car, and not using many services allowed me to step away from a toxic work situation that I was in. Ideally, there should be policies that allow humans to step away from toxic workplaces, prioritise other things in life (volunteering, organising, learning and unlearning, parenthood), take years out of work. In the absence of such policies, the best thing to do is to consume much less. 

In my everyday life, I do not remind myself of these reasons to convince myself not to buy something. Not buying has become an integral part of my being in the world. It feels so liberating. 

I'm not waiting for things to wear out so I can replace them. They wear out at their own pace. I do not have a wish list or a consumption plan. 

It is so interesting to observe the feelings that were never discussed when I was growing up and stepping into my adulthood. The immense joy of missing out, the immense joy of intentionally slow living, the immense joy of striving for and living with less. 

I remember some instances from my childhood when I was given more expensive earrings or a more expensive bag made from real leather because I was older. What nonsense! Now, in my mid-30s, I have no jewellery apart from my engagement ring. My bags are made from cotton (or cotton blend) and are shared. I live with less than 50 personal possessions. But I feel that I'm on a path of growth and deepening my connection with myself, human and non-human others and nature.  

506

 Potatoes

My partner asked me if I wanted flowers as a gift, an expression of love and appreciation. It was a beautiful and generous offer. But I said no. Instead, I asked him for some Danish potatoes. Seasonal. Magical. Delicious. It's interesting to observe that when one tries to live differently, to be in the world differently and relate differently with beings, including oneself, so many things can be questioned. Why is it so that flowers and expensive things are gifts but potatoes are not? Surely they can be gifts too. It was the first time someone has given potatoes to me. And I love them. 

505

 Colours

I've lived with neutral colours (grey, beige, off-white) for many years. Living this way feels calming to me and helps me cope with sensory processing sensitivity. I feel safe and comfortable in a space, with objects, and in clothes that are neutral. I don't follow fashion and interior design trends trends and don't experiment with colours just to push myself out of my comfort zone. There are so many things that are vibrant. Ideas, interactions, dreams, hopes, relationships, pieces of writing, stories. 

To interact with colours, I usually go for a walk around Copenhagen. In summer, I see so many beautiful flowers in various gardens, parks, and cemeteries in the city. In winter, I pay more attention to colourful buildings. I invite into my home fruits, vegetables and flowers that are colourful. 

Yet, recently I felt that I wanted more. It was interesting to observe this very human desire to experiment with colours. I began to wonder whether it meant that I wanted to invite more objects into my life (e.g., second-hand items). I decided to approach this situation slowly and avoid acting upon anything too quickly. In our society, new things are so easy to invite into our lives. When a want arises, there is never a shortage of offers and options. 

When I was younger, I used to borrow clothes from my brother and stepfather. They would always wear colours very different from what I would wear. This time, I borrowed two sweatshirts from my partner. One is navy and the other one is medium dusty blue. Blue is such a wonderful and calming colour. It makes me think about the sea, the sky, and magical flowers such as forget-me-nots and blue hydrangeas. Borrowing felt like a safe and sustainable option to experiment with colours. It's an ephemeral option too: there is no long-term commitment. I wore those sweatshirts for a couple of days, and then I returned them to my partner. It felt good to return to my everyday uniform of off-white sweatpants and an off-white linen shirt. I'm not planning to buy anything new or even second-hand. This tiny unfolding made me think about slowness again. Slowness is such a powerful tool that breaks the cycle of having a want and consuming. 

504

 "Yoga studio", modes of living

Very often my fellow humans say that my home looks like a yoga studio. There are no objects that one commonly finds in homes in our society. There is no tv, no couch, no carpets, no rugs, no artworks or decorations. There are no books either, despite both my partner and I being academics. Even though our home feels cosy and welcoming to me, I do not think that this is how everyone should live to call themselves an environmentalist. There are so many ways to live differently. And I would love for a great plurality of modes of living to be normalised. When I think about other modes of living, these real-life examples come to mind:

Living in an eco-community. One of the most inspiring scholars that I've met on my path works part-time at a university and lives in an eco-community. Recently, he even relocated his teaching there for one day. Students were given a tour in the eco-community, harvested vegetables and interacted with the Soil. 

