approximately less.

News from the Mouse House

2011-03-22T20:43:00.000-07:00

SIX MONTHS AGO, I returned from a whirlwind life on the west coast. I successfully lived out of a suitcase for nearly three months, packed my bags from the cozy loft life I'd been living in San Francisco and moved back to the Midwest with a little more than I'd left with.

What I returned to was less than heartening: I had a big house to clean and move out. Over the course of living in this 1912 mother of a Franken-house (named for the number of patchwork remodels it'd endured), I'd never realized how the nooks and crannies had mysteriously filled themselves with all my little trinkets, art projects, and impulse buys. I had stuff scattered to kingdom come: The basement, the garage, even the refrigerator had become a catch-all for my sprawling life.

My roommate and I had signed a lease at a new place. It was an apartment that she'd found while I was away in California, and with blind faith, I trusted her judgment. The first day she took me to see our new home, I walked into what might have been mistaken as a elves' dwelling. We stepped straight into a kitchen, which was curiously the same room as the living room, which might have been able to accommodate a small love seat. Maybe. The two bedrooms were bigger than closets but smaller than a Cadillac Escalade. Luckily there was a bathroom, and it had a bathtub—one thing our house didn't have! My first question was, "So…where are we going to fit the kitchen table?" She replied something like, "I don't think we can." I bit my tongue.

I was upset. Here I'd had all this monster house with a bajillion inches of space to spread about my belongings and meander among them, and now I was moving into a mouse hole. A MOUSE HOLE! I practically broke down to my best friend; the only thing keeping me cool was her reassurance that "I'd get used to it."

If anyone can tell me this, it's her. We shared about 15 square feet of a sixth floor dorm room our freshman year of college, and we loved every inch and minute of it (mostly). I've always been homemaker, so it was no surprise when I decked out the place with curtains, installed artworks on the cinder block walls, and strung a polka dot border along the walls. Our room was the friggin' SHOW ROOM of Nelson Hall. As in, campus tours with prospective students came to OUR ROOM to see what dorm life was like. (This is probably the greatest brush with fame I've ever had.) The last week we lived in the "Pizza Pie in the Sky," as it was affectionately named, we pushed together our two twin beds and made the most incredible, finals-week hindering California King-sized bed, ever. It was the tiniest space I've ever had to share with someone, terrifying at first, but eventually became the best living arrangement I'd ever had. In fact, I've had this experience on "repeat" in my head for the past four years.

Now, in a similar fashion, I've grown to appreciate my mouse home. Without the space to store unneeded items, I've downsized tremendously. Most everything I own is in my bedroom, save a few household items in the kitchen and bathroom. There's nowhere to hide anything — there are no closet spaces or pantries, and few cupboards.

There is liberation within the consolidation. I don't have to wonder where things are, because it's all right here. When it comes time to move on in August, I won't have to revisit the stress of last August's move, where three carloads of moving turned into eight. I know exactly what I'm going to take with me, what I'm going to sell, and what I'm going to give away. It's comforting, and I'm excited to again, purge my belongings in a move. Strange, but such a thrilling thought!

There's no better time to downsize. And when you live in a mouse home, you're set up for success.

2010-06-13T01:14:00.000-07:00

I'm living out of a suitcase right now. What more could I ask for?

Or rather, what less could I ask for?

Nice to Know When You Let Go

2010-04-13T22:57:00.001-07:00

My aunt sent me an e-mail yesterday about my summer living situation. I'll be spending the upcoming months in transition, mobile, teetering between San Francisco and Berkeley. Her best advice? "Come with as little as possible."

I'm mentally—and physcially—preparing myself for this challenge. I want to pack one duffel bag—a versatile wardrobe, two comfortable pairs of shoes, enough underwear to keep me safe, and a light jacket. No bells or whistles—I'm leaving my jewelry, "once a month" shirts, and stacks of sandals at home. Two pairs of jeans should get me through.

I'm tempted to really rid myself of things at this point. When I look at my closet with California eyes, I think of what I positively am and am not going to pack. Then I think of what I'm unquestionably leaving behind, and question: If I'm living without it for three months, can't I live without it forever? I can. There are certain things at this point that I haven't been able to detach myself from emotionally: Clothing and accessories I bought in Europe, that I loved enough to haul around the continent for several months (before eventually paying a heavy baggage fee to get home). Clothes that I know I'll look good in someday (right now I've got on some winter weight…). Purses that are sizably all wrong for me. Recently I've found comfort in giving things to my sister, where they're no longer mine, but rather comfortably transitioning from my hands to another owner. It's nice to know where things go when you let go of them. Now I've realized, that's the hardest part about letting things go.

