481

Saying goodbye to a shirt

For many months, I've been living with 10 items of clothing. And before that with less than 30 for many years. I do this for ecological, spiritual, and aesthetic reasons. I want to be myself every day, not invent different personas for various situations. When I teach, rest, walk, travel, meet fellow humans in academia and outside academia, I wear the same outfit. A cat I lived with inspired me many years ago to look the same no matter what I do. I was in awe of her confidence and elegance. These days, I am inspired by so many fellow beings. Magpies, bees, squirrels. It feels wonderful to direct the energy that I would have otherwise spent on shopping (even second-hand) and putting outfits together on other activities that are important to me. Even sitting for some minutes on my balcony with the sun, or with a book, is more important. Contemplating is more important. Advertising and fashion trends do not affect me. 

It also feels wonderful to live with the same items of clothing for a while. To think about various plants (cotton plants, flax plants - they are so magical!) embodied in the clothing I wear. To care for each item. To repair it.

Living with so few items means that my clothes wear out. Once I met a fellow human who was wearing an item of clothing that was 40 years old (older than me). While it was humbling to hear that, it's not realistic for me, considering my practice. I repair my clothes relatively often. Most of the time it's a small hole. Recently I was looking at one of my two linen shirts. I noticed that in many places (especially on the back, the arms and shoulders where the shirt would often be in contact with my backpack or the table/desk) the shirt's fabric thinned out so much that it disintegrated in many places. Gently pulling the fabric caused tears immediately. Some time ago, I repaired this shirt. But this time, considering that there were so many places where the fabric thinned out, I decided to say goodbye to it. Here in Copenhagen it is possible to recycle textiles. In my previous apartment block in Frederiksberg there was a textile bin. Where I live currently there is none, but there is one not far from me in one of the streets. I could have made cloths from this shirt but I felt that I have enough of them, and thinned out fabric would not be the best for cleaning. I also notice that linen from which the shirt is made generates a lot of lint. Cotton (especially jersey) works much better for simple cloths. 

Saying goodbye to this shirt made me think that it's so rare these days, in our society, to see worn out clothes. Everything is so new. This shirt has been looking worn for many months now, and I rarely see fellow humans wear anything that looks this worn out. We are encouraged to get rid of an item as soon as it develops a small imperfection, not to mention a hole or a stain. 

Buying something new immediately to replace an old item is normalised. I was observing my feelings and emotions as I was putting the shirt in a bag to carry it to the textile recycling bin. I didn't feel any desire to buy a new one (or a second-hand one). 

I now live with only one linen shirt. These days are incredibly warm here in Copenhagen. Perhaps when the weather changes I will think about my wardrobe again. It feels good to be guided by deeply felt needs and nature's rhythms rather than societal norms and corporations' desire for profit. I might borrow a shirt from my partner later. 

480

 Guest

This beautiful Bee came to our home recently. They were sitting on the floor and probably were very tired. I often observe how fellow humans throw guests such as bees and spiders out immediately as they notice them in their home. One of the practices (that I've noticed exists in many countries) that I learned in my early childhood is trapping an insect in a glass jar and sliding a piece of paper underneath, then releasing the insect outside. This of course is better than taking an insect's life. At times, I catch wasps to help them reach the balcony. But this bee seemed so exhausted that we decided to welcome them. We made some sugar water for the bee and let it stay. It consumed some of it and flew off in a while. 

My partner and I often talk about the universe and beings who live with us on the planet. We oftentimes disagree. To him, the universe is not agentic. There is no driving force, no inherent goodness. The universe is cold and indifferent. Beings such as animals and trees are not agentic. To me, the universe is a meaningful and cosy space that is inherently good, valuable, meaningful, welcoming, loving, caring. Fellow beings are agentic and kin. I don't feel alone in the universe. When I go for a walk on my own, I am with trees, insects, stars, the air. When I'm in solitude, I am with so many fellow beings still. Perhaps this thinking evolved as a psychological defence mechanism (or it is simply a worldview that I hold). Due to my stepfather's job, we moved a lot, oftentimes very long distances. From wet and cold northern climate to a very dry climate with four clearly defined seasons. From fir trees, blueberries, lakes, and lichen to fields of corn, hemp, potatoes and birch forests. It would have been difficult to move far from home in the world that is indifferent and empty. It was so easy to move in the world that is caring and welcoming, full of curious and beautiful beings. Wherever we went, there were trees that supported me when I climbed them. There was food such as berries and mushrooms that nature gave as generous gifts. There were squirrels that would look at me with curiosity, hedgehogs that relax in your arms after a few minutes and allow you to stroke their nose and belly. I feel that seeing fellow beings as agentic, as kin rather than as features of nature (materials/resources/ingredients/commodities etc.) is important for developing a gentle and loving worldview as well. I believe that we, individually and collectively, would want to take from nature only what we genuinely need rather than ever more, if we had this fellow-feeling towards more-than-human others (and towards fellow humans too, of course). 

My time at Roskilde university is coming to an end and I've been looking at new opportunities, contemplating my next steps. It's interesting to observe that the social sciences still emphasise so much the old paradigms of being in and relating with the world. I've met many fellow humans who use quantitative methods in their research, and it's always interesting and humbling to read and contemplate their findings. Yet, I feel that diving deeper into more philosophical and everyday aspects of being and relating (with the self, human and non-human others, and the cosmos) needs to be done on a much larger scale. At times, it feels as if the word science is reserved for calculating, measuring, models, and frameworks. When I think about my general interest (how to be in the world differently, individually and collectively), it's more of a philosophical question. A question for individual and collective contemplation, teamwork and practice.