I bought a Hot Wheels vehicle recently, added now two concert shirts to my collection, and plan to get more things in the future. Aren’t I supposed to be some kind of minimalist monk that sleeps on the floor and has nothing except a computer for writing? Isn’t the apartment-mansion’s excess supposed to be disgusting? How could I celebrate materialism at all? My intentions with Downsizing Zeal are celebrating the best and shedding the rest.
Every in inspires an out.
The Hot Wheels vehicle I got was a celebrity-endorsed wheelchair by Aaron Fotheringham. I like it since it celebrates positive outlooks toward personal mobility aids – which, as I’ve studied to write Trishna’s character for “The Story,” still isn’t as culturally integrated into popular culture, but at least the stigmatization of physical impairments seems to be decreasing. It also scales with my LEGO minifigs.
I’m planning to sell most of my Hot Wheels soon.
There was a time when I’d buy any curiosity, but now I only have an interest in the most curious or wonderful, and the rest can go. Someone else can enjoy them more than me. My Hot Wheels have sat unopened in a box for years. It would be one thing if it were like my concert shirts where I don’t wear all of them because some are my daily shirts and others are when I go somewhere, but these sat collecting dust.
Shameful, but my new acquisitions won’t collect dust.
I haven’t worn one of the shirts I bought recently. I was planning to recently, since I like to wear concert shirts based on what I’m doing that day so it’s thematically relevant and punctuates a mindset, of sorts. The other I’ll be receiving as a gift soon. I’ve been wearing more of my never-worn shirts, put away shirts I’ve grown disinterested in wearing, and donated shirts from bands I’ve grown threadbare of thinking about as I might pass by a mirror.
I have a free book coupon to use and will buy more things.
As I’m learning through listening to my CD collection with a critical ear, dropping anime shows mercilessly if they bore me, and uninstalling games that grow tedious, I want to have a wide breadth of many experiences and have a deep depth of experiences with my favorites or works that are personally challenging. To expand the mind and meditating on failures is helpful but only if those thoughts help you grow as a person. Without finding and trying those things, you’ll never know if you’ll learn from them.
Yet it’s important not to waste time.
Let’s say it takes twelve hours to watch some anime and you don’t like the first episode. Unless critical reception debates strongly in its favor for reasons you could find valuable, why waste your time on it? That hypothetical is what I’m doing now: everything is a waste of time until proven otherwise.
If that waste of time is enriching, keep it, otherwise, drop it!
|Sources: My personal experiences.|
|Inspirations: Not so much justifying why I own things, or why I continue to own things, or why I continue to buy new things, as much as figuring out why I don’t just wholesale get rid of everything: not everything I own is a waste of time. Just… most of it.|
|Related: Other Downsizing Zeal essays.|
|Photo: I was thinking of using this shot including the stretches reminder, courtesy of How Heavy Are the Dumbbells You Lift?, for a Rowing Machine entry, but it fits better here.|
|Written On: July 3rd [23 minutes, mobile]|
|Last Edited: July 3rd [Other than setting to publish on the 7th. First draft; final draft for the Internet.]|