Co-living. I've met so many fellow humans who chose to live with their relatives or humans unrelated to them. Some did it for financial reasons (to avoid entangling too much with the capitalist system), others for cultural reasons (they wanted to learn a language quickly), yet others for companionship reasons. When I attended my first university, I chose not to move out from my family home. My mother died when I just began my studies, and I wanted to be close to my brother. Before my partner and I moved in together, I was thinking that it would be interesting to live with a fellow practitioner of sustainable living. 

Living in tiny houses. It's such a fascinating and liberating mode of living. Unfortunately, I've never lived in a tiny house, a van or any other mobile home. 

Living in a studio apartment. In the past 3 years, I've lived mostly in studio apartments. It was immensely liberating (financially and spiritually), and this kind of home is perfect for the amount of things I live with. 

Living in a much smaller home than one can afford. In Sweden, I met a fellow human who held a position in academia that could allow them to live in a large house. Yet, they chose to live in an apartment. They chose to forego status signalling and generally lived a simple life. 

Living with old/second-hand/inherited items. My partner's father and stepmother live with many objects, but they very rarely buy something new. Most of the items they have they either inherited or bought long time ago. 

Homesteading and living in an allotment house are some of the modes of living I have not tried. But many years ago I lived in a summer house for some time. There was a garden where I could grow some food. 

Living furniture-free. I lived furniture-free for 10 months in Finland, and it was wonderful and liberating. When I was moving from Finland, I was glad that there was no furniture to move. I could pack all the items I lived with (apart from the ones I returned or gave away) in a tote bag and a backpack. 

503

 Dream of a box

In the picture above, you can see a wooden chest that my partner inherited from his grandparents. Apparently his grandfather bought it in London. The chest used to live in my partner's previous home and was used to store yarn. I wouldn't keep the chest in our home, but it has sentimental value for my partner (it reminds him of his grandparents), so we live with it. When I look at it, at times I am reminded of my dream. 

One of my dreams is to live, until I die, in such a way that all my possessions fit in a medium sized cardboard box. I've had this dream for many years, and I'm living it. I've never brought an actual cardboard box home to see, in a playful way, if the dream is truly fulfilled. 

Some months ago, I took out of a recycling bin near my home a new cardboard box that a fellow human wanted to recycle. I then put the box in our storage space for our next move. Sometimes I think of bringing it to our apartment and seeing if my possessions fit into it. 

It brings me joy to think that when I die, I will not leave behind a mountain of stuff. That as I live, I can live a beautiful, joyful, fulfilling life with almost nothing. 

I do not think that this should be everyone's dream, that everyone should live like I do. But I do think that we need to reconsider our relationships with objects. Objects are transformed, and often destroyed, nature. And we pay for these objects with our life, as to earn money, oftentimes we need to sell our priceless time. 

I also think that sustainability academics, like myself, and academics who criticise capitalism (and point out how it destroys nature) need to practise sustainability and consider their relationships with objects and services. Recently, I was reading Erik Olin Wright's Envisioning Real Utopias. He says in this book that he gave over 50 talks in 18 countries in connection with this book project. Over several paragraphs (pp. iii-iv), he lists the places where he went. In the same book, he highlights that capitalism destroys nature. I find it so difficult to be inspired by those humans for whom theory and practice have nothing to do with one another. I struggle to take their work, no matter how good and elegant in terms of theory, seriously. 

Reference

Wright, E.O. (2010) Envisioning Real Utopias. Verso: London. 

502

 Gifts

Autumn is so magical and colourful. The other day, I saw geese leaving Denmark or just passing it on their way to a warmer destination. It was a self-transcending experience. 

But it is also the season when humans are encouraged by the capitalist system to consume items that we will give to each other as gifts during Christmas time. Over my life time, I've observed the season of gift buying grow into late summer, and gifts becoming ever more expensive and plentiful. It doesn't feel like our society is tending towards greater simplicity and a more ecological mode of being in and relating with the world.

