Spartan Simplicity of Life and Elevation of Purpose

I've recently discovered the cure for materialism: MOVING. The simple task of packing up all of your stuff into boxes is a sure-fire way to jump-start your appreciation how little you really need to live a full and happy life.

We'll be moving out of our home of nine years next week into a new home just outside the city. The new home is comparable in size to our current one: we'll be losing only 40 square feet or so of living space, but gaining so much more: A quiet street, privacy, a graffiti-free neighborhood, a driveway, a yard. My commute to and from my day job will shrink from twenty miles to just over two, and I'm already excited about gaining several hours of family time every week and the prospect of occasionally biking or running to and from the office. (Yes, a slightly smaller carbon footprint means something to me.)

As much as I'm looking forward to settling in at the new home, the packing process has revealed a lot about my unconscious habits: Even after donating a ton of things we no longer need or use, and after completely filling a junk removal truck with the clutter in the basement, we still have far too much stuff. Naturally, we're keeping a number of things that have sentimental value, and I just can't bring myself to donate some of my books (knowing fully that I'm never going to read them again). We're leaving some of our furniture behind, but there's still too much stuff!

A friend of mine recently quipped that we spend the first half of our lives acquiring junk and the second half trying to get rid of it. So perhaps this is a turning point for me. As Thoreau, would point out, it's time to simplify:

The nation itself, with all its so-called internal improvements, which, by the way are all external and superficial, is just such an unwieldy and overgrown establishment, cluttered with furniture and tripped up by its own traps, ruined by luxury and heedless expense, by want of calculation and a worthy aim, as the million households in the land; and the only cure for it, as for them, is in a rigid economy, a stern and more than Spartan simplicity of life and elevation of purpose.

I feel really good about our new house. It's not too small, and not too big. Looking at an article online today about some wildly outrageous homes in the Greater Boston area, I know for sure that we're not overdoing it. (We couldn't afford to anyway!) For now, I'm planning to use the unpacking process as a second screening: another chance to decide to give away, or toss things that have no value and serve no purpose. After all, when it's time for my final move, I can't take any of this stuff with me.

Nature

A quick update this week:

As an outgrowth of my short nature-filled vacation a couple of weeks ago and my more recent exploration of environmentalism-as-self-defense in my "this I believe" essay, I've been trying to get outdoors more and spend more time enjoying nature and natural elements.

These days, I eat lunch outside whenever possible instead of at my desk; I step outside frequently to get out of the air-conditioning — even on the brutal 100-degree days. I've made it a point to look up more often — both at clouds and at stars (sometimes it's tough to even see them from my home in the city). I've decorated my office with a vase of wildflowers that I hand picked from the far edge of the office parking lot, and I take time each day to listen to the sounds of birds, rainfall, and cicadas.

It feels great.

Today, I've been reading "Nature" by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Magical stuff! Please enjoy this brief excerpt:

First, the simple perception of natural forms is a delight. The influence of the forms and actions in nature, is so needful to man, that, in its lowest functions, it seems to lie on the confines of commodity and beauty. To the body and mind which have been cramped by noxious work or company, nature is medicinal and restores their tone. The tradesman, the attorney comes out of the din and craft of the street, and sees the sky and the woods, and is a man again. In their eternal calm, he finds himself. The health of the eye seems to demand a horizon. We are never tired, so long as we can see far enough.

Now go and get yourself OUTSIDE!