Category Archives: Minimalism

Minimalist Calendar: The Day of Rest & Other Big Ideas

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My calendar is a little full these days.

In fact, it’s the exact opposite of minimalist: the only day in the near future with nothing to do is tomorrow. But I have to work tomorrow, and I guarantee I could find some other things to do too.

Yet, this isn’t a complaint the way it might be if I had a calendar chock-full of things to do that I didn’t want to do. There’s been a shift in my life lately, by which I’ve come to understand that in order for me (and you too) to live a happy, healthy existence, I need to be putting my energy into doing what I love. What do I love? Writing, reading, sunshine, good coffee & food, quality time with friends. So my calendar may be full, but most often, the things penned into its days meet the criteria of putting my energy into doing what I love. When I feel “busy” I stop and remind myself of this: energy with no direction turns against itself, and energy put into what you love only makes it grow.

Gwen Bell introduced me to the concept of 168 Hours. It’s a book and it’s also a worksheet and a philosophy. You’ve got 168 hours this week—What are you going to do with them? A few months ago, I printed out the worksheet and kept track of my week. Want to know what I was surprised to find? Not that I squander my hours on the internet or out at bars or even reading more than I need to. I found that I spend a lot of time writing. And so I was forced to realize that any doubts I have about myself as a writer are completely in my head, and I was forced to give myself praise (it’s harder than I realized…more on that in another post).

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The day of rest is something I think about a lot. It’s so simple, really. A day off. No computer, tv, email, Facebook, blogging, or work. It’s the ultimate self-care. While I am pretty good (after years of practice) at admitting when I need alone/quiet time, I’m less good (having less practice) at turning off my computer and going completely analog. Even one day a week seems, well, hard. When I do it, I feel rejuvenated, but finding the space to do it is difficult: my brain (that pesky organ) likes to tell me the computer is ever-so-necessary.

Anyway, my point is, I haven’t figured out a great system for digital rest. Though I am taking this afternoon off. (That was a spur of the moment decision…but I’m going to stick to it. I go offline at 12 noon and won’t be back until tomorrow am.)

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Are you wondering what I’m going to do today on my half-day of digital rest? (I am, especially since I’ve got plenty to do.) First and foremost, I’m going to play. Go outside for a walk, doodle some drawings, scribble by hand in my notebook. I’m going to read and maybe stroll into town for a coffee. I’m going to talk to Sasha and plot some ideas for Cactus Heart and sit with a portion of the novel I’m reworking. I’m going to pet the kitties and daydream.

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What’s on your minimalist calendar?

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Gift Giving & the Minimalist Lifestyle

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Last week was Sasha’s birthday.

As you might imagine, not too many physical presents get exchanged in the Rauch-Starr household. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t give each other gifts. Over the last several holidays, we’ve not exchanged gifts, but instead chosen something we’d like for our home, and bought ourselves that. This year, we didn’t even bother with that. We have everything we need, and we have some travel plans for this spring, and that’s enough.

On birthdays, we generally have a party, and on the actual birthday, go out to dinner. This is our way of giving each other “experience” (i.e., time with friends; good food) instead of physical gifts that clutter the house. On my last birthday, Sasha left me a series of very thoughtful notes around the house, and that was far better than any gift I could have unwrapped.

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It occurred to me, the morning of her birthday, while I was making the bed for a special treat, that I’d hit upon the perfect gift: I’d make the bed for her for an entire year.

If you’re an inveterate bed-maker, you might be thinking to yourself: How in the world is that a birthday gift? So, a little backstory. For the record, it doesn’t bother me in the least to have an unmade bed, and most of my adult life has been spent undoing the habit my mother so firmly tried to impress upon me. But Sasha really likes a made bed—it makes her feel happy and relaxed. Since she’s often out of the house well before I leave bed in the morning, she can’t make the bed as she usually would. For 3+ years we’ve lived together, and aside from the occasional mention of how much she likes the bed to be made,  she’s put up with the unmade bed.

As it turns out, when she discovered the note I’d pinned to her pillow, she was more excited than I’ve seen her about any other gift I’ve given her.

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This got me thinking, about gifts and the pressure to give, and what we really want from our spouses and friends and family.

Do we really want more stuff? Do we really want to be given things we don’t need or want? Is it really an obligation to give a (physical) gift?

Those questions being asked: It is fun and pleasureful to give. Life is about giving and receiving, just not on the commercial scale to which we are accustomed.

I hopped over to Miss Minimalist’s blog, because I know she agrees with me on this point, and found this: One Less Gift Holiday Gift Card Exemption.

There are a lot of great examples there of how to give without actually running out to the mall and buying something.

We can give experience (travels, adventures); we can give time (commit to a long walk together once a week for a year, set a night to cook dinner together); we can give community (volunteer, host a potluck); we can give earthly pleasures (good wine, good coffee).

Being a minimalist has meant, and continues to mean, the unlearning of the obligation to “buy” presents. Happiness, time together, a life more lived, cannot be bought. Giving transcends purchases, and always has.

