579

 How to become/be an extreme minimalist?

I receive this question (How to become/be an extreme minimalist?) from my fellow humans very often. After 15 years of being on this journey, I should have a good answer, right? Yet, it's such a difficult question. My partner and I were talking about it for hours the other day. I'll share some thoughts in this entry.

I feel that the question is difficult to answer partly because there is no single definition of extreme minimalism. This space reminds me of my academic field (sustainability/degrowth), where many humans have their own definitions. I believe that we agree on some very essential features of degrowth but we still want to highlight other features too. As a person coming from an anarchist perspective, I feel uncomfortable with a small minority of humans promoting a particular definition of something, while discounting diversity of voices. For example, one might define extreme minimalism as living with fewer than 132 items. But where does this number come from? As a social scientist, I am sceptical about such numbers. They feel random to me. Perhaps they arise from one's personal experience. But everyone's experience is different. What is a good amount of possessions for a healthy male fellow human travelling full-time is very different to what is a good number of possessions for me, a pregnant, female human being, living permanently in a city, with a partner and with health conditions. If we consider the first example as the benchmark, it will not be achievable to most persons. And if we, for some reason, believe that the first example is better, then extreme minimalism will be a source of suffering rather than liberation. In my academic work I simply say that extreme minimalism entails living with obviously less than what is normal in one's society. 

With my partner, we thought it was such a fun thought experiment: one can instantly become an extreme minimalist by simply getting rid of everything. Eating only in restaurants so that one doesn't need any kitchen equipment. Using taxis so that one doesn't need a bike, a car or a travel card. One can rent many things, use single-use items. One can stay in hotels or other accommodations. This is not sustainable or realistic. Moreover, it's a privileged and a very expensive lifestyle. I do not believe that extreme minimalism should be expensive. It should be much less expensive than a lifestyle characterised by overconsumption. 

Rather than asking oneself how to become/be an extreme minimalist, perhaps it's helpful to ask oneself deep questions such as Why do I want to live with less/what is enough? Would I feel more liberated if I lived with less/enough? Would I have more financial freedom, more free time, better mental health? Would my relationship with myself, fellow others and nature improve? 

And then outline a path towards living with enough. It should not feel extreme. It should feel harmonious, calming, abundant. 

For me personally, enough entails living without furniture or with very few furniture items if I'm sharing my space with a fellow human. Not having any decorations apart from stones, shells, sand and flowers from nature. Living with under 20 items of clothing: I've noticed that more is unnecessary because I still wear the same 10 or so items, and less is unnecessarily restrictive because I live in Denmark where it's cold in winter but warm in summer. I live in a space that fellow humans consider empty because this space is calming for me. It feels peaceful. As someone living with sensory processing sensitivity, I need this kind of space to rest and to create. For the same reason, I wear mostly white. As someone living with an autoimmune skin condition, I wear mostly natural fabrics, loose clothes that don't irritate my skin. I wear no makeup and use very few personal care items. But this is just my story. I strongly believe that one can call themselves an extreme minimalist and live with what is enough for them while wearing bright colours, wearing makeup, having pictures on the walls, and so on. Partly, I practise extreme minimalism for ecological reasons. Nature would not suffer if I bought a painting in a second-hand shop. I don't do it because I'd find it overstimulating, not because I believe that second-hand art, inherited art, one's child's art, or even art bought from a local artist is destructive or bad. 

It's always been very important to me to be transparent about my health in my autoethnography, so that fellow humans can, like I have done, trace at least some of my practices to this rather than to an ideology. 

To become a practitioner of extreme minimalism, a human being perhaps should have an inner dialogue about themselves, their preferences, what makes their life good, while recognising that a lot of pressure to consume and reinvent themselves comes from the system in which we are embedded. From someone's pursuit of profit, from others' pursuit of earnings, from unexamined norms, from toxic standards. Very often in my academic field we say that our society is incredibly individualistic. In some ways, it is, but it also is not. All humans are expected/hoped for by corporations to behave as a collective force, to consume more. As a pregnant person, I experience the following: I am expected to buy a stroller. I am expected to buy a baby monitor. I don't want any of these things. I am an individual and want to decide for myself what I want and what I don't want to invite into my life. For this reason, extreme minimalism seems so extreme. 

At the core of my actual practice is my sufficiency list (laptop, phone, passport and documents, bank card, shoes, bag, reusable bag, towel, underwear and socks, tops, trousers/shorts, jacket, scarf, bowl, pot, cutlery set, blanket, notebook and pen, personal care). Everyone's sufficiency list would look very different. My grandmother would not have a laptop on her sufficiency list, neither would she have trousers. She is a very feminine person who loves dresses. She would certainly have a lipstick and a matching nail polish on her list. My brother would never have white or black tops and trousers on his list. He never wears these colours. He loves green and orange. Their practice is not worse than mine. It's just different. 

578

Bathroom

Disclaimer: what I will say below is certainly not meant to be a blueprint for fellow humans. What works for me might not work for someone else. If a fellow human wanted to live with less in their bathroom and asked me how to approach it, I would most likely say that it's best to put some of the items in a box and try out living with less for some time. 

When I was much younger, I was fascinated with my grandmother's bathroom. She had all kinds of creams, tools, and shampoos in there. There were so many bottles and jars!

When my fellow humans visit my home, they often wonder, where is everything? Where is your makeup, perfumes, creams? 

A fellow human came to see the flat we lived in previously. She and her partner were considering living there. She walked around, went to see the bathroom, and asked: but where do you keep all your personal care items, especially You [looking at me]? But there were barely any items. And there was no storage space. Most of the items that we were not using daily (such as the shaving foam, nail scissors, or nail clippers), we kept elsewhere. 

In the picture above is everything we have in our bathroom, excluding the toilet brush and our decorations (the sand jar and the stones we brought home from Bornholm). We live with:

• Toilet rolls made from recycled paper. We'd be glad if they came in paper packaging, but they come in plastic. We use these plastic bags for plastic waste. 
• Baking soda that we use for cleaning. We refill our baking soda jar from a very large bag. 
• Laundry sheets. They are unscented. My skin seems to tolerate these laundry sheets well. 
• Nail scissors. This is the only tool that I use for my nails.
• Crystal deodorant in cork packaging
• A tin of vaseline. I've tried to live without vaseline in the past, but it lasts a very, very long time, doesn't go bad, and it's the only product that I can use on my skin when I have a flare up or when my skin is extremely sensitive (I live with an autoimmune skin condition). 
• Toothpaste
• Toothbrushes in a jar. The jar came with pasta sauce. 
• Sunscreen in paper packaging
• Shaving foam that my partner uses. I use soap instead.
• Multi-purpose soap that we refill. This soap is unscented. We use it for our hands, bodies, face, and even for cleaning the bathroom and other spaces in our home. 
• Razor blades
• Heads for one of the toothbrushes
• Shampoo. We had a shampoo and shower bar before, but it didn't last as long as this shampoo does. Very often, I wash my hair with water only. 
• Cream and face wash that my partner uses after shaving
• Hair styling wax. It's made here in Denmark from beeswax, shea butter and olive oil by a small Danish company. My partner uses it occasionally.
• Razor and shaver
• Nail clipping tools
• Floss. It goes inside a tiny glass and metal container that is elsewhere in our apartment. 
• My partner's comb

My partner and I share many of these items (e.g., shampoo, toothpaste, sunscreen, soap). And some of these items we share with my stepchild too. At times, I borrow my partner's razor. I used to have my own, made from metal. I discontinued using it for mental health reasons. 

