I Am A Minimalist

AKA Please don’t get me anything. I don’t like stuff.

In honor of the gift-giving season, I’m writing on this topic and publishing a day early, in case you want to get me something for Hanukah or Christmas, which happen on the same day this year.

Unless you know me very well, don’t give me gifts. Because if you did know me very well, you’d already know that. Don’t get me gifts. Ever. Well, wait. I take it back. There are two things you can give me. No, three. Okay, here they are:

1. Gift cards to Bookshop.org. Don’t buy me books, I’ll choose them myself, thank you very much. I know what I like, though I’m always open to recommendations.

2. Chocolate, but make it MILK. If I’m going to eat chocolate I don’t want dark, the lesser of two evils––the healthier choice. This is the only exception I make to my dairy-free diet, and I’m going to enjoy it.

3. Money. Yes. U.S. dollars, at least until the economy tanks and the dollar’s worth nothing. Stay tuned for that. I love getting money as a gift. I don’t find it impersonal at all. Then I can buy whatever I want and know that I’ll like it.

WARNING: Don’t ever re-gift things. I’ll know, even when you say you picked it out just for me. No mugs with cats on them, please. Have you even been to my house? The only cats in my life are alive. How’s that for scrooge-y and controlling?

I’ve never enjoyed having a lot of possessions. I think it’s rooted in a few things. The first was that my parents had a very spare sensibility. Neither had a hoarding mentality, though they did enjoy having some possessions. They valued quality, even if it cost more, especially if it cost more. Quality lasts. Their acquisitiveness was never over the top. My father loved books and music, he collected records––before they were referred to as “vinyl” –– and he loved fountain pens, he had the most gorgeous handwriting I’ve ever seen. My mother was into antiques. She went through a candle snuffer phase, and a crystal knife-rest period. Are you familiar with candle snuffers and knife rests? I wasn’t either, but I was a kid.

Mom had some knife rests and some candle snuffers. She was into it!

I never felt overwhelmed by the number of objects surrounding me in my childhood home. Neatness and organization were paramount. Messy was a hard no. I woke up every day and made my bed. My bedroom was never disorganized. I didn’t go through that teenage rebellion of smelly unmatched socks strewn wildly on the floor, no one harangued me to clean up my room. It wasn’t necessary. Neat was nice. It made it easier to think. Clutter makes me feel chaotic, though I’m not as tidy as I used to be. I’m a little more relaxed. I don’t make my bed every day. I read somewhere that airing out one’s bed linens was preferable and I quickly concurred, though I must admit that on the days I do make my bed, I feel calmer and happier, and I enjoy getting into bed more at the end of each day.

When I was a kid––one of my parents––I think it may have been my dad, suggested that my brother and I find something to collect. It would make it easier for people to get us little gifts. I chose turtles and my brother chose owls. I have no idea why I picked turtles. I guess I must have liked them. My first pet was a turtle. Maybe that’s why. My bedroom was slowly inhabited by all manner of hard-shelled critters, though none were alive. Ceramic and glass, they were small figurines. At a certain point it started to resemble a reptilian coup. On my shelves, on my dresser, on the little table next to my white wicker rocking chair. That chair was pretty, but not so comfortable to sit on. I was into it, the collecting; there was something fun about it for a while. But not forever. I also had lot of books, but those, I acquired on my own. When I was getting ready to move to NYC for college, I sold all my books––over 2000 of them to a local used bookstore, save for my childhood favorites––yes, Harriet the Spy, of course. Have you met me? I couldn’t lug them around with me…though that habit would come later. And when I left home for school, the turtles were relegated to the waste bin.

