I feel pretentious anytime I wear my fur coats. One is a full-length mink that was gifted to me by my mother, and the other is a mink bomber-styled jacket that I purchased more than a decade ago.
It’s strange. Wearing a fur coat is accepted where I live, but it makes me feel so insecure for some reason. I never really understood why until recently. The answer was simple. The coats are not a representation of me.
This called for me to reevaluate my clutter. Where the hell did it come from, and why do I have a collection of things that have nothing to do with my personality? Things that absolutely do not represent who I am. Things that bring me no joy.
I sometimes stand at the entrance of my closet, overwhelmed with the clutter that I have been sifting through for more than a year now. I needed a guide, support, and a lot of love to just box things up to give away to someone who may actually love or find joy in clothes I’ve never worn, hate to wear, or was gifted at some point. Some things were too big, others too small, but what stood out most was that more than 50 percent of the garments were not me.
The most brutal reality was realizing that I was also holding on to things that had emotional ties to past life experiences, love, happiness, and comforts. Could I part with these things and still have those memories?
How the hell do I get out of this?
My first mind took me to the extreme. “I’m going to be a minimalist,” I declared. I started reading books, doing Google-driven research on minimalism and watching television shows focused on cleaning clutter and only keeping things that bring you joy (I say this with a bit of sarcasm).
I started to make rules. It had to go if I hadn’t worn it in so many months or years. I didn’t blink. This applied to everything, including shoes, handbags, and jewelry. I tossed things out. Papers that were dated earlier than 2020 had to go too.
It became exhausting. I tackled too much at once. I was lost, it didn’t work, and I still had mountains of clothes, useless gadgets, and stacks of papers that I would probably never revisit.
I gave up for a few months and just let the mountain of things sit scattered about the house looking at me as a constant reminder that I probably had no control over my identity. I didn’t realize that I was at the beginning of my journey to freedom. I was at the beginning process of having a sense of liberation from things, and I couldn’t change decades of bad habits overnight.
Months later, I revisited my journey to declutter my life. I realized that a little weight was lifted every time I let go of something. I could see more and more of myself and better understand where I was heading and how I wanted to represent myself. This wasn’t about how others see me or how I think they should. It’s more about how I see myself, what makes me smile, and what touches my heart.
That representation did start with a visit to a few local stores. I purchased pictures to hang on the walls of my home. I didn’t worry about the colors, frames, or sizes. At first, they just sat against a wall in my living room, and one day, I told my son to hang them, and it was beautiful. I love them. They bring me joy.
That joy also helped me search for Black minimalists and people who yearned for a simpler life. So, as I take this journey of liberation from things, I will work to introduce others to people who have fully embraced a simpler life. Some call themselves Black nomads and minimalists. Some roam roads, highways, and parks while living in vans, buses, and motorhomes. Others consider themselves environmentalists and thrive on self-sustaining farms and live off the grid.
They are helping me clear my mind, clutter, and accomplish something that I feel is necessary for my sanity.
As we head into summer, I just want to say let’s do this together (no pressure). I’m not asking anyone to become a minimalist. I’m just asking people to be more intentional (or not).
I have a question. What brings you joy?