Here's the thing about selling all your stuff and moving around the world: you sell all your stuff.
Meaning you own very few things.
Minimalism has never really been my style. I enjoy beauty and I am happy to own things that make me happy. A 37-piece wardrobe sounds boring. Walls without art are not Taylor walls.
And yet here I am with a literal capsule wardrobe (meaning it exists inside the capsule of my suitcase) in rooms without any decor at all, much less my carefully curated collection of eclectic art.
I am mobile, and I am therefore forcibly pared down to the essentials.
I wasn't sure how it would feel. Some will swear that it's freeing. Sure, I feel free. But I am free because of the nature of my job, because of divorce, because of a million tiny decisions that led to several big choices.
Not because my beloved Eduardo Lapetina paintings are in storage, and not because I gave most of my clothes to Goodwill.
I do believe in the philosophy that I should own nothing that I do not believe to be beautiful or know to be useful. The problem? I find the beauty in a packed gallery wall, in a full bookcase, in a room with layered rugs.
I'm frustrated by my limited clothing choices and I sometimes miss the creature comforts of a well-stocked apartment. I packed the wrong things and sometimes I just want to order something frivolous on Amazon. Or something useful. Just something other than the bare necessities.
So this minimalism thing is new for me.
I get why it's addicting.
But I'm not sure I'll maintain this accidental minimalism when my life is not required to be optimized for mobility.