So I will wear my California eyes, and they will be critical. One duffel bag. One.

2010-04-03T16:51:00.001-07:00

It's been a while, but big strides are being taken in Approximatelyless Land! I'm at home right now—my parents' home, technically—attempting to clean out my room for good. I'm not living in my room here anymore, nor do I really plan to (at least not extensively). My younger brother has made it his place over the past few years, and every time I come to visit he is forced to relocate. The space no longer is mine, and I've realized that. It's time.

I did a large chunk of cleaning out and giving away when I was living here (Minot) last summer, but I've definitely become less attached to things since. I've already compiled several bags to take to ReStore, one of Minot's secondhand hubs. I plan to box everything up that I don't take with me to Fargo and keep things in storage until I find a more permanent residence. I'm aiming to consolidate all of my things into one place—not a little here, a little there, but everything I own under one roof. That's my aim.

I know I'm just 22, hardly grown up, but I need to take this step—It's another stride toward independence.

2010-03-13T01:23:00.000-08:00

• Leg warmers, that I recall purchasing on eBay my senior year of high school. In hindsight, it was a sketchy transaction and I always pictured these being darned by a 55-year old black woman (don't ask). She sent them to me in a giant Ziploc bag.

In short, I can't believe I've held on to them for this long.

That's the Stuff!

2010-03-12T01:18:00.000-08:00

It was a get-rid-of-STUFF day—sometimes I forget that simplifying can extend the realms of clothing.

• Junk from my closet: A bag full of plastic bags, old receipts, vases, exposed photographic film, empty cardboard boxes, a book I'll never read, dietary pills purchased by an online identity thief, and other knick knacks.

2010-03-06T22:32:00.000-08:00

I TOOK TWO MORE BAGS to the DBR today, and before I could finish pulling them from the back seat of my car, a worker was standing beside me ready to grab them.

It was a quick, easy parting!

2010-03-06T22:26:00.000-08:00

My Lady Gaga Day costume. Probably won't need it anytime soon.

2010-03-06T22:25:00.000-08:00

• 2 scarves

• 1 skirt

• 3 pairs of tights that make my legs look like an Ogre's.

• 2 vests — to pass along to my sister. (I had three of these vests!)

2010-03-06T22:24:00.001-08:00

• The winter coat I've owned since 2006. I've hardly worn it this year and I figured it's time to pass it along.

THE LUXURY OF LESS.

2010-03-03T22:30:00.000-08:00

I BOUGHT THE MARCH ISSUE OF Vogue the other day. I couldn't resist for several honest, legitimate reasons: 1. Tina Fey was on the cover; 2. It seemed like a good idea; 3. It was the thickest thing I could buy for five dollars. I peeled open the front cover to find I'd paid for a rabble of high fashion ads (of course, I surely knew this when I purchased it). Not only will I never own a fashionable Dolce & Gabbana spring pantsuit, I could and would not look good in it. That aside, I searched for other items of interest within Vogue's 500-some pages.

Around page 300-ish I came across something actually decent: An article about LIVING WITH LESS. Running this story in Vogue is, to me, grand irony: A magazine implicating their readers spend a shitton of money on chic, classy garb, and weigh 110 pounds while they do it (throw that weight on a 5'10" frame for good measures). This is irrelevant. The article was fantastic.

It was titled, The Luxury of Less and written by a delightful woman named Jessica Kerwin Jenkins, who wears classy rouge lipstick. The author chronicled her transition from being a city gal—years in opulent Paris and a New York life—to getting married and settling down at an old home in a quaint Maine town. She discussed the hardships: Letting go of expensive fashion, furniture, and discovering the "nuanced reality" of country life.

A few lines I found quite enjoyable:

"After years spent in New York and in Paris, my move to the wild, rural coast of Maine has been an experiment in living with less—which, as I'm learning, isn't a depraved martyrdom, cold, dark and pious, but can be instead a true luxury."

"…as plenty of other urban transplants have discovered lately, setting up a home in the deep countryside is a chance to reimagine what the good life looks like. And here among the pointy firs, gigantic snow drifts, and blue-gray waves, my husband and I have found the space to spread out, and the freedom to shape our days and to pare down, getting rid of the clutter to make room for what we love."

"…the emptiness of [our] fourteen rooms seemed to glimmer with possibility, the starkness inviting something new. We made a rule not to bring home anything that we didn't love. That meant eating from three chipped dinner plates for several months, as I scoured the antiques shops hunting for perfection…shopping that way felt right, not like a one-night stand: seeing, possessing, forgetting."

"Every spiritual path advocates renunciation, but to experiment with it while keeping your sense of humor, letting go happily, and exploring the borders of comfort and discomfort seems to be where the fruit of those efforts are most plentiful."

