The Joy of Minimalism. Zoey Arielle Poulsen
which add irreplaceable value to you personally, such as spending more time with your family or focusing more on your health. Once you discover the true value of time and the joy it can bring you, you will realize life is better lived enjoying every day through moments, rather than trying to find enjoyment through things.
Becoming a Minimalist: My Journey
Perhaps I was born a minimalist—I mean, I did arrive on this earth as a naked screaming bundle of joy. I didn’t feel the automatic need to go out and clothe myself in designer goods, purchase something to feel endorphins, or own the latest iPhone to prove I was successful in life—I simply wanted to be held. I think that is the case for each and every one of us.
Society, our upbringing, and the media are what sway us to accumulate “stuff” to become happier. The average person is exposed to hundreds of advertisements every single day. Having had a career in marketing, I can say hands down that the goal of marketing is to persuade you to purchase something, regardless of whether it is ethical or not. Thus, the hundreds of advertisements we are exposed to per day are often successful in communicating that we will be happier by purchasing more. Somehow, we expect that by filling our makeup bags, closets, and homes with things, happiness will burst through the door like the Kool-Aid jug character, screaming “OH YEAAAH!” This, however, is not reality.
Brands succeed in selling to us by taking the time to research what our society is interested in and what sparks people’s excitement or attention. In turn, we as consumers spend hours and hours researching products and reading product reviews, and we have no problem spending a full day walking around the mall. We swipe our credit cards and check our bank account balances, yet how many of us take the time to explore whether we are actually balanced and happy?
Here’s a brief introduction to how I got sucked into the bubble of materialism, floated around in it for the majority of my life, and then popped it—only to realize how little it actually took to become fulfilled in life.
While I was growing up, I was pushed by my parents to spend the majority of my time outdoors: bike riding, playing road hockey, or building forts with my brothers. My fondest memories are of camping on Vancouver Island and running around the backyard with my cousins; we truly didn’t need much more than our imaginations to have a good time. I was always taught to enjoy simplicity, respect the outdoors, and work for what I wanted. I was never one of those children who asked for a new possession and expected it to be given without any effort. Thank you, Dad.
In elementary school, I began to become aware of the “outside world”, and with that came influencers: friends, the media, The Spice Girls, etc. Those were exciting times for sure —discovering new worlds that were so very different from my own. I often daydreamed about what it would be like to wear sparkling outfits and platform shoes. I also felt a little envy growing up with the belief that I might never be able to obtain some of the possessions I dreamt about, because my parents would never buy them for me and/or I would not be able to afford them myself.
However, things changed when I landed my first “real job” working as a courtesy clerk (yes, a bagging-and-buggy girl) at a local grocery store. Having my own paycheck meant the money I made was mine to spend.
I would wait patiently for my biweekly paychecks, already planning out where every dollar and cent was going to go the moment it was deposited. I’d spend my money on clothes, DVDs, food—basically, anything I wanted—and I felt a thrill with every purchase because I was in control of it; I had newfound freedom.
I spent my free time on day trips to the mall with my friends. I always enjoyed seeing how many things I could purchase with my latest paycheck. If I saw shirts on sale at a good price, such as two shirts for ten dollars, you bet I had to jump on that deal. The phrase “the more you buy, the more you save” was a little too familiar to me.
Of course, once high school came, materialism hit a new level when name-brand clothing became a “must” to fit in and when I finally got my driver’s license. The pressure was on as a teenager—somehow it felt necessary to prove my wealth as a person by displaying it any way that I could.
Next came the university, where I had to make new friends —what better way to make new friends than having nice, new clothing? Along with copious amounts of clothing came furnishing a flat, buying a new car, and a bunch of other junk I can’t even remember now.
When I was twenty years old, in the summer before my final year at University, I went backpacking through Europe by myself. The experience was nothing less than transformative; and it completely blows my mind now, as I can’t imagine how I managed the adventure alone with paper maps and without a cellphone (first world problems, I know).
During this adventure of mine, I was able to find myself to an extent I never had before. Apparently, the real Zoey was hidden somewhere underneath an excess of clothes and possessions, and all she needed to be discovered was a backpack and a map of Europe. During this time abroad, I pulled back the layers of materialism in my life and was able to explore pure authenticity.
Had I been aloof my whole life?
Stepping foot onto the Copenhagen-bound plane in Vancouver meant that the journey ahead of me was my time to explore the world and myself on my own. While I was away from my life in Canada, I realized what made me feel alive and fulfilled. To my surprise, it wasn’t my new car, it wasn’t my boyfriend, it wasn’t shopping; it was adventure.
Throughout my travels, I didn’t feel a need to shop my way through Europe—I simply wanted to spend the money I had on special and memorable experiences. (Who was this girl?) Once I started to taste the freedom of real-life adventure, I yearned for cultural moments and significant conversations. I was observing, discovering, and transforming. Spending time with my family in Denmark also introduced me to the Scandinavian aesthetic: clean, airy, and simple—I noticed the benefits to my mind immediately. Stepping into a minimalist home instantly felt stress-free, breathable, and open. These spaces were like nothing I had ever seen before in North America. I remember scribbling notes into the back of my journal like, “What I want my future house to look like: white, with nothing but a little bit of simple luxury inside.” It’s true what everyone says about Hygge in Denmark, it is the coziest feeling.
While I was away, I forgot about the things that I owned that weren’t in the contents of my nylon backpack; when I returned to Canada, I felt overwhelmed by my belongings. I had countless clothes that I had forgotten I had, some still with tags, jewelry I kept for what I thought were sentimental reasons, and more than enough furniture for my means. Truthfully, I had no real relationship with any of my possessions—I had forgotten about them all. I realized that, over the span of my life, I had accumulated too many belongings—more than I could manage, clean, or take care of.
I felt like a hoarder, even though I was not even close to some of the people I had seen on the reality TV shows about hoarding. I felt overwhelmed because I realized I had consumed so many things that weren’t necessarily providing benefit to me, or even enjoyment. While on my journey, I had seen people who had so much less than I did, yet who were extremely content with their lives. These countless observations gave rise to the large and unignorable question of “why?”
Despite this, when I had settled back in at home and felt spontaneous enough to get rid of all my belongings, I somehow suppressed my intuition and fell back into my old patterns. My cycle included going into hibernation mode while burying myself in studies and work, then transitioning away and racing like a mad woman to buy anything I could get my hands on that would give me a pick-me-up.
Shopping was like my espresso after a rough night’s sleep, only I felt like I was sleeping my way through life and like I needed a lot more than an espresso to cure it. Shopping for clothing, makeup, or other products was addictive to me like a drug, especially during stressful times at university (when as a student I really did not have the funds for such a lifestyle). The new purchases lost their sparkle after a few rounds, and then, like a junkie, I’d find myself at the mall again or filling my online shopping cart. I was, and I felt, out of control.
Although my habits were a little ridiculous, there was one major aspect of my Euro trip mental shift which did stick with me through the remainder