My Minimalist Home: Neither Here Nor There

As someone leaning into minimalism, I should love wandering around my half empty house. But I don’t. It feels weird. All my books are packed, so the bookcases just stare at me with their sad, empty shelves. My clothes and accessories, save the few I selected for these last few weeks, are absent from my bedroom. My kitchen cabinets are quite bare, and I’m down to just four teacup sets and two teapots (gasp)! It should be a minimalist’s dream—right? Well, no. I don’t see many of the things that are important to me out where I can enjoy them. They’re all boxed up. It’s not my home anymore; it’s just a house waiting for its new owners.

Whenever I move into a new home, the very last thing I do is unpack the art and decorative items. It’s my reward for getting through all the hard, often tedious, work of moving. The art is also the last thing I take down when preparing for a move. Even if my books are packed away and my kitchen is half empty, I can look at the Turkish tiles and recall a little of who I am, or rather, was, when I traveled around Turkey. I see the “Mi Casa Es Su Casa” tile that I got visiting a friend in Mexico, the art I purchased from artist friends in Austin, and all the mezuzahs I’ve collected over the years to put on the doorposts of each room. I may have decluttered a great deal of my possessions, including decorative items, but what I’ve kept has real meaning for me. The time is approaching, though, when I need to take everything down, patch up some holes, and paint over a few spots to erase all signs of art and photos.

I’m slowly detaching myself from here, the house I live in now, but I’m not yet attached to the new place. I look at the photos of my future home, but it’s not quite real to me. I’ve begun to have internal debates about wall colors, flooring, and furniture. I’m excited about the improvements I’m planning, especially to the yard. I’ve even joined some local gardening groups on social media to garner more ideas. I won’t have to worry about approval from an HOA, and there’s plenty of space for me to experiment with xeriscaping, vegetable and herb gardens, and perhaps a small Zen area. No matter that I need to wait a few months until the hot Florida summer passes. I’m ready to garden now! I’m becoming impatient to get there—to my new home.

Despite the feeling of being in limbo, I also appreciate this transitional stage. We’re often advised to wait between a break-up and the next relationship. Even though the break-up with my home has been amiable, I need to have this time of being neither here nor there. Without all my usual stuff surrounding me, I am pushed to reflect on their significance in my life. When I unpack them in my new home, I will appreciate them all the more after this absence. I’ll have to work hard to unpack and rediscover them. Thanks to my year of intense reading about minimalism, I have dramatically decreased my worldly possessions, so I’m not dreading this move quite so much.

Making such a big change in environment can be a good impetus for other changes. I’ll use this opportunity to create what Leo Babauta calls “the right habit environment.” I’ll keep healthier foods in the kitchen and create a small workout space in the study. I’ll learn a new walking routine as I explore the neighborhood. I plan to purchase a zafu cushion in my favorite color to encourage me to meditate on a more regular basis. I’m not foolish enough to think that changing homes will change everything in my life, but I know that moving to a new city a few years ago did bring about some positive changes, so I’m cautiously optimistic that moving to a new neighborhood will do the same.