College was the start of my nomadic era. That era of my life lasted 35 years, give or take. I would move from place to place, often with my belongings in a couple of giant garbage bags slung over each shoulder. A little like a turtle, I carried the contents of my home on my back. I’d schlep myself from one apartment to another, always looking for the next great place, unsettled and unable to stay put for long. I did that with jobs, too. I was restless, aimless, and unsure of myself. The one thing I did know was that too much stuff would make moving harder. Along the way, I began to acquire books again. So many books. Too many books? Never too many books. Pshaw. All those boxes that would get packed, and carried, and then unpacked. The intoxicating and somewhat repellent smell of black Sharpies and packing tape, marking the boxes, fiction A-D, non-fiction J-M. All the trips to the liquor stores for empty boxes every time I moved. I didn’t keep the boxes. They’d clutter up the space. I wasn’t interested in efficiency or recycling even knowing full well in my heart of hearts that there’d be another move, sooner than later. The movers (when I could afford them) would comment on the volume of heavy cartons that followed me around. My books were all I cared about throughout the years. That, and the family pictures.

You know the question we’re sometimes asked? If your house was burning down, what would you grab? My answer has always been the family pictures, my original copy of Harriet the Spy and my pet family. The most meaningful things in my life. I already wear my grandmother’s wedding ring every day, so I wouldn’t have to grab that.

A funny thing happened to me in 2012. I bought my first house and stopped moving. I’ve lived here for almost 13 years. And you know what happens when you settle down? Yeah. You acquire things. We all do. Things that a homeowner needs. Tools and shovels and hoses and hot tub chemicals. Yes, I have a hot tub. Bicycles––indoor and stationary––that I never ride. Dishes and coffee cups and silverware. Pots and pans and Instapots. Art supplies. I’ll never get rid of my art supplies. Countless numbers of chargers and plugs. Empty Apple product boxes, (they’re so sturdy and well-designed), outdated phone cases because damn you Apple, you do that on purpose, don’t you, you sneaky fucks. There was even a regulation-sized ping-pong table crammed into my tiny living room for a spell. But having it there felt like living in a frat house, so I got rid of it in a fit of “too much stuff” but I really miss it. There’s nothing better than the plink-plink sound of a ping pong ball. Nothing.

In a nod to my old turtle collecting years, I spent a brief time collecting anything Ganesh-related. That cute little elephant man god. He has great significance to me as the placer and remover of obstacles. I recently removed the obstacle that Ganesh became, though not the one that hangs around my neck. He’s a treasured possession, a reminder that life is full of challenges that teach me valuable lessons.

Ganesha, my elephant-man-boy-god.

I’ve got a shit ton of books, and I need shelves for those books. I was a bookseller for years and I’m voracious, always have been. I buy any book I’m interested in, my natural reserve about too many belongings cast to the side. I’ve tried e-readers, to keep my space tidier, but they just don’t cut it. Books are my exception to my rule about stuff. There’re towers of books in my living room and my bedroom. I never bought bookshelves when I moved in. Maybe I didn’t believe I would stay in one place long enough to warrant their purchase.

I think I’m going to work on that in the coming year. Bookshelves. And then I can get more books, and maybe even read them!

When I say to my friends “I’ve got too much stuff” they laugh at me. They tell me I don’t really have too much stuff, not compared to other people. That may be true, but I’m not other people, I’m me. I have too much stuff––but a sweet laxity has taken hold. A sense of calm that I’m home. I don’t have to think about picking up and moving anymore. I have no plans to leave my dear little house. It would serve me well to go through my things and get rid of possessions I don’t use. There’s a Buy Nothing group in my neighborhood and folks who might love and need some of the things I no longer use. That’s SANCTIONED re-gifting. I’m into that.

So, this holiday season, if you think of me, you’ve got my list, but honestly, what I care about the most is my relationship with you. That’s something I can keep forever and the space it takes up resides in my heart. I never run out of room there.

The happiest of holidays to each and every one of you. Thank you for making my year so sweet.

PS. I’m such a “Mini-malist” that I drive a Mini-Cooper.

The old one. Her vanity plate read “Yolkel.” There’s a new one, no pix yet.

PPS. Okay, I’ll fess up. I also have a thing for eyeglasses. But that’s it. I swear. Watch it. It’s fun. Sound on makes it better.

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