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By the way, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I far prefer making the bed over shopping :)

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Making Time and Place and Space to Create

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The theme this week is maintenance. However you put it—upkeep, chores—we all have stuff that needs to get done, pretty much all the time. Dishes, laundry, bed-making, grocery shopping, working. Not all chores are necessities, but some are. Not all chores are boring or inconvenient, but some are. Chore lists are like minimalists: no two are alike.

What’s on my chore list? Those five above rank pretty high on my daily & weekly lists. I’ve also got feeding the cats, watering the plants, vacuuming, balancing the checkbooks, paying the bills. And writing.

Yes, you read that right. I put writing on my to-do list. Every single day.

I wanted to be a writer because I love words, I love language, I love writing. I became a writer by making a daily practice of it. Equal parts passion and persistence. Both are important. Persistence maybe more so.

So, yeah, sometimes writing feels like a chore. Some days I’d much rather park myself in bed with my clowder of cats and a good book. Some days I’d actually rather do laundry and dishes and grocery shopping. Putting writing on the daily to-do list accomplishes two things: it brings writing out of the imaginative, perfect ether into the real world and it creates the space I need in my day to actually do it (I hate an unfinished to-do list).

In the opening chapter of The War of Art, Stephen Pressfield details his day. The most important sentence on that first page—“I sit down and plunge in”—pretty much says it all. Those six words embody the most straightforward way to creativity. Anne Lamott, in Bird by Bird says, “Writing is like milking a cow: the milk is so rich and delicious, and the cow is so glad you did it.” In other words, writing is a chore the writer must do—and chore it may be, but the result is filling and nutritious, and the relief is incredible.

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Making Place

Depending on your personality, this might be the easiest of all the steps. If you’re already a committed minimalist or simplicity-seeker, you might know what I’m about to say. You must dedicate/designate/devise some sort of space in which your creativity is going to happen. It could be your desk. It could be your bed (preferably when your loved one is not sleeping in it). It could be in the bathroom (not as uncommon as you might think). It could be on the floor next to your desk (that’s where I do it). It could be on the couch, at the kitchen table, or in your walk-in closet (but, wait, you’re a writer, so you can’t afford a walk-in closet). Honestly, it doesn’t really matter where you choose, so long as it’s a comfortable spot where you don’t mind spending a lot of time, and if possible, a spot where the people in your house will leave you alone while you’re in it. Think of it as a sacred meditation spot.

You want the space to be clear of clutter. It should be a reasonably open and empty space. If you’re a mess-making creative, pick up after yourself when you’re finished with each session so that every time your return to the space it is clean and ready to nourish your creative desire.

Making Space

This one could take a little bit more work, and might require some collaboration. Space is different from place, in that place is tangible, and space is not. Space is where the writing lives, but place is where you go to open up the space and let it come out. Space is a mental thing.

Do you want to write? Paint? Draw? Take photos? Learn the art of flower arranging? Play music?

Good. The first step is figuring that out.

The second step is admitting it (it helps to admit out loud, to others, preferably at a large social gathering where most everyone you know will hear you and ask follow-up questions the next time they see you). The third step is thinking about how you’re going to make it happen—maybe you need to make a place, maybe you need to make time, maybe you need both. Perhaps you need supplies or a creativity partner.

Lastly, you’ll want inspiration, and that’s a daily process. Seek inspiration everywhere. In uncooked vegetables and radio broadcasts and poems and the feel of your pet’s fur. In the opening chords of a song you love and the smell of baking bread and the contrast of colors available all around you, if you’d just look. There is a lot of space in inspiration, and a lot of inspiration in space.

Making Time

Busy is a busy does. A lot of us live our lives as though we are in chronic deficit of time. Which isn’t exactly true. I understand that life is a big, complicated, crazy thing. I understand work and commuting and kids and pets and families and chores. With the exception of kids, I’ve got all of those too. I understand the concept of busy. I used to be busy myself. I’m still often busy—though now I’m usually busy writing something or other.

Here’s the thing about time. If you let it get away from you, it gets away. If you pretend like it doesn’t exist, you’ll never accomplish what you want to accomplish. There are 24 hours in the day, and you need to find a way to devote at least one of them to your creative pursuits.

I find the to-do list very helpful: I put writing on there as #1, and 9 out of 10 days, I make it happen. On the tenth day I don’t kick myself. I rest. And then I get back to it.

Put creativity on your to-do list, or on your calendar, or on a sticky note attached to your computer/bathroom mirror/refrigerator. Write in big letters. In pen. Even better, in permanent marker.

And then do it. Over and over and over again, until it becomes habit—because habits are really just behaviors that you’ve given a lot of time.

(PS. Things to eliminate in order to make time for creativity include: television, drinking, cleaning (believe me, the dirty dishes will still be there in an hour), shopping, Facebook, email, any and all work you might bring home from your job. Make sure you continue to make time for talking with your partner, playing with your kids, petting your animals, brushing your teeth, eating healthy meals, getting exercise, and relaxation (because usually making space happens when you relax).

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Space, place, time: plunge in!

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