"Knowing what you can live without is not a mental exercise, like imagining which book you'd take to a desert island. You have to try it. When I stopped eating sugar for a week, I tasted the sweetest strawberry I've ever had in my life, and it delivered a deliciousness I couldn't have known otherwise."

"…while I'm off playing Little House on the Prairie, I wonder what is happening to my career. Some days it feel like my hours unravel from under me, that I'll never get anything written and that it's all a mistake…then I realize that space and slowness are what I need and that my ideas flow more easily that way. I thought I knew what creativity looked like: neurotic, kinetic, overflowing. There's another side to the story, and it comes with patience."

"When you believe that only one thing can make you happy, you limit your capacity to find happiness anywhere else."

and finally,

"Life demands you give something up in order to make space for something new, whether it's a sofa or a fresh way of thinking."

2010-02-25T22:19:00.000-08:00

• Coat I've owned since 2004

• RUN FOREST! RUN!

2010-02-24T12:24:00.000-08:00

• Sweater (bought secondhand to begin with, that my mom says makes me look like oatmeal)

• Black shirt (secondhand)

• Tank (likely from second grade)

2010-02-24T12:16:00.000-08:00

Clutch, intially secondhand

Old receipts, dating back as far as August. Why?

2010-02-23T12:19:00.000-08:00

Cardigan that has been handed down from sister to sister—sorry, it doesn't fit.

Slicing a Car in Half

2010-02-21T17:22:00.000-08:00

LAST NIGHT I MADE A DOWNSIZING of greater proportions.

Since August I've been driving a beautiful, shiny gas hog: a 2006 Mercury Mariner, leather, heated, loaded, and a whole 14 miles per gallon. Our relationship was bittersweet from the onset.

My younger brother was bopping around town in a '98 Civic. I used to drive a Honda Accord (until my sister planted her gym butt on the seats and claimed it) and know full well of their glorious MPG's. So I pondered, and wondered: Could I give up the luxuries of a stylish sport utility (my friends told me they felt "regal" riding in it) for a putzy Civic?

My first thoughts were, ABSOLUTELY NOT. I'd be foolish to let go of this flashy mobile.

Well, I guess I'm a fool. A smart fool. Brother drove the vehicle to Fargo, I handed him my keys, he handed me his, we both drove away. I'm now driving a '98 Civic. I get 25-ish miles per gallon. I'm saving an arm, ear, and leg on gas. And my heater makes a ridiculous humming sound. I feel more eco friendly-ish.

I don't have a six disc changer anymore, no more heated leather seats, no more digital dash, no more clickers, no more auto headlights, no more folding down seats for exceptional hauling capabilities. No more auto locks. No more four wheel drive.

I'm so, so happy.

2010-02-14T20:13:00.001-08:00

• An Old Navy clearance sweater that always made me feel the skeptical faces of onlookers, screaming in their heads, "WHO SHOT THE COUCH?!?!"

2010-02-14T20:11:00.000-08:00

• White blouse, never fit to begin with.

• Sweater, bought in Washington D.C., spring 2007, pilled.

2010-01-24T13:46:00.001-08:00

Clearly I've been slacking on posting here. No worries! More soon.

2010-01-17T11:01:00.000-08:00

• 2 ill-fitting vests

• 2 pairs of earrings I never, ever wear.

2010-01-16T18:36:00.000-08:00

I started my day as usual—putting aside the several items that I'd chosen to give up, photographing them, and carrying on.

• 1 Pair of pants I've had since high school

• 2 Shirts I don't need.

As I was photographing this morning, I backed into this table and my framed Jack Kerouac book cover came crashing down. The glass shattered.

I was dismayed, but not entirely upset—I'd only paid a mere $1 for the frame at a thrift store, so the loss was minimal. I called a glass repairman for an estimate of how much it would cost to replace and was told they'd "get back to me first thing Monday." Honestly, I don't know if I want them to.

So it went in the pile.

• 1 Pair of pants I've had since high school

• 2 Shirts I don't need.

• 1 Broken picture frame

2010-01-15T09:47:00.000-08:00

• Blue suede moccasins (scarcely worn) that make my feet look atrocious

• Purple leather cowboy boots that make my feet look giant.

2010-01-14T18:33:00.000-08:00

• 1 Emerald cardigan

2010-01-13T20:43:00.000-08:00

• 2 Handbags/totes

• 1 Scarf

• 1 Compact mirror

2010-01-12T08:43:00.000-08:00

• 1 Pair leather moccasins

• 1 Pair dated tights

• 2 Tops

• 1 Strapless bra

Coated

2010-01-11T21:54:00.000-08:00

• 2 Scarves

Rule: Everything that is photographed in front of the door — goes out the door.

