Simplify!
The second installment in the “How to Live” Series
The Crawl Space
We thought it would take a minute or two.
Last Friday, my mother and I went searching for two pieces of luggage in the crawl space above her bedroom. Fast forward a day and a half later: we were still emptying and reorganizing the area. My friends praise me for being a minimalist, especially when it comes to traveling lightly. But I was guilty of clutter. On the crime scene, we found ribbons for gym class achievements in the 90s (yes, you read that correctly), a disturbing short story I composed when I was thirteen (no wonder my teachers called my parents in), a feather (don’t ask!), opera tickets (I was indeed that kid), etc. etc. We also discovered assorted clothes last worn by me and my sister in the early 2000s, my sister’s pots and pans from when she moved back to the East Coast in 2012, and other items long forgotten. Not all of it was suspect, though: we retrieved a wonderful article about my late aunt, published in Essence magazine when her novel came out, along with some endearing family photos. And we did find one of the luggage pieces.
Our foray into the crawl space reminded me of a lesson that has crisscrossed the history of philosophy: simplify!
Simple Living: Epicurus and Thoreau
One of my favorite proponents of this idea is the Ancient Greek philosopher Epicurus, whom I’ve praised in an earlier post. In his tetrapharmakos, or “four-part cure,” he advises pursuing desires that are natural and necessary. Among the unnatural or “groundless” desires, he would likely list our quest for approval on social media or our various vices. But even among the more natural items we may crave, not all are worth pursuing. Of course, an elaborate sushi dinner is tasty (I’m looking at myself). But is it necessary? Not for Epicurus. He’d recommend some plain fare and water—enough to sate one’s hunger.
Yet, the story of simplicity doesn’t end there. Thoreau, the nineteenth-century philosopher who chronicled his experiment in simple living in Walden, comes to mind. He adds a twist to the longstanding advice on simplicity—a critique of consumerism. For him, we become tethered to (often unfulfilling) work in our effort to acquire material possessions and “look the part” in our social circle. By going to Walden Pond, Thoreau seeks to distill what is essential to living well.
What Is Essential?
I decided that much of my memorabilia was not essential. I snapped photos of my mementos and only kept a few of them. We donated the clothing and kitchen items. We have set aside the Essence article and plan on displaying it. I’m not sure if Epicurus or Thoreau would approve, but the display will connect my life to my aunt’s and highlight writing as a part of our shared history.
So, what is essential? It’s up to you to decide. Some questions, however, may prompt you to simplify your possessions or your schedule.