I would certainly have less items if I lived on my own. I would have a toothbrush, toothpaste, crystal deodorant, shampoo, vaseline, soap, sunscreen, scissors, and perhaps the same razor my partner has, to use very occasionally. I don't use creams, serums and other similar products. My skin feels its best without them. Most of the time, I simply use water. I try to avoid fragrance (natural or synthetic) in the products that I use as much as possible, especially now when I'm pregnant. This is because I often get headaches from fragrances and skin irritation. Occasionally, I have flare ups of my skin condition. In such cases, I see a doctor, and they prescribe medication. I then invite it into my life. But since I started to use extremely minimal skincare, my skin has felt well. Last time I had a skin infection (my skin condition makes my skin susceptible to skin infections) was a couple of years ago in Finland. 

At times, I buy a multi-purpose balm. I had one this winter too, and both my partner and I used it. We kept it by our bedside. 

There are no feminine hygiene products in our bathroom currently because I'm pregnant. So I don't use any. There is no makeup, no perfume and no nail varnish because I don't use these items. I haven't used them in 15 years or so and not planning to invite them back into my life. 

577

Thoughts on decluttering

Recently, my partner and I recorded a video about decluttering (it can be found here). But then I wanted to take a few notes about decluttering, too. I've written about it in this autoethnography before. For example, here. 

I don't love the word decluttering. I use it at times because fellow humans in the social movements I am part of (e.g., minimalism, extreme minimalism, simple living) use it, and it helps us communicate more effectively. Yet, personally I prefer words such as letting go, saying goodbye, finding a new loving home for items. This is because things are not clutter, even if they feel as such, even if I don't need or want them. They embody my labour, fellow humans' labour, our time. They embody nature and non-human beings. For example, whenever I say goodbye to an item of clothing, which happens very rarely, I think about cotton plants growing from seeds, human beings designing and making this item, spending their precious time on making it. I also think about fellow humans who could benefit from this item even if I don't. 

Fellow humans ask me about decluttering very often. And I think I understand why. Stepping away from feeling overwhelmed and towards feeling liberated is wonderful. In the past few days, my partner has been decluttering his electronic items, such as emails and photographs, and I notice a shift in him. 

It's difficult to offer a list of steps to fellow humans that ensure that in the end of this decluttering journey one is left exactly with the items that enhance their life. Everyone is a unique individual. What works for me might not work for someone else. Moreover, I've never formally decluttered my space. I moved countries when I was young. I didn't have an enormous amount of possessions to begin with, and when I moved, I took with me only what I needed. The rest was given away to friends, family and community. 

Having said that, my partner certainly decluttered, and we contemplated several steps that fellow humans can take.

The first step would be to have an inner dialogue, to understand why one wants to be on this path. My reasons for living with less, for example, are ecological, spiritual, aesthetic, health-related (both mental and physical), and financial. It feels so helpful to see the process of decluttering as an exercise in self-love, self-care, and self-knowledge. If I wanted to declutter right now, I'd be asking myself why I am in the situation I am in, what encourages me to consume more and to keep items, what influences me, and so on. I'd be looking for inspiration and personal stories within various sustainability movements (slow living, simple living, minimalism, frugality, etc.) while recognising that I'm a unique individual. 

And then it feels helpful to identify what is essential. Rather than asking myself What should I say goodbye to/what do I dislike/what did I waste money on? I would be asking myself What makes my life good and cosy? 

This is how I identified what to take with me every time I moved, and every time I went somewhere for a long-ish period of time. This is how I sketched my "sufficiency list". I think it's so helpful to write these things down. To this day, I maintain my sufficiency list. It's barely changed since 2010. I've shared it both in my published works and in this autoethnography. Everyone's sufficiency list would be unique. For example, my laptop is on that list. I use it for my academic work and for my hobbies. I love writing and reading, and I use my laptop for both. For some, a laptop is not an essential. For other persons, craft items could be on their lists, or sports equipment, or musical instruments. I don't believe that such lists should be numbered. When I reflect on my sufficiency list, I think about abundance, security, comfort, stability, continuity, gratitude. Never about deprivation or competition (whose list is the shortest?). 

What about the items that are not on the list? I would either simply live with them if I share my life with someone, or say goodbye to them. For example, I live with my partner. Before we moved in together, I lived without furniture and I slept on a yoga mat. We agreed to invite into our life a few pieces of furniture and a mattress. And that's ok. Some fellow humans prefer to give themselves some time to contemplate whether they need items or not. It could be helpful, but perhaps it depends on a person, too. I prefer to dive into something, to make a step and observe inner growth as I'm stepping into something new. Self-knowledge helps so much here. For example, I used to keep a few emails that my partner and I exchanged in the beginning of our relationship. But then I deleted them, all at once. While one fellow human might appreciate gentle and long-term contemplation (e.g., keeping some items in a box for some months), another one might feel that this approach weighs them down and prevents them from starting a new chapter. When I stopped wearing makeup, I simply stopped. I didn't transition. When I stopped wearing bras, I just stopped. I didn't keep one or two just in case. But this is not the right way. What is right depends on a person. 

Some time ago, I decided to write an entry about what I invite into my life every month. It's not accompanied by an entry on what I say goodbye to. This is because my partner and I don't declutter these days. When we moved in together, I had only one bag and a backpack containing everything that I brought with me from Finland. That is, everything that I had. And he had only one suitcase. it was so interesting to observe what humans consider essential. There were a few items of clothing, cutlery, towels. Over time, we did invite more items into our life. Many of them my partner brought from his previous home. But we never had much to begin with. 

Occasionally, we donate items. They could be, for example, unwanted gifts or clothing items that no longer fit us. We don't accumulate items. Most of the items that enter our life every month are replacements for something we've used up. Toothpaste, toothbrushes, dish brushes, laundry sheets, shampoos, and so on. 

We never declutter each other's items, and I never declutter my stepchild's items. If I notice that some of her clothes are too small for her, I have a conversation with my partner about it, so that he and her mum can invite replacements into her life. My stepchild is only 5, so I don't make these decisions together with her. In the picture above are some of my stepchild's items. In the white basket, she has many lego pieces, craft supplies, toys, and various plastic objects that I don't know the function of. They are her personal possessions that I don't declutter out of respect towards her and towards her parents. 

Something that my partner and I discussed in the video I mentioned above was decluttering the non-material. This feels so incredibly important. While I don't declutter material items, I certainly contemplate whether there is anything in my environment or in my own psyche that is harmful. Harmful expectations, negative influence, relationships and projects that are not nurturing. I either withdraw myself from such spaces completely, or minimise the time I spend in them as much as possible.

576

Giving things away

My partner and I decided to take a couple of white t-shirts to our local byttestation (swap shop). We don't plan to take anything from there, rather to simply give the t-shirts away.

White t-shirts are part of his self-imposed everyday uniform, and I borrow them often. A while ago, he ordered several white t-shirts from different companies with various sustainability credentials, and at different price points, to see which ones he would buy more of. Interestingly, none of the t-shirts performed exceptionally well. This situation reminded me of buying food: sustainability practitioners usually want their food to be local, organic, seasonal, unpackaged, affordable. And yet it's very rare to come by something that satisfies all these criteria. Likewise, it's difficult to find a clothing item that is locally produced, made from organic materials, by an ethical business, durable, well-fitting, affordable and so on. 

