Just when you think you are on a new minimalist path, the backlash begins. Any movement runs the risk of becoming too self righteous and judgmental, and the minimalist movement can breed guilt. If you admit that you like stuff, you can be branded a materialistic, shallow person collecting her way to an empty existence.
Minimalism is bound to make some people uncomfortable. I include myself in this group, obviously, since I cannot seem to stop accumulating stuff, even as I try to transform my covetous ways.
I read the New York Times article, Let’s Celebrate the Art of Clutter, by Dominique Browning, who talks about the anxiety that comes with the de-cluttering movement. She suggests that we should openly and proudly love our things.
Perhaps there is a balance, as the author tries to suggest. Despite noble intentions and philosophies about simplicity, life is about collecting: experiences, memories, people and things. Perhaps we can feel a little less ashamed and love our things for their craftsmanship and the memories they hold. However, where do we draw the line? I get the sense that the author would be upset if her kids were to sell her beloved possessions in a garage sale in the future.
Now I am left to ponder: do I become a minimalist zealot, a loud and proud collector or a middle ground semi minimalist/collector hybrid? It doesn’t feel quite as dynamic and dramatic.