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I'm a writer, a freelancer, a crafter, a nail polish mixatrix, a tea drinker, an unconventional life-liver, a journaling junkie, an introvert, a chronic-pain-sufferer, an idealist, a geek, a TV-lover. Welcome to my corner of the web!

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Wednesday, August 12, 2015

On being a maximalist

I grew up traveling. That means we had to pack up everything we owned a lot and move it somewhere else. I grew into a travelling adult. Which means more packing and moving and this time, it means I'm the one doing the packing and moving.

You'd think I'd learn about minimalism. My friend J, who has lived much the same style of life keeps her belongings to the smallest she can because of it.

But it hurts me, picking and choosing between my belongings, making judgement calls over books, deciding what will go on the shelf and what will go to Goodwill, which clothes will be worn and which will go away. Which pictures to keep. Which furniture to take with me.

It's happened a lot, and it really just gets harder to do, no matter how I get to a point every time where I'm ready to just burn down the house and start from scratch--the second I calm down, I regret getting rid of things.

Add to that, the fact that I'm crafty, so there's lots of supplies around. I'm a collector and a shrine-maker. I'm a writer, so there's always piles of paper and files and boxes of drafts.

Add to that again, my tastes tend toward layered textures and displayed collections, boho more than wabi sabi, and my brain works better when I can see what I have, and I wind up with one conclusion:

I'm fundamentally not minimalist.

My writing is lush and wordy and flowing--I've tried to write cleaner, smaller, shorter, and it comes out feeling stilted and lacking the layers of meaning and story I want it to have. I've tried creating plots that are more straight forward and they bore me and grow and turn into forests and countries and deep histories. That's the way my brain works, and I don't question it much, because that's my Style and my Voice, but in my life, I spent a lot of time trying to be less, smaller, take up less space.

I'm done with that now.

I take up the space I take up because it's mine to take. I have a rich inner life and trying to live in a minimalized outer life feels like living in a hotel room or a hospital--it works, but there's no life there, and definitely not mine. I need beautiful things to remember who I am, to feel comfortable and welcome in my own house, to keep everything I do stocked up and organized.

I'm not going to downplay myself anymore.

I probably will complain about it next time I have to move, tho.


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