He never gravitated towards these two t-shirts in particular, and neither did I. We could turn them into cloths for cleaning our home, but they were still in an excellent condition. They could certainly be loved by a fellow human, and it felt wrong to make cleaning cloths from something that is still usable for its original purpose and embodies both cotton plants and human labour. That's how we decided to give them away.

As a practitioner of sustainable living and extreme minimalism, I'm in two minds about using things up/wearing them out. One the one hand, doing so feels right. On the other hand, I want to live only with the items I love using and welcome into my space with genuine joy. When you live with only a few items, you probably are very much aware of all of them. Or perhaps it's not a common experience, and I feel this way due to sensory processing sensitivity. 

Usually, when there is something I don't love using, I try to find a new home for it. For example, in the beginning of my sustainability journey, around 2010, I gave away my remaining jewellery, watches, leather bags, skincare, and other items to my friends and family. Somehow, I felt that I would never use those items again. Giving them away was stepping into my authenticity and freedom. And I never regretted it. 

575

What I eat every day

My fellow humans often ask me, What do you eat every day? I'm curious about fellow practitioners' choices too, as many generally strive to eat food that is affordable, local, seasonal, and unpackaged (though it's rarely possible to satisfy all these criteria at once) and avoid food waste as much as possible. I've written about my relationship with food many times in this autoethnography, but then I thought, after receiving some more invitations from my fellow humans to share more, that it's a good idea to disclose this relationship in detail. 

It goes without saying that I dwell this space as a sustainability researcher and practitioner and as a consumer, not an expert in nutrition and certainly not a chef! My partner often says that my food preferences are those of a 4 year old. I used to feel somewhat offended by this (I'm 36), until I realised that he is right. I love the same foods I used to love when I was very young. 

Food that I eat, in general, is very simple, some would even say basic. I eat mostly vegetables, fruits, beans, mushrooms, pasta, and rice. Occasionally, I eat cheese and eggs, and very rarely (sometimes once in a couple of months), I eat fish. I eat tofu very occasionally, but I much prefer beans, and most tofu sold here comes in plastic (though there are also options packaged in glass in health food stores). I don't eat meat - my younger brother and I never liked it even when we were children. I was fully plant-based for some years, but I could never get enough calories on that diet despite eating until I was full and not avoiding any foods such as oils. Having said that, most of my meals even now are plant-based. And I never, ever count calories. I eat intuitively. Sometimes, especially in summer, I just eat a bowl of fruit for breakfast. I don't go out of my way to avoid less healthy foods: at times, I eat a biscuit or a piece of chocolate, or ice cream, or even something from a local bakery. 

For breakfast, I usually eat oats cooked in plant milk (usually Danish oat milk) and water with whatever I have at home (fruits, dried fruits, nuts, cinnamon, nut butter, a spoon of plain plant yoghurt, etc.). If I don't want oats (which is rare, I love them), I eat some plant yoghurt with fruits or granola or something else that I have at home. In the picture above is plant yoghurt with one banana, a couple of strawberries and granola. These strawberries came from Spain. I almost never buy strawberries in winter. They are in season here in Denmark in summer, and this is when I buy them (it's also possible to get them in paper packaging and from food markets). I've read that my unborn baby's tastebuds are developing these weeks and that his taste might be affected by what I eat. I hope he will be loving and eating the same food as me when he's older, so I decided to get some strawberries. I will not be buying more of them because it's certainly not sustainable, and these strawberries are expensive. Yet, I want to be honest in my autoethnography about what exactly I buy. One might ask if what is shown in the picture above is enough to satisfy me until lunch time. It's definitely not, but now in pregnancy I feel that I cannot eat large portions. I generally prefer eating smaller portions of food, and eat them more often. For example, I would have cut up apples and nuts later. 

For lunch, I often eat potato smørrebrød (open sandwiches here in Denmark) with vegan mayo. Alternatively, I eat an omelette with leftover vegetables or mushrooms. I cook mushrooms with olive oil or butter (or both), soy sauce and vinegar. At times I add garlic or spring onion or both. Or I eat leftovers from the previous day's dinner. Or a bread roll with cheese. At uni, I eat a bread roll with cheese and fruits. 

For dinner, I eat pasta (or pasta made from brown rice), or rice, or potatoes with vegetables, mushroom and beans. Or just lots of vegetables (e.g., ratatouille, salad or soup). I don't love salad dressings (I just use olive oil), but when I do make it, it is just olive oil mixed with vinegar.  

I never plan my meals. I've tried doing that in the past, but quickly quit this activity. I understand that it works well for some humans, but it doesn't work for me. Because I like to eat intuitively and listen to my body, I cannot predict, say, on Monday what exactly I will want to eat in the end of the week. So I visit my local cooperative supermarket often, a few times a week. It also allows me to see what is affordable or on sale, unpackaged, seasonal and so on. There is something else I do not do and that fellow sustainability practitioners do rather often (in my experience): I do not freeze food. I much prefer freshly cooked food. The kind of food I cook doesn't take long at all, and I love preparing my meals often and from scratch. I feel good about prioritising this activity. I'm writing these words when I'm 21 weeks pregnant. The baby moves rather often, and whatever I do, I feel that we are doing it together. It's wonderful to cook together. I would not prefer any other activity instead. 

I don't follow recipes. I like to use whichever ingredients are available to me and satisfy as many of my criteria as possible. I learned the very basics of cooking from my mother and grandmother, and it is my intention to pass on this knowledge to my son. 

As for snacks, I usually keep a large bowl of fruit at home. It's never the same, but oftentimes there are Danish apples, bananas (something my stepchild loves to eat), and seasonal fruits. In summer, there are Danish pears and plums. If I'm feeling hungry, I might eat a slice of bread with honey or nut butter or jam. 

When I eat less healthy food (e.g., biscuits), I usually eat it together with something healthy. For example, I would rather eat one biscuit with a few dates or a piece of fruit rather than many biscuits. 

I never bake. Cakes and similar foods have never been my favourite, otherwise I'd certainly bake them. Even in a bakery where cakes look beautiful, I would rather buy sweet bread or a scone. At times, my partner bakes plain banana bread, which I love. But I could live my whole life without cakes and not ever miss them. 

I don't take any supplements. Early in my pregnancy, I had several blood tests done, and everything looked fine. 

What do I drink? My most favourite beverage is tap water. Here in Denmark, tap water is safe to drink. It is delicious. I don't aim for any particular water intake, I listen to my body instead. In the first trimester, I couldn't drink tap water at all. I drank carbonated water instead (my partner has a sparkling water making machine that we generally only use in summer). These days, I can drink plain tap water again, and I'm very happy about it. At times, I add a slice of lemon to it. I also drink tea and instant coffee (less than a teaspoon in a cup). Most other types of coffee taste bitter to me, though very, very occasionally (approximately once a month as per our new year's resolution), we buy coffee from a coffee shop. So I don't avoid coffee in pregnancy. In summer I make my own tea with foraged herbs. I generally don't drink anything else. Perhaps plain tonic or lemonade or juice a few times a year, especially in summer. Before pregnancy, I used to drink Danish cider, though not very often. I also used to drink white wine, though very rarely too, or blueberry wine that I would get from Sweden. In my case, drinking very little alcohol is not about self-control, but rather preference. Alcohol is simply not something that I love drinking. In pregnancy, I do not drink alcohol at all. 