I HAVE TOO MANY COATS. There is a special rack in my closet designated for coats — there are about six of them. I've a coat for casual days, for dressy days, for nights out. I have a coat to wear to work. There's a coat that I wear only on very frumpy days, a coat for church. I've too many coats.

I decided I needed to begin by giving away at least two of these suckers. Yesterday I took one of my coats up to my sister's room, and placed a note on it that read, "This is yours if you want it." She turned up later wearing it. I'm very happy for that.

The other coat I purchased several years ago and have worn 2-3 times. It's a really beautiful coat that fits me very poorly, one designated as my "Christmas Eve Mass 2007 Coat." In other words, I don't need it. Tonight my best friend came over, and I made her try it on. As fate would have it, she fit it rather beautifully. I made her take it home and she did not argue.

And who needs a billion scarves? Why? God knows I only have one neck.

So I gave away two.

I'm hoping this challenge will only grow easier.

To quell your "What-the-hecks"…

2010-01-10T20:26:00.000-08:00

YOU MIGHT BE WONDERING what the heck is going on here. What is all this bantering about "approximately nothing" and why are you rolling your eyes across the words on this page, waiting for your Easy Mac to get done in the microwave and devoting (if not wasting) your precious time on these words of, well, nothingness?

It all started this past March through May, I guess you could say, in many scattered villages and historical settlements of Western Europe. What initially began as traveling with a suitcase—one that I myself, a 100-something pound little lady, could fit into—soon bloomed—or rather, deviously deviated to the most horrible, awful case of over packing. I might as well been traveling with a kangaroo, a cello, and a full set of China. My belongings were no longer necessary but cumbersome, inconvenient and inessential. Moving about was like running in water.

I can very well recall my last night in Oxford: My suitcase, another suitcase that I'd been forced to purchase to fit my unnecessary purchases, and all my clothing strewn about in a dorm room war zone. As the suitcases filled and the mounds of my belongings ceased to diminish, I realized not everything I'd brought to Europe was coming home with me. In a difficult bout of material sentimentality, I slowly detached myself from my possessions I'd no choice but to leave behind. Sweatshirts, several pairs of favorite jeans, couples of shoes all went into a bag and straight to the local British Red Cross for donation. It was the fulfillment of giving, and having less that made me feel content, and allowed the sting of separation to retreat.

When I arrived back home in the U.S., I immediately sought simplicity. I made my home in Minot for the summer, in the same room I'd lived in all through high school. As I sifted through my belongings, I realized I was holding on to much more than I needed. Empty chocolate boxes from old boyfriends, sweatshirts from the 8th grade, jewelry I never liked to begin with. Why am I dragging this stuff around?, I thought. Certainly no one shackled my ex-ex-boyfriend's photographs and flower petals to my ankle. It was me—I'd attached all this false importance to these items. I'd overbought, overspent, and over-saved everything. I didn't need the clothes, the shoes that had always been too big for me, the excess amounts of seemingly everything.

So I dug in. I threw out. I gave away. I loved it. Bag after bag I took to the thrift stores, my life got that much lighter.

One of my dreams and personal goals in life is to travel as much as I possibly can, until my health and my money run out—and then some. Traveling, living, and seeing the world is of great importance to me. I was blessed with the opportunity to spend several months abroad and never imagined what it would do for me. I want to immerse myself in other cultures, feel totally uncomfortable, spend other currencies, learn other languages, see other skies, get lost, feel alive, eat new foods, watch people and learn how they live, struggle, breath. I've dug this midwest bubble for the whole of my life, and it pains me—I mean, the absolute itch I have to see the world is unbearable. I need a plan, I need to start now.

That's what this is. I'm slowly, but surely trying to diminish my belongings—that which is unnecessary, at least—so I can someday fit everything in a car, perhaps, and drive away. Maybe not to that extreme, but at this point in my life I want to be able to move. I'm no hippie, I just want to live with less. I want to be prepared in the likelihood that someone calls me up one day and says, "Hey, Jen, let's go to Zimbabwe and never return." Well, maybe not Zimbabwe. But somewhere! Somewhere I can see, and experience, and take something from (life-lesson wise).

So, folks, this is a year of giving and living more simply, with less. ) Life with less — I know I can be just as happy.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

"It should not be denied that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations. Absolute freedom."

—Christopher McCandless, Into the Wild

2010-01-10T13:55:00.000-08:00

1 Start with what you don't need

2 Go from there.

2010-01-03T17:00:00.000-08:00

My feeble attempts at simplifying my life, one day at a time.