The guilt. Oh the guilt.
I recently read a fantastic book called ‘The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up” by Marie Kondo. If really helped me to get rid of a lot of stuff I’ve been wanting to rid my life of for a long time. My space feels more like me and less stressful.
Then yesterday, I caught myself watching some minimalism videos on YouTube. I find minimalism fascinating, intriguing, and completely condescending. I love it. I hate it. I want it. I repel it. For so many reasons. I made a video about minimalism a long time ago on my channel ‘TribalFaerie’ on YouTube. And I still feel the same way I did back then. I’m not the kind of person who can live off 10 items of clothing. I mean, yes I could. But I would prefer not to.
I love fashion. I love makeup. I love books. I love house trinkets. So many things. And I try to be practical in nearly everything I buy, even though I think we all occasionally bring something home and think, ‘the fuck was going through my head when I picked this up?’
Anyway, while I was watching these minimalism videos, I started getting that classic feeling that courses through me. Guilt. Guilt for having things. Guilt for being fortunate in certain aspects of my life. Guilt for holding onto certain things and not others. Guilt for being in a position to buy cardigans in several different colors and having the nerve to enjoy them. GUILT GUILT GUILT.
So I pose the question, is it really necessary to feel that guilt? I saw a video with my one true girl crush of all time for ever and ever and always…Florence Welch. It featured her walking around her house talking about all her things. She said one thing that I completely resonated with me so much. A house is like a living organism. You take things in and out and it breathes with you. Or something to that effect. And I feel that. I know that. I truly believe that items have energy. Whether we give them energy or it possesses it beforehand, I don’t know. But having certain things in my life cheers the spirit. It adds to my moments of happiness. And anyone who doesn’t like the fact that I can gain enjoyment from an article of clothing I feel expresses a certain facet to my personality can quite frankly fuck off.
With this being said, I admire minimalism. So much! I like watching videos about it. And yet at the same time, I look at the homes of minimalist people and I think to myself, “it looks so bare.” Not because I’m attached to ‘stuff,’ but because I feel like walking into someone’s home helps me to learn about them as a soul and a spirit. The home is where you spend so much of your time. It envelops you in warmth and keeps you during the good and bad times. It (for the most part granted finances and all the crap) is a haven. A place to reflect. And I want my home to reflect who I am and what I feel.
I have a friend that I go see on weekends. And I love her home. The first time I stepped into her living room, I felt like I learned a few things about her. From her portraits on the wall, the books on her bookshelf, the wolf sculpture, the glass coffee table, her daughter’s Frozen themed toys on the floor, it all helped me to learn a few things that I didn’t know before. And I love that about the artifacts in our lives. If she had been minimalist, I feel like I might have missed out on a few things.
I admire people who can live a minimalist lifestyle. I commend them. But I feel like I have come to a place of balance recently. I know what I love about my belongings. I know what I can get rid of in the future. I know that I can bring in new things and take others out…because a home is very much like humans. It sheds skins. It gets new owners and keeps old ones for the longest of times. But it changes. The very energy inside it shifts. And the things inside it should as well. Everything in moderation. Everything in balance. And if it makes you happy, keep it. No two people have the same amount of stuff nor should they be defined by the enjoyment they receive from them.
Just my two cents…but I still love my jewelry chest, my makeup cabinet, my dozen winter coats, my fifty+ nail polishes, my old belly dance trousers that I might never get the chance to use again but love having. And I don’t think looking at them and feeling joy makes me a vain or overly indulgent person.
My two cents. There you go.
Behold…Florence…in all her glory. I freaking love her home.