Do I have any pregnancy cravings? In the first trimester, due to hyperemesis gravidarum, I only had food aversions. By approximately week 16, I began to feel better. I very much want to eat the same food I ate before pregnancy (the same foods I mentioned above). Vegetables, fruits, beans. If I wasn't concerned about sustainability, I would probably eat a lot more blueberries, raspberries, pineapples and fresh herbs. I don't want to eat any spicy food, but this is something I never gravitated towards. This is not to say that spicy food is not delicious (it certainly is - and it's my partner's favourite food), I simply prefer herbs over spices. 

574

Dwelling slowly but feeling happy in academia

Disclaimer: as always, what I say below is merely my own story, not the one and only way, or the right way, to relate with the world. 

Recently, a fellow human from Roskilde university, the Danish university that was my academic home after I resigned from my academic position in Finland due to harassment and until I applied for a different kind of residence permit, reached out to me. Because I received a new residence permit, the university welcomes me back, though this time my host will be someone else, a fellow human who is, like me, a sustainability researcher and practitioner. Being a visiting researcher rather than a member of staff has its advantages and disadvantages. I can use university spaces (both physical and online), work on my own projects, work closely with my colleagues in Denmark and other countries, do guest lectures and workshops wherever I want, and apply for funding together with my fellow humans. The downside is that I'm not being paid. Having said that, this downside comes with positive aspects too, as I'm not obliged to do anything in particular, take part in meetings and workshops, and be present for presence's sake. If universal basic income existed, I would have chosen to be a visiting scholar for many, many years. 

How can you afford to live?, a fellow human might ask. Firstly, I still have some savings from the years I worked as a postdoctoral researcher in academia. Some fellow humans, after finishing their PhD, choose to live a normal (in this society) life, with a big house, a car, shopping, going out, and travelling. Academic wages beyond the PhD level easily afford a middle class lifestyle. Yet, many academic jobs are temporary, precarious. While some spaces are nurturing and supportive, others are incredibly exploitative. It's very difficult or even impossible to know how one's life in a department will unfold. I opened my postdoctoral researcher chapter with caution. After 6 years of studying at universities to receive my bachelor and masters degrees, and then 4 years of doing my PhD, I felt that I had a good idea of what academia could be like. I decided to live in a very small apartment, to continue my practice of extreme minimalism, and to save as much as possible, without compromising my principles (e.g., eating mostly organic food, making the most sustainable choices I could). It allowed me to relocate to another country to continue my postdoc there, and to live for some time without a wage. Secondly, my partner and I both practise minimalism. One wage could be enough for our family, though it would mean to continue living the way we do. Thankfully, this is the only way we want to live. We don't want to own or consume more. I understand that having a partner who can provide for the family could be seen as a privilege. Yet, some years ago, I prioritised love. The harassment that I mentioned above began when my manager found out about my relationship with my partner, a researcher at a different university. I could say no to the relationship and stay in that job. But I didn't. I do not believe that humans should choose between love and their job. 

Not long ago, a fellow human, a professor in my field, brought fellow humans' attention to the cycle of competition, rejection and severe, negative mental health consequences. This cycle characterises what fellow humans, early career researchers, apparently go through. Academia is competitive for many. There are situations where one's so-called "success" is managed closely for someone else (e.g., a PhD supervisor). But they are rather rare. Apart from being rare, such situations are often not as enviable as they might initially seem. Gaining, say, a permanent position and a stable income might come at a cost of never finding oneself, staying at a particular university, working on a project one doesn't love, and failing to follow one's heart. Most fellow humans apply for funding and get rejections, submit articles to journals and get rejections, apply for jobs and get rejections. And this, in the end, leads to negative mental health consequences such as burn-out and depression. 

And yet, I cannot relate deeply with this. I'm generally feeling happy about my path. Before I say more, I want to say that the system obviously needs to change. Like others, I would love to see a job guarantee for PhD students, a ban on temporary and precarious positions, flatter hierarchies in academia, much more transparency, more protection for early career researchers, less obsession with publishing and mobility, equal distribution of funding and so on.

Yet, as someone who strongly believes in human agency, I think there is so much that individuals can do. Feeling powerless and playing the game of academia, or waiting for the system to change, is a sure path to depression. One of the most important things I realised in my life was that, from birth, I have only one career. I wrote about it in my first solo authored book too:

"There is one lifelong career that I have, that is of spiritual growth. What I do in academia is not a career, it is a space where I can manifest the result of that growth and growing further together with my fellow humans, including my students."

My one and only career is that of being a good human being (kind, empathetic, compassionate, caring, gentle, loving, fair, honest, trustworthy, authentic, creative, capable of self-transcendence, etc.). I believe that everyone is born with a capacity to be a good human being through spiritual growth. I also believe, like Roy Bhaskar in his MetaReality, that it's the most natural path for humans. There is no competition when it comes to this career. There are over 8 billion fellow humans, and everyone can be a good human being. There are various roles that we play in society. I'm a scholar (above is a screenshot of my citations as of mid-February 2025). I am a mother of my yet unborn baby, a friend, a sister, a wife, a neighbour and so on. Being a scholar is not more important than any of those other roles. Why should I worry more about this role than any other one? Why should I allow myself to get depressed in this role? Why would I sacrifice any other role for this one? Seeing clearly what my career truly is and what it is not empowered me so much on my journey. I could change jobs, commit to nurturing spaces, be creative, collaborate in a loving and caring way, say no to the things that didn't feel right, take time off work, talk explicitly about my pregnancy rather than trying to hide it from my academic cv. I could be present for my students and avoid those spaces where I didn't want to be. I could share my knowledge far beyond academia. And I still can, and I do. There were two times when I was burnt-out and depressed. They were the times when I was in a stable (though temporary) position. One was when my PhD supervisor plagiarised my work. I complained about him. The university removed him from my supervision, but that happened after many months of going through a formal complaint procedure. The other time was the situation I described above. I complained about the manager's behaviour. I didn't win (in conventional terms - she retained her position), and neither did her manager who tried to remove the individual from my management. I resigned, which was a very good decision. 

I have certainly experienced rejections in academia. Most recently, my fellow human and I applied for funding and we got a rejection. With the same fellow human we wrote an article and we asked the journal to reject it due to rude and offensive comments. The editor refused to reject the article, so we will let some month pass before resubmitting. Just like I have never felt extreme joy when my articles got accepted, I never felt extreme disappointment when I received a rejection. As for funding, my partner (who is a researcher) and I have a, what I consider to be, healthy approach to getting funding: we are pleased to get it, but not disappointed when we don't. We'll simply try again. In my academic so-called career, I have published all the works I wanted to publish. At times those works' journeys were very interesting. For example, one of them was rejected by a book editor a while ago, but got published in a more desirable place later with almost no changes. I write my works, all of which are about sustainability, to contribute to eco-social transformations. I also write them because they are my creative outlet. Writing them is an end in itself. Most of them I try to publish, but I do it after I have felt satisfaction and joy from having written them. Of course it feels good when one's work is published in a journal, and hence reaches many fellow humans. But there are other ways to reach fellow humans too. For example, these days this autoethnography reaches more fellow humans than my academic works. 

Trying to succeed in academia in conventional terms often entails strategic networking, something I refuse to engage in. I want to share, learn with and from fellow humans. At times, I want to attend some event. But I avoid most workshops and conferences. I apply minimalist principles that I apply to my life in general, to my engagement with academia too. This allows me to direct my energy where I want to direct it, to free up time for creative work. Since becoming pregnant, this has become more important than ever before. Overcommitment and being overly present, in my experience, only contributes to negative mental health outcomes. I wish more fellow humans would say no to more events, meetings and favours to those "above" them. We often say, as I said above, that the system needs to change. It doesn't change by itself. Humans transform and reproduce it. Tired, overworked, overcommitted, over-networked, disempowered humans barely have any energy to transform the system and transform themselves. 