Recently, I attended a family event. It was organised by my partner's father and stepmother. It's always wonderful to visit their home. 

She mentions that when she was young, she wished for a whole cucumber as a gift. Her son, my partner's stepbrother, asked her why. She said that she was never allowed to have more than two slices of a cucumber because they were so expensive. He mentions that he wished for a bag of raisins. I was in awe of such humble desires. He asked me what I would consider a good gift. 

My partner and I have a practice of not giving expensive gifts to each other. Almost everything that he gave to me as gifts in the beginning of our relationship I gave to charity. Even though I live with very few items, I have enough. We give each other stones we find on Danish beaches. At times, we pick up something from our local bakeries for each other. But more generally, having a gift of love and care, of sharing a life and dreams, is enough. 

Some of the most memorable gifts that I have received from fellow humans are fruits, home-made and bought bread, vegetables from fellow humans' gardens. A cloth my partner's stepmother inherited from a woman in her family. A stone my partner gave me. He found it on a Danish beach. At times I give myself gifts too. They are usually tea and fruits.

I love giving locally made jams and easy to use, everyday objects that encourage more sustainable living, such as unpackaged soap bars. Apart from that, I always ask fellow humans what they want or need. For gift wrapping, I use previously used cotton pouches and encourage the receiver to reuse them. 

As we were talking about gift-giving, we felt sorrow about the change that happens in humans. As children, we don't feel ashamed of giving drawings, something we find in nature and small hand-made items as gifts. Over time, it changes, and we start to believe that gifts must be bought rather than made. That gifts need to be stuff. 

501

 Home

Recently, I filmed a very short video for my autoethnography. Usually, I use text and photographs. Filming the video of me simply walking through my home was inspired by a question from the Danish authorities. The question was, where are you domiciled? Where is my home? 

This is my home. It is not fully mine. My partner and I rent this place, and it is a space where we met in the middle when it comes to our practice of sustainability. My preference would be to live without furniture as I lived in Finland. I wouldn't have some of the items we have. For example, not too long ago, my partner invited a smoothie blender into our home. I certainly could live without this device that uses much energy and is incredibly noisy. I wouldn't have any family heirlooms in my home either, nor would I have a screen for the balcony (it blocks much of the precious, magical, beautiful sunlight). 

Yet, I love our home. It feels cosy and unpretentious. I observe that our guests generally feel comfortable here. It is obvious that everything is used and nothing is fragile. There is no expensive carpet that one is afraid to spill coffee or wine on. There are no fine glasses passed down to us from our grandparents that a child would be afraid of touching. When my partner's child is here, she runs around, jumps on our floor bed, spills food on the floor, takes clothes out of our closet. And that's ok. 

Walking through my home reminds me of a question I got from a Finnish insurance company (it was compulsory to have home insurance for a rented place). They asked me if I wanted to insure my possessions. I smiled. There was nothing in my home. I slept on a yoga mat. All my kitchen items were inexpensive, borrowed from a friend. There was nothing that could not be replaced immediately, nothing that I would miss if it was taken away from me by nature or a fellow human. 

In this home, there are no paintings, no jewellery. Nothing to be insured. 

Recently my partner and I were talking about our one year of living together. I asked him what surprised him the most. Before we moved in together, we had spent time together in my home in Finland, in my home  in Sweden and in various other places, but never lived together. He said it was my love towards taking care of my home. He believes that usually fellow humans hate cleaning, doing laundry, taking rubbish out. When we moved in together, we organically separated our so-called chores into what he would do and what I would do. But I have always noticed that while for him caring for our home was a chore, for me it has always been a means of relaxation and meditation. I think it has much to do with the way we live. It doesn't take much time to clean our home. It is small, and there are not many things living with us. Looking after a large home with many items would not be something I could enjoy. 

500

 Freedom from stuff and rejections

I spontaneously took a picture of my two shelves in our home for this autoethnography. I felt overwhelming joy and a deep sense of wellbeing when I saw them once again in the morning. It is so interesting to think that this same sight would cause very different emotions in different people. I thought about my family members who would find it heartbreaking. 

The feeling of wellbeing is so deep that I cannot imagine living with more. 

