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What (extreme) minimalism is not, to me

This beautiful olive tree is a new member of our family. We didn't buy her. My stepmother-in-law and father-in-law gave her to us. They have a large balcony and often receive plants as gifts from family members and friends. They had several of these trees, so they offered one to us. I'm very grateful for this tree. Our tiny balcony is one of my most favourite places in our home, and it feels wonderful to share this space not only with the stones we brought from Bornholm and the sun, but also with this tree. 

As my yet unborn baby and I were spending some time with the sun on the balcony after finishing the first draft of the editorial I was working on and sending it to the editor-in-chief, I was contemplating minimalism, especially extreme minimalism. In my autoethnography, I usually focus on my practices and the reasons behind them. Yet, this time I was thinking about everything that extreme minimalism is not, for me personally. Somehow it felt important to think in these terms, too, as to understand my own practices better and deeper. I observe that what minimalism is not to me in fact is minimalism to some fellow humans. And that's ok. 

Minimalism, for me, is not something that I use to increase my productivity. It's not a life hack. In my academic field, we question productivity, especially when it is seen as an end in itself. We believe that higher productivity is not necessarily better. Lower productivity could be better because it allows, for example, to immerse oneself into some process (e.g., a creative activity) more fully. While my practice of extreme minimalism frees up much time in the mornings (I wear the same outfit every day, don't wear makeup, don't style my hair), I love very slow mornings. It takes me a few minutes to get ready, but I spend an hour or more doing the things that I love. I talk to my yet unborn baby, make tea and breakfast. Unless there is some important meeting that was set up by a fellow human and cannot be rescheduled, I avoid meetings before 10 am. Some days, I do nothing, or I simply walk, contemplate and take notes. Living with very few items means I could spend very little time on cleaning, but I love looking after my space and manifesting gratitude towards it, so I take the time I feel that I need.

I don't try to live my life as efficiently as possible. I want to live a full, rich, cosy, and meaningful life. Perhaps it is more efficient to wear items made from wool when I travel, or to travel with a bum bag only. It is more efficient to fly than travel by trains and ferries. But I choose comfort and immersion. Whenever I travel, I take cotton items with me because they feel more comfortable. I can still fit everything I own into a tote bag. I could live with even less, travel with even less, but I choose not to.

For me, minimalism is not about retiring early. I want to continue writing and teaching when I'm older, too. While practising minimalism has financial benefits, I don't pursue saving every penny. My partner and I donate to charities. At times, we buy more expensive things than the cheapest option available because they have better sustainability credentials, and we believe they will last us much longer.

I don't count my possessions. Less is not necessarily better, but lagom/just right always feels good. At times, I live with 10 items of clothing, at other times with 20. 10 is not better than 20. Taking several pairs of underwear with me when I travel instead of just two feels more comfortable. 

I don't practise minimalism because I want to travel more. I used to travel more when I was younger, but as I got older, I felt a deep desire to immerse myself in places, to dwell. I'm working on feeling rooted in the place where I live. 

Minimalism is not an experiment. As a sustainability researcher, I do see my life as an experiment, a manifestation of theory-practice consistency, an art form, as everyday activism and a form of communication, more generally. But I live this way because it feels most authentic. I've been on this path for 15 years or so, and I continue dwelling this path as it feels good, and right. 

My own practice is not something I believe fellow humans should adopt. Even if they adopt similar practices, they will still perform these practices in their own, unique ways, depending on their unique personalities and circumstances. For this reason, as much as possible, I try to avoid telling fellow humans what they should do (e.g., items they should declutter this year, things they should own). 

I don't see my practice of minimalism as a sign of achieving something special, something that fellow humans in our society have not achieved. I feel joy when I sense that I'm on a path of spiritual growth, that I genuinely feel love towards fellow humans and want to treat with kindness, care, and fairness. 

I don't think that extreme minimalism is something that can be practised only by digital nomads, or by those fellow humans who identify themselves as lone wolves, or by those fellow humans who choose to be childfree. I don't find unrealistic, rigid standards helpful at all. To me, extreme minimalism is inclusive, playful, flexible, cosy. 

584

Stepping over the 23 weeks mark

As I'm writing these words, I'm 23 weeks and 4 days pregnant. The second trimester has been such a wonderful time for me, starting from around week 16. I was no longer living with hyperemesis gravidarum, and I started to feel my yet unborn baby move sometime between weeks 18 and 19, perhaps due to the placenta being located at the back. Soon after that, my partner could also feel the baby move, too. I could go for long, 10 km walks around Copenhagen again. I could work again.

At the same time, my body has changed. I'm feeling heavier and get back aches often. They are not unbearable, and usually gentle walks and stretches help. These walks help me feel less pain in my legs, too. 

I feel hungry often. I can eat much less food at a time than I used to, so I eat smaller portions several times a day. As always, I keep a large bowl of various fruits and vegetables at home to have them as snacks. They are also incredibly beautiful. 

I don't have obvious stretch marks on my belly yet, but they are something I'm excited about and would love to have. My mother, who gave birth to two children, had beautiful, though few and faint, stretch marks. My skin feels dry and tight around my belly. I've been using a natural balm occasionally, or a blend of avocado, apricot and almond oils, to relieve tightness and dryness. 

My skin has been sensitive my whole life (I live with an autoimmune skin condition), and it's been particularly sensitive during pregnancy. At times, I get red patches on my skin. I just let them be and don't try to fix them with products. Usually they go away within a couple of days. The past few days have been very warm and sunny here in Copenhagen. My partner and I bought a large bottle of unscented sunscreen. It's not for me specifically. Rather, it's something all of us (my partner, my stepchild, and I) can use in the coming months. 

At times, I look for information about pregnancy online. Such information is so often accompanied by information about so-called pregnancy must-haves. One might say, simply don't look at such information, but as a social scientist I'm curious about what exists and unfolds around me in terms of social structures and systems. Before pregnancy, I never realised how large the market trying to sell items to pregnant persons was. Of course every pregnant person is unique, and every pregnancy is unique. Some of those products might be useful to some people. But personally, I feel so put off by advertising and lists of so-called must-haves. It's such a vulnerable (though also magical) time for pregnant persons, and it feels as if companies are trying to capitalise on this vulnerability. 

I haven't felt any need, or even any want, to welcome pregnancy-related items into my life. The only true must-have for me has been the medicine I took in the first trimester-beginning of the second trimester when I lived with hyperemesis. 

I feel deep love towards my baby, and self-love too. Yet, it doesn't translate into buying stuff. To him, I offer plenty of quality time together, just the two of us, or the three of us (him, his father, and I). To myself, I offer a slower, more nurturing pace of life. This does mean having a smaller disposable income as a family, but we don't need extra income because there is nothing extra that we want to buy. 

Recently, I've seen some information about so-called must-haves for giving birth. It goes without saying that how I relate with such information is not how fellow humans should relate with it. Yet, much of such information is framed as what you need to pack. It's still too early for me to think about giving birth, but so far the approach that I'm planning to take is to have almost nothing with me. I understand that it's perhaps not a common approach here in Denmark, but dwelling in my authenticity feels important.