From my own book:

"My career, citations, the number of publications, the length of my curriculum vitae – all of those paled in comparison to the sea and the cosmos. All of those indicators of so‑called success paled even in comparison to the smallest flower or a piece of granite."

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The very first (and free) baby items

Recently, I visited my stepmother-in-law, a wonderful Danish woman in her 80s. She is also a practitioner of sustainable living, though she practises it in a somewhat different way to the way I do. She is not an extreme minimalist. She keeps items for a long time, takes good care of them, repairs them, avoids anything fast. She is incredibly generous. Her home is a space where family reunites. 

She prepared two bags of baby items for me. All of these things have been in the family for generations, some since the 60s. There were two woollen baby blankets, a throw, a few brightly coloured cloths for various purposes, and many cloth diapers. She understands my minimalist approach to pregnancy and then taking care of my newborn baby, so she tried to provide only the essentials that can be used in many different ways. She raised three boys, has two stepchildren and many grandchildren. She always creates a safe space to discuss a more minimalist approach to pregnancy and raising a child. She suggested that the bright cloths from the 60s can be used as toys and as something interesting for the baby to look at. 

I was not going to invite anything pregnancy and baby related until much later, much closer to the due date. But I accepted these items with appreciation and gratitude. 

Her husband (my father-in-law), she and I were talking about navigating minimalism, pregnancy and raising a child. None of us remembers most of the items we had as young children. From my childhood, I remember a jumper my mother knitted for me. I remember it because it took her a while to finish it, and I was observing the whole process. It was magical, and I loved that jumper. She later re-used the yarn for something else. I remember the clothes I had as a young child as a colourful pile. My mother would often ask me to fold or hang the clothes, something I didn't enjoy doing because there were so many items. I don't think all of them were necessary. There were clothes for special occasions, to wear at home and many other activities. Oftentimes, I felt like a doll that adults were trying to dress up. Now in my 30s I wear the same outfit for all occasions. My father-in-law, who is in his 70s, said he doesn't remember any of the clothes he had, apart from one outfit. The outfit was one for special occasions, and he was not allowed to play when he wore it. 

He was smiling when I said I planned to babywear at all times. He practises sustainability too, but thinks that a pram is a necessity. I said that I would invite items into my and my baby's life only if I feel that they are genuinely necessary, but will not buy (or otherwise acquire) anything that I don't consider an essential in advance. 

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Nail care

This morning, my partner and I were discussing our new creative activity - sharing our practice and theory via posting videos online and engaging in subsequent conversations with our fellow humans. What should our next video be about?, we asked. There are so many things we want to share and discuss with others! Our academic work, our approach to pregnancy and parenting, our everyday practices of relating with food, home, success, time and space. I don't prefer any one type of discussion over others. For example, to me sharing our theory of sustainability transformations that we outlined in many of our academic works is no more important than sharing what we eat and what I use to care for my body. I strongly believe in the importance of everyday practices, both material and spiritual. They are the space where we reproduce and transform social structures. 

We talked about doing a bathroom tour. We've already invited our fellow humans into our home in general, our kitchen and even our bedroom where our wardrobe is located. The bathroom is one of my most favourite spaces in our home, alongside the balcony. It makes me think about the beginning of my minimalist journey and my early attempts to live zero-waste. It also makes me think about my fellow women, e.g., by mother and grandmother, who would spend hours in their bathrooms in front of mirrors to prepare for the day or for going out. It's also a space where I can be with Water, something that I find healing.

My fellow humans who visit my home are often surprised by the amount of things I have in my bathroom. There is almost nothing. I don't wear makeup and haven't worn it for around 15 years. I don't wear perfume. My skincare consists of soap and a balm that I use for everything (face, lips, hair, hands, body). My partner and I share many items, such as the razor (though I don't shave very often), scissors, shampoo, toothpaste, and even our crystal deodorant. Something that I haven't had in my bathroom or anywhere else in my home since my early 20s (I'm 36 now) are nail care items.

My nail care consists of keeping my nails short (I use scissors and never file my nails) and using the same balm I use for everything else. 

Initially, I kept my nails short because of my autoimmune skin condition. As a young child, I used to scratch my skin. Doctors recommended to keep my nails short so as to avoid damaging the skin and introducing bacteria under it. 

While the skin condition is lifelong and I still live with it, it improved substantially when I began to use basic skincare, avoid perfumes and various other substances, and synthetic textiles. I could perhaps grow out my nails and try different nail care products and nail polish, I fell in love with short nails and a simple, natural look. I tried using nail polish to see if it was something I liked, but it was not for me. I also didn't enjoy the scent of nail polish and its remover either. 

In my early 20s, I lived with a young dog and young cats who would often playfully bite my hands. I didn't want them to ingest anything that could potentially harm them. So I decided not to invite into my life any items that are sold specifically for nails. Maintaining a natural and simple look feels most authentic to me. 

None of it is to say that fellow humans should relate with their nail care and nail colours in the same way as I do. For example, my grandmother has worn the same shade of nail polish her whole life. It's an important part of her signature look. Yet, if a fellow human feels inclined to avoid using nail polish and adopt simplified nail care, I believe they should do just that and observe how they feel about it. 

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Being with our yet unborn baby

It's week 20+3 of my pregnancy. Some fellow humans in my social circle feel sadness about the fact that I still have not bought (or otherwise acquired) anything for the baby. I decided to invite into our life all the items that I consider essential only much later in my pregnancy, somewhere towards the very end of it. It feels right and authentic to me, and surely is not the only way to relate with objects. I said a little bit more about it in this video. 

Just like my fellow humans who prepare everything for their baby's (or babies') arrival early on out of love and care, everything I do stems from love and care, too. 

To manifest love and care beyond thinking about, and buying, items for the baby, this is what I/we have chosen to do during these months:

Spend quality time with the baby. Every day, several times a day, I sit or lie down to simply be with the baby and not do anything else. I usually do it when I feel his gentle moves. I have a posterior placenta (located at the back wall of the uterus), so I started to feel him move relatively early for a first pregnancy, somewhere between weeks 18 and 19. 

Talk to the baby and read with him. When I sit or lie down, I usually massage my baby bump gently and intuitively. The baby often moves in response. I talk to the baby and read whatever I'm reading these days with him. I am fully aware that he doesn't understand anything, but he seems to react to voices. My partner talks to the baby too. Since we decided that both English and Danish will be spoken to the baby, my partner speaks Danish to the baby even at this stage. 

Play guitar and sing for him. My partner plays guitar, and these days he plays for the baby too. He often sings Danish songs for him as well. 

Walk in nature. We try to avoid busy spaces. Instead, we try to spend as much time with nature as possible. We visit our local parks to hear the birds and the sea to enjoy the sound of the waves. 

Set boundaries, say no. Setting boundaries has for a long time been an important part of my minimalist practice. These days, I feel that I am even more careful with what I say yes to. I want all my interactions to be nurturing (for both me and the other person), grounded in gentleness and care. This way, I can dwell in my authenticity, feel more harmonious and less stressed. 