There are all my clothing items (apart from what I was wearing and what was in the laundry when I took the picture), documents, a cotton tote bag, medicine, scissors, my ring, a notebook, and two remaining copies of my book. To the left, there are my partner's shirts and my one remaining linen shirt. On the top shelf that is not mine is a spare duvet that our guests can use. 

The tote bag that I use often (and my partner uses at times), if not every day, is in the living room. 

As I was walking through our tiny apartment, I felt so free from stuff and consumerism. This beautiful feeling, a permission to step away from perpetually and restlessly chasing something, offset a feeling of sadness that I got when my partner told me about the research council refusing to fund our project. In my experience, fellow humans in academia (at least in the spaces that I dwell) don't talk much about rejections. They talk about successes, but much less so about the projects that don't get funded. Doing autoethnography, I feel, helps me be honest and authentic about various unfoldings in life. Not getting funding for a research project we would love to do certainly causes sorrow, but I don't experience it as something bad. Experiencing much spiritual growth in the past few years made me see more clearly how my academic work is not my career. My career is being the best human being I can be. Receiving funding would be very helpful but not getting it is not nearly as bad as not being something that I want to manifest in the world (being kind, empathetic, compassionate, honest). In other words, I would be very worried if I observed myself manifesting competitiveness, jealousy, envy. If I was exploitative, utilitarian, unempathetic. 

Earlier in my academic career, I would check my citations often to see if my fellow humans were engaging with my work. These days, I check them so much less. But every day, I check in with myself. I have deep inner dialogues, to see if I'm on the path of growth. 

499

 Bathroom

As I was growing up, I was observing my mother's and grandmother's collection of skin, body and hair "care" items grow. Their bathroom shelves were full of objects. As a child, I was fascinated by all those potions. But then I began to wonder, would I need all this, too? Is it so that as you grow older, you acquire/use/need more? The message of the so-called "beauty" industry is, yes. You need all this and more, and newer things every year, if not every month. At times, my mother and grandmother would buy various creams and other items for me as gifts or simply to try. 

I am grateful for my autoimmune skin condition. Though it has caused much suffering and discomfort, it also encouraged me to think about my relationship with objects and products. With textiles, perfumes, skin care items. Creams that claimed to be good for me would sting my skin at best, and cause a long-lasting reaction at worst. Early in my life I realised that using less was better for me. It felt liberating. As if I got permission to not use all those creams and other items. Ever. 

In my adulthood, every now and then I would use some natural skin, body and hair care items. These days, in my bathroom my partner and I have only the following: refillable soap, toothbrushes and toothpaste, shampoo, a small jar of vaseline, deodorant, and laundry sheets. We share all these items, apart from toothbrushes. I don't use shampoo every day. I wash my face and body with water most of the time. I used to invite natural oils into my life instead of petroleum jelly, but I've noticed that petroleum jelly lasts longer. It doesn't ever seem to go bad. 

498

 Autoethnographic notes from the beginning of October

Something that I've been contemplating so much these days is that there are so many things that don't depend on us. I've been ill for some days. I try to take good care of my body, the home of my soul, but at times I, like any other human being, meet a Virus or Bacteria on my life's path. It's interesting to observe how the body takes its own time to heal. How other things such as consumption don't matter when one is ill. How tiny microorganisms and viruses reveal the effects they can have on one's body. I am reminded that I co-exist in this world with so many diverse fellow beings. 

To heal, I walk whenever I can. Recently I went to visit Vestre Kirkegård here in Copenhagen. To see the rays of the Sun shining through the branches and leaves of trees was a magical, self-transcending experience. I met many squirrels on my walk too. They are so curious and elegant!

To heal, I do simple, everyday activities. My partner and I found a hat in his storage room. It had a small hole developing. He didn't want this hat anymore (he has another one that he likes more), but I decided to fix it and wear it in winter. I invited new, black sewing thread into our home to fix this hat and black textiles that my partner has. 

I observe magical sunlight in our apartment. Having very few objects in our space allows the sunlight to travel freely and create wonderful shapes on the walls.