Is it okay to find joy in things?

From a reformed minimalist

(This voiceover is an audio version of the newsletter below. As always, it’s unedited. If you prefer to listen to these posts, I hope you enjoy it, stumbles and all.)

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Because I certainly get joy from this flower I grew, in this vase I made…

When I was younger, I tried to find joy in stuff. I searched for confidence in the right pair of jeans, for self-worth in make-up, for adventure in hiking gear. I hoarded notebooks, certain that one day I’d find the right one and suddenly would become the writer I always wanted to be. The shoes that would get me out the door and running.

I spent years wanting, coveting, chasing things, believing the promise that they’d bring me whatever it was I said I wanted, and none of it worked. Not for very long, anyway.

Then, I had kids. I burnt out. Closed my business. Struggled with severe post-natal depression. In the space of a couple of years, I felt my entire identity rock wildly on its axis and realised too late that there was no solid ground underneath the new life I’d started building. That the things I’d surrounded myself with would never support me.

I’ve written about it at length (mostly in my second book, SLOW), so I won’t go over old ground for too long. But it was during that desperate, searching time that I discovered minimalism — the pursuit of less, for a life of more — as the fresh-faced, photogenic, mostly child-free acolytes (and mostly bros) told me.

As many -isms do, minimalism offered solutions to my problems and a soothing hand to cool my raw, hurting, new self. It was highly appealing and I not only jumped in, I dove in head-first.

I decluttered, I de-owned, I sold on eBay and gave thousands of items away. And every load of stuff that left our house felt like a release. A relief. I was stripping everything back to its essentials, ready to rebuild life on my terms, according to my values.

(Behold, the astonishing levels of shit we were able to declutter, even years into the prcoess.)

Some of you were probably around for this portion of my life. Ben and I talked about it a lot on The Slow Home Pod (RIP). If you were, you might remember just how much I identified with the idea of simplifying, of finding joy in experiences, of viewing ourselves as above the realm of belongings.

So much so that I used to look down on the idea of getting joy from stuff at all.

And to be fair, I still believe in the soul of those ideas. I believe in the relative ease that comes from owning less. I believe in the restfulness of a simple(ish) home. I believe, if we ever have to choose, in experiences over stuff. I believe that we will not find lasting confidence or delight or self-worth or motivation in stuff if we don’t already have it in ourselves.  

But I also believe that using our things can bring us joy. Living with them, making with them, playing and enjoying them, wearing and delighting in them — this can bring us joy. The difference is that we’re not seeking joy in the item itself but rather in using it, appreciating it, enjoying it, filling our homes with it and sharing it.

The items of clothing don’t define me or my emotional state, but they can act as a touchstone, a tangible reminder, of my personal intention for that day.

Back in February, I wrote about dopamine dressing. The act of wearing things that fill us with joy. And I’ve made a habit of it since.

I’ve got a bright yellow jumper that I love wearing, like sunshine in the middle of winter. A pair of retro-style Reeboks that make me smile. I drink my morning coffee out of a ceramic mug that I made with my own hands — a ritual I genuinely look forward to every day. I brainstorm these letters with a Ticonderoga lead pencil — the last remaining one from my 2018 US book tour — which brings back memories of going through the eulogy exercise with everyone who came to an event. I find joy (and delight and awe and escapism and fun and self-reflection) in books. I bought Ben an AUS-ION frypan for Christmas, and cooking pancakes in it is a dream. My office wall is full of photos and prints and post-its and artworks that bring me inspiration. Plants, the Japanese secateurs Ben and the kids bought me for Mother's Day, the bright red lipstick I hardly wear but feel great when I do…

None of this stuff is necessary. I would survive just fine without it. And, given the amount of work I’ve done over the past few years on myself — gratitude, acceptance, perspective, resilience, confidence, tenacity, softness, compassion — I’d like to think I would still find just as much joy in my life without them. But the fact remains, they do bring me joy.

Or maybe it’s that using them brings joy to the surface.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with finding joy in the things we own. I do think that buying stuff in the search for joy is a very slippery slope.

I’ve landed somewhere sustainable, somewhere positive, somewhere kind and gentle and simple(ish) in my journey towards enough, and it feels a hell of a lot more kind and gentle than the relentless pursuit of less (and more) that hardcore minimalism took me on.

That’s not to say I regret any of it. I really don’t.

It taught me so much. It taught me:

• how to manage the influx and outflow of stuff from our home in a regular way

• joy doesn’t come from the stuff itself

• we can live with way less than we think

• how to pack light

• no-one gives a shit if you wear the same clothes over and over.

This is how good we get at packing light — we literally lived out of backpacks for over a year, and it was fun (until it wasn’t).

I consider the way I used to live, pre-minimalism, as a fairly common example of over-consumption. And I consider my head-first deep-dive into minimalism as a well-intentioned, informative, transformative overcorrection.

Where I am now feels like a recalibration. I haven’t drifted back to my old way of being, but I’m no longer driving myself into the ground, entirely consumed by thoughts of letting go, going without, living with less.

I have so much more to offer than that, and just like anything, the good intentions of minimalism when taken to the extreme, can suck the joy from life.

And if this year is teaching me anything, it’s that I’d prefer to find joy.

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Argh! I’m so excited about this topic. I’ve actually felt quite overwhelmed and a little writer’s block-y about it this week. I think there’s just so much we can examine through the twin lenses of consumption and slow living.

I know there’s a lot of you looking forward to letters about over-consumption of information and buying/owning less stuff, but I’m curious if there are any other specific questions you might have? If so, drop ‘em in the comments below and I’ll add it to the list of letter topics.

In the meantime, is anyone else enjoying the Olympics? Our family is super into it and I’ve had many an early morning watching Jess Fox in the canoe slalom (legend), swimming, surfing, basketball, women’s artistic gymnastics (Simone Biles really is the GOAT — her Netflix special is worth a watch), and by the time this letter hits inboxes, the Matildas will have played the USA women’s soccer team. 😬😬

On Sunday, there’ll be a 1% experiment update for all paying supporters, and next week I hope to tackle the topic of “enough”. What does it look like? How can we find it? Does it look different for everyone?

Until then, take very good care,
Brooke 💚💚