Apart from that, I continue to practise sustainable, extreme minimalism. I eat vegetables and fruits and practise zero-waste, as much as possible, again. Living with very few items makes it easier to keep my home clean and tidy, so I can clean less and spend more time on the activities I mentioned above. Working on writing projects only with kind and compassionate fellow humans allows me to enjoy my collaborations and feel inspired rather than used and overwhelmed. 

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Stepping back into zero-waste practices

In the first trimester, when I was living with hyperemesis gravidarum, I struggled with some of my sustainability practices. I still practised extreme minimalism (which in many ways made my life easier), but what I was inviting into my life was not what I would usually welcome into my space. There were imported fruits and items packaged in plastic. I don't feel guilt or shame in relation to that time. Going through a health crisis nurtured empathy in me both towards myself and fellow humans who for various reasons struggle to adopt practices of sustainable living. Some time ago, I wrote a whole academic article about different challenges that I encounter as a sustainable living practitioner. 

By week 16 of my pregnancy, I began to feel better. I also began to slowly step back into many of my practices, though not all at once. I could buy unpackaged vegetables again and cook meals. I had the energy to visit small, local shops to buy some organic produce and unpackaged sweets. 

15 or so years ago, when I stepped on the path of sustainable living, I thought that consuming better and differently was a large part of it. That was the time I made many mistakes. I bought so many items associated with a zero-waste lifestyle that I simply didn't need. Over time, I came to the realisation that at the heart of sustainable living is relating differently with the world. The self, human and non-human others, and nature. Consuming differently was just one manifestation of this different mode of relating. And yet, this manifestation still feels important in many ways. It's a space where I can exercise my agency upon the world and take part in eco-social transformations, though of course in a small way. That is to say, my individual actions will not bring about a society living harmoniously within itself and with nature, but actions of many humans will. 

When it comes to my zero-waste practice, I try to recycle less. I do it via living with fewer items (i.e., practising extreme minimalism), buying unpackaged products, making my own (e.g., cooking), and buying products that last a long time. One of my most favourite products is natural, multi-purpose balm. It lasts much longer than a cream because I need only a very tiny amount. I apply it on wet skin on my face, body, and hands, and wet hair, whenever I feel I need to or want to. The toothpaste that comes in a glass jar (in the picture above) has a thick consistency, so I need to use less of it. Another favourite "product" of mine is a simple glass jar. A beautiful glass jar recently came into our life with some beans. We cleaned it afterwards, and now my partner uses it as a glass. Oh just get a proper glass!, one might say. Indeed, recently in our local byttestation (swap shop/station) in the recycling area of our block of flats, there was an abundance of glasses. We contemplating taking some home, but then decided against it. Glass jars that come with food are incredibly beautiful and just as functional. To us, these glass jars are lagom. 

I avoid online shopping as much as possible. In my experience, even sustainability minded businesses here in Denmark tend to overpackage the goods, and some still use plastic packaging. My partner and I buy liquid soap, dish washing liquid, baking soda, Danish cider, dried fruits and nuts in bulk. All these things we buy online. Almost anything else that we need we can buy in shops here in Copenhagen. I buy new clothes and other textiles, and shoes very rarely. We buy technology very rarely too. Recently, after 6 or so years of using a second-hand phone, my partner needed a new one. We went to a local shop that sells second-hand phones, and got one from there. It was packaged in a brown paper bag. My phone's screen is cracked and has black spots on it. I don't want to replace it. I don't want to repair it either because it still works as it is. If anything, having a cracked screen helps me use my phone much less. Most of the time, I leave my phone at home, and when I use it, I use it for just a few functions, such as confirming my identity online and taking pictures for my autoethnography. 

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Celebrating

Even though I practise extreme minimalism, I still celebrate various occasions. I love celebrating my birthday. I'm as excited about it now in my 30s as I was when I was little. My grandmother, who is approaching her 90s, feels the same way about her birthday, too. And I love Valentine's Day. Perhaps it would have been more in line with my anti-consumerist stance to boycott Valentine's Day, to treat it as any other day. But I believe that it's possible to celebrate something without engaging in consumerism. And to still have a magical time. Valentine's Day is special to me not only because of its association with love (not necessarily only romantic love, but love towards friends too - in Finland where I used to live). It's the day my partner proposed to me, which was a big step for us. Both of us had been in long-term relationships before. Making a serious, long-term commitment to a fellow human again felt, for a long time, vulnerable to us. Fellow humans often say that I could still boycott Valentine's Day (due to its association with consumerism) and celebrate love on another day. I celebrate love (towards myself, fellow humans, non-humans and nature) very often. Every day. My partner and I celebrate the day we became a couple too, and will be celebrating our wedding day as well. 

February is the coldest month here in Denmark, and after months of grey and cold weather, celebrating something in a tiny constellation of our family is enchanting and cosy. In my personal experience, Christmas entails much more gift-giving and consumption because there are several young children in my extended family who receive gifts from all family members. 

I celebrated my birthday with my partner and our yet unborn baby. One of our new year's resolutions is to avoid going out. Yet, for my birthday, I chose to go to a local café for a coffee and a croissant. It's wonderful to observe how such moments become special when they are rare. I didn't have a birthday cake. 

As gifts from my family members, I received beautiful text messages. Mother Nature gave me a few new strands of magical Grey Hair that I love. I saw them just in time for my birthday, and I felt so much joy. My partner once asked me when my mother started to go grey. I simply didn't know what to say. She began to dye her hair as soon as the first silver strands appeared. I don't remember what she looked like with her natural hair colour. 

My partner gave me a large linen shirt that he hopes I can wear in the third trimester. It looks exactly the same as the shirt that wore out some months ago and that I haven't replaced (though it has shorter sleeves). Usually I give to charity all the new (new to me, it could be second-hand) clothing that I receive because I feel that I have enough. I decided to keep the shirt for a while to see if it is useful later in my pregnancy. Currently I live with only one linen shirt, which is lagom. 

For my birthday dinner, I made a pasta dish, one of my favourites. I don't follow any particular recipe when I make pasta dishes. I simply use leftover vegetables from my fridge, organic pasta sauce and a tablespoon of vegan (oat) cream. This time I had a courgette, half a pepper, old carrots that are not good for salads but still really good for pasta dishes and soups, and different onions. It was delicious. 

From my baby, I received a few gentle pushes. Such a self-transcending experience! I began to feel them somewhere between week 18 and week 19 of my pregnancy. My baby moves mostly late in the afternoon and at night before I fall asleep. Before I sleep, I try to spend an hour in bed to talk to them. 

My partner and I don't exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. But we are taking a day off to simply be together. 

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Hobbies and extreme minimalism

When one walks into my stepfather's home, one can see immediately that this fellow human has many hobbies. There are bikes, skis and sports gear, a guitar, and so many books. There is evidence of him having visited many different events and places. He used to live with lots of equipment to film and take photos too. My mother used to knit, crochet, and sew. And both of them loved gardening. 

Every time my stepfather visited my home, he would ask me if I had any hobbies at all. He was worried that I worked all the time or that my life was boring and unfulfilling. There is nothing in my home that explicitly communicates what my hobbies are. 

When I was younger, I tried out many different hobbies. I used to paint and even went to an art school. I tried working with clay too. I used to attend classical dancing classes. I played chess and badminton. I grew vegetables, flowers and herbs, had chickens, tried fishing, created jewellery from seed beads, travelled much more than I do now. I used to live with many house plants, especially cacti. I'd grow them from seed. And I used to forage and learn about various edible plants. 

And yet, over time, as I was stepping more and more into my authenticity, I said goodbye to most of those hobbies. Some fellow humans assume that I force myself to avoid hobbies because of my practice of extreme minimalism. After all, wouldn't paint tubes and plant pots count as possessions? Wouldn't fishing gear become a focal point in an empty space? My experience is very different. I would happily invite into my life the objects that support a hobby, if only that hobby genuinely felt like something I wanted to do (or do again). 

My hobbies that I still love and spend time on every day for many years have been reading, writing, and being with nature (walking, foraging). These hobbies simply require very little equipment, or even nothing extra at all. For example, I enjoy reading e-books on my laptop and borrowing books from a library. I use my laptop for writing, too. Being with nature requires only basic clothes, something that I already have. I don't buy special clothes for the kinds of walks that I do mainly because many items of clothing created for outdoor activities are made from synthetic materials. I understand that in some cases, it is necessary to wear special clothing, but I don't engage in such activities. 

Reading and writing take a lot of my time. I often feel oneness with what I read and write. And it's also part of my professional development. I grow as a researcher and as a human being. For many years, writing autoethnography has been my hobby. Initially, it was not part of my professional, academic writing. It was something that I was doing while I was trying to align my life's philosophy and my personal practice. Over time, this hobby evolved into both a professional activity and a space where I create. Creating together has become, more recently, a common hobby for my partner and myself (link). 

One hobby that I would like to engage with again is gardening. Currently we live in Copenhagen and don't have an opportunity to garden, but I hope that over time it will become possible. My dream is to eventually move to Bornholm. It's a beautiful Danish island. 

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A fellow human asks: What are your thoughts on "borrowing things" and "being a mooch"?

It's such a wonderful, deep question. 

I borrow from my fellow humans. 

From my partner, I borrow t-shirts, a hat, a multi-tool, a razor. I have borrowed his coat too. 

From my ex partner, I borrowed a sleeping mat.

I borrowed kitchen items from my university department in northern Sweden. I asked the deputy vice-chancellor, whose office was a couple of doors away from mine, how he felt about it. He was incredibly supportive, as he practises sustainability himself, and he knew about my practice. When I left that university, I returned everything to the department. I also borrowed a few kitchen items from a colleague when I had guests.

I borrowed a corkscrew from a neighbour.

I borrowed a lamp from a colleague. In fact, he insisted I had the lamp in my office, as I was not yet used to extremely short days in northern Swedish winters, and he was going away for a while. 

Another colleague came to my office and offered some hats and gloves to me. He lived in northern Sweden his whole life, and accumulated many hats and gloves over the years. He said it was more sustainable if I borrowed those items rather than bought new ones. 

When I was moving to southern Finland from northern Sweden, I asked a friend if I could borrow a pot, a pan, a knife and a couple of other kitchen items from him. He and his wife brought several items to my home. They wanted to give me much more because they had more than enough and they wanted me to have a cosy life. They told me that when I no longer needed those items, I could pass them on. 

I borrowed hair ties from my stepchild on a few occasions (only when she had many). And books from libraries. 

When I was younger, I borrowed clothes from my mother, brother, and stepfather, and some items from my grandmother too. 

So many things!

When I was much younger, borrowing was seen as a sign of poverty. It felt as if fellow humans did not like borrowing and lending items. Can't you buy your own? Why should I borrow if I can just buy this item?

I'm so happy to observe that at least within sustainability minded communities attitudes are changing. In fact, attitudes towards many things that were seen (and perhaps are still seen in many spaces) as bad are shifting. Small-scale, slow, frugality, missing out, doing nothing, living with less. Borrowing is becoming more acceptable. Why own things individually when we can own so many of them collectively? It nurtures a sense of community and healthy dependency on one another. Not to mention, it is better for nature. This is at the heart of many alternative, sustainability minded organisations such as swap shops and various libraries. 

When it comes to borrowing, I have certain rules for myself. I do not borrow money. To me, it is very important to live within my means. I do not borrow objects without intending to return them, or if returning would be difficult (e.g., if I was going away). I do not borrow if it's something I need very often and borrowing this item would be an inconvenience to the person I am borrowing from. For example, I borrow my partner's t-shirt rather often, but he doesn't find it an inconvenience. I borrow the one he doesn't love as much as the other ones he owns. I would not borrow if this act would result in a disadvantage to the person, and if the person would struggle to say no. I would not borrow when there is any kind of hierarchical relationship. 

Borrowing is a beautiful, ecological, community-based practice. Yet, it is important to have conversations about it. We need to be honest and transparent about borrowing. I always try to say why I borrow (i.e., trying to live sustainably), what I need and how long for. I say what I can offer too. What can you offer if you own so few items, one might ask. I believe that offerings can be different. For example, I can donate money to charity. I can give time to the person from whom I borrow or to someone else. I can help fellow humans with something. I can volunteer. And of course I would be happy to share something that I do own. 

Humans should feel good about both, taking and giving. I fully understand that there are situations when persons cannot give. And that's ok. Problems might arise when a fellow human, who is capable of giving, is unwilling to give, but is willing to take. 

Our discussion of borrowing as a sustainable practice: video 

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On my practice of extreme minimalism

Recently, my fellow human and I were talking about extreme minimalism as a form of everyday activism, living in such a way that may gently inspire fellow humans to contemplate and perhaps even reconsider their own relationships with objects. I like this form of activism because one "leads by example" rather than tells fellow humans what to do. Even though, as a researcher, I believe that eco-social transformations (should) stem from all three domains of society (civil society, state, and business), my favourite source of transformation is within individuals and communities themselves, with support from the state and business. And even though above I've used to word "lead" (lead by example), I am using this word with care and even hesitation, as splitting humans into leaders and followers does not feel right to me. Even after 15 years of practising sustainable living, I would never refer to myself as an (aspiring) sustainability "leader", as I hope to share my practices and inspire fellow humans just as much as I hope to learn from them and follow their journeys.

There are so many different ways to practise extreme minimalism, too. Even my own practice looked different when I lived on my own. Now I live with my partner, we try to meet in the middle. My practice looked somewhat different when I lived in England, and still different when I lived in northern Sweden. 

I do not advocate living with an x number of items. I do not define extreme minimalism as living with an x number of items or less. To me, extreme minimalism is simply about living with obviously much less than what is the norm in a given society. 

At the core of my own practice is not living with as few items as possible. I could surely live or survive with fewer items. Every time I go to a conference, a workshop or on holidays, I experiment with travelling with just a few items. I could live with 1 basic top and 1 pair of socks. But I live with three basic tops and perhaps 4 pairs of socks. This way, I don't have to wash my clothes every day. This abundance feels cosy and conducive to my sustainability practice in general. At the core of my practice is living with what is enough for me to have a good life. 

Over the years, I realised that I need very few of some things and a lot of other things to have a good life. I need very few material possessions (but still enough to live well). At the same time, I need a lot of empty space, even though I live in a very small apartment. I need empty space to awaken my creativity and to move. I need lots of sunlight to feel energised. I need a lot of alone time to recharge. 

I weave extreme minimalism with many other practices. Once a fellow human asked me about similarities and differences between lifestyles such as minimalism, simple living, slow living, frugal living, zero-waste and others. It was such a wonderful question! I contemplate it often in relation to my own lifestyle and to my academic work. 

There are overlaps between these lifestyles, and also different interpretations of what those lifestyles entail. 

Minimalism is a movement in art, architecture and design. Minimalist lifestyle takes inspiration from this movement. I am inspired by its focus on essentials. It encourages me to contemplate what these essentials are, and why. Somehow, minimalist aesthetic has always been close to my heart too. 

I believe that one can appreciate minimalism, yet not pursue simple living. Yet for me, simplicity is a very important value. At times, my fellow humans ask me how I manifest simplicity in my life. It depends on the area of my life. For example, I step away from complicated relationships that do not nurture. I try to write simply. I invite simple, easy to care for clothes into my life. I eat simple food. I try to avoid overcomplicating things for myself and for my fellow humans. It never feels appealing to me to say to my students that something (e.g., philosophy of science) is so complicated and thus induce fear in them. 

From slow living, I take a contemplative approach to life and immense joy of missing out. I allow myself to walk when I could just use public transport and get somewhere in 5 minutes instead of an hour. This is a gift to myself. I take my time when I need to, especially when it comes to the activities that I love and that feel meaningful to me. I find the time for a fika with the sun. I could work on an academic paper, but I choose to spend this hour on being with the sun. I could buy ready-made food, but I choose to cook from scratch. 

And I try to live frugally. It means keeping perhaps a few more items at home. I keep ribbons that come with material objects at times, to use them for gift wrapping. I could buy something similar when I need to, but I keep the ones that come into my life. I repair things. I use old bread to make croutons and make soup and pasta dishes with various leftover vegetables. I invite inexpensive phones and laptops into my life that meet my basic needs, and I keep them for many years. I borrow whenever I can. 

I practise zero-waste whenever I can. When I mention this part of my practice, I always say that, in my case, it comes together with other practices. One can practise zero-waste and travel by air very often, drive, live in a large house, use conventional banks and so on. Zero-waste in itself is not necessarily a sustainable lifestyle. Though I do believe that fellow humans who are interested in zero-waste are also sustainability minded more generally. I became very curious about zero-waste many years ago, when the zero-waste "trash jar" was popular. Like many fellow humans, I invited into my life some objects that are associated with zero-waste living. I still use some of them. Interestingly, they are the same ones my grandmother has used her whole life. But some of those objects I don't use anymore. For example, I don't use metal straws (I never even used plastic ones), individual produce bags (I don't separate fruits and vegetables when I buy them), skincare items packaged in aluminium tubes and glass (I don't use any skincare apart from a balm). I've grown so much in my practice when I began to look more seriously outside and far beyond so-called "sustainable swaps". 

I feel that many practitioners of sustainable living would agree that it's difficult to assign practices into categories. For example, making porridge for breakfast falls within so many of those lifestyles I mentioned above. These oats are organic, grown in my region, packaged in paper. They are not very expensive. They are easy to cook in one of the two pots that I live with. I eat them simply with some cinnamon and an apple. 

565

 Visiting my stepmother-in-law

I visited my stepmother-in-law and father-in-law again after not seeing them for nearly a month. They are wonderful fellow humans. Like myself, they practise sustainable living too, but in a very different way. While my home looks empty, and my practice can be described as extreme minimalist, their home looks like a library and a museum at once, with some elements of a botanical garden. It is a magical space that holds so many memories of different generations. Many of their furniture, and other, items have been in their families for generations. Many of the items they invited into their life many decades ago. They take care of the items they live with, repair them, make them last. At the same time, they are very generous persons. They always ask us if we need anything, and over the years they have given multiple items to their children and grandchildren. 

Oftentimes, we talk about sustainability. It's humbling to listen to stories from their childhood and youth. Many of the practices that we now describe as zero-waste were normal when my stepmother-in-law, who is now in her 80s, was a child. She continues to implement some of the practices, such as using soap bars, making household items, and being generally frugal. 

She tells me about her skincare. Her skin looks glowing. She wears no makeup and doesn't dye her beautiful silver hair.  Anti-ageing advertising feels so vulgar and wrong when I look at her. I want to look like her when I'm in my 80s. She avoids using scented products. To care for her skin on her body and her face she uses a blend of oils (avocado, almond, apricot). She subscribes to a magazine from a patient support association that advocates for persons like her and me, living with allergic reactions and sensitivities. I briefly look through a couple of these magazines. They warn against buying skincare products from online marketplaces that offer products at very low prices. 

She asks me about the baby and what I am planning to do, considering my practice of extreme minimalism. I tell her that I haven't invited anything baby-related or even pregnancy-related into my life yet. She tells me about cloth diapers that were used before disposable ones became available. She says that when she was a baby, here in Denmark people used cloths and large metal buckets for boiling those cloths to keep them clean. 

She has a gentle, non-critical approach to my ideas and says that if I change my mind and realise that I really need something later, I can just invite that item into my life. She tries to work with my ideas and wishes and make helpful suggestions.

She brings a large bag of cotton yarn and invites me to look through it to identify the colours that I like. Due to her health, she cannot knit as much and as fast, but she wants to knit a blanket for my baby, in time for their birth in summer. She has knitted baby blankets for many of her grandchildren. 

And then she takes me to another room. There is a vase with daffodils. A friend of hers found these daffodils by the side of the road as he was walking towards her home. He decided to rescue them. She says: "they are not as fresh, but they are still beautiful". 

564

Stepping into February

To accompany this entry, I filmed a very short video on my phone. 

February is a very special month for me. Though it is still cold, I feel that Spring is so near. Here in Copenhagen, some snowdrops and daffodils started to grow already. I begin to sleep less because days are getting longer. In the middle of February, I will be halfway through my pregnancy. And I will turn 36. I look forward to receiving a text message from my brother who is 2 years younger than me. Since I was in my late teens-early twenties, every year, he has sent the same message to me. It says "old one!" He means it as a joke, but this message always makes me think about getting "old" and ageing. These thoughts are never negative. I feel good about walking my life's path, learning and growing. 

When I was little, I had many misconceptions about what getting "old" would entail. I was simply observing fellow humans around me, and thought that my path would be similar. I thought I would be having more and more possessions, that I would dye my hair and grow out and colour my nails, wear a bra, wear makeup, nail polish and perfume, that I would use "anti-ageing" products. I thought I would be unhappy about my wrinkles and stretch marks. How I wish there were, in my life, fellow humans practising diverse modes of relating with the self and the world when I was a child! 

And here I am. None of those things I imagined would be part of my life are my reality. 

I intentionally live with many fewer possessions than I lived with in my childhood. 

I have never dyed my hair. I haven't worn (or owned) a bra, makeup, nail polish or perfume since my early 20s. And I don't intend to. 

I have never bought and will never buy anti-ageing products. 

I welcome new wrinkles and stretch marks. I don't want to look any different. In my 20s, I was happy to have almost no wrinkles and very few stretch marks. Now, in my 30s, I am happy to have them. 

This morning, I took a shower. For my skin and hair care, I simply used water. And then I used a tiny amount of natural balm on my still wet skin and on the ends of my hair. The balm was originally developed for babies. I use it because it's fragrance-free. I came to the realisation that the skin care that I use now in my mid-30s is no different to what was used on me when I was a baby. At times, fellow humans say "it's because your skin is good". But I live with an autoimmune skin condition. It's not possible for fellow humans to see it because since I started to use almost nothing on my skin, I haven't had flare ups. But my skin used to flare up very often. I would spend a lot of time in hospitals and dermatologists' offices. I would often use prescription medication. Conventional products would burn my skin. My skin would react to laundry detergents, synthetic fabrics, and even changes in water quality.