living a minimalistic life in a world of over consumption

hello.

as i’ve been navigating this career change, i’ve been trying to put the puzzle pieces of my childhood back together, and within this reflection, it got me thinking about my aunt and uncle. before i go into it, let me preface a few things…

after my father left my mother, he went through a mid-life crisis and bought an over abundance of shit that include: a boat, a motorcycle, a motorhome, a few atv four-wheelers, a sand car, and new boobs and a new mercedes benz for the woman he cheated on my mother with. i’d also like to add that he bought her rotten children a ridiculous amount of toys to flaunt around my brother and i anytime we would go over to their house. at the time, i was going through a major harry potter phase, obsessed with hermione granger like every other literary girlie. before my father left my mother, he would read harry potter to me before bed on the large burgundy lounge chair in my parents bedroom. it’s one of the few good memories i have of him and during that time i would cling to those moments whenever i felt sad or alone.

as we approached our first chirstmas as a “new family”, one of the kids received a large life-size barbie car that she drove around inside the house and would laugh at me when she would accidentally run over my toes with it. her mother would laugh at me, too. whenever i was forced to go to my father’s house, i often stayed in my room with my hermoine doll and read or wrote in my journals to avoid the drama of this new family of mine. things got cataclysmically worse as i got older and the women he brought home (and married and divorced repeatedly) were into heavy drugs and were physically and emotionally abusive to me. i would beg my mom to let me stay with her, but the court orders said otherwise.

whenever my father would fight with whatever woman he was currently in a relationship with, he often made it up to them by gifting them extravagant things. birthdays and holidays made me feel like harry potter living in a dursley world.

my mother, on the other hand, also fell victim to over consumption, but she prioritized my brother and me over every single thing in her life. she wanted to give us the entire world, and she did to the best of her ability. my mother loved us more than anything, and even to this day, if i’m sick or anxious or afraid, i know she’s always there for me. but as a young girl, i always felt like there was too much stuff around. not necessarily gifts or toys, but rather, an abundance of things to fill this void after my father left. my mother, despite how much she loved us, was also enabling and what i needed from her more than anything was structure, discipline, a strong voice to tell me what was right from wrong, and someone who was open to communicating with me about difficult subject matters that most tweens and teens are curious about.

growing up, i never wanted things. i craved experiences and escapes and the magical, mysterious, simple life of my aunt and uncle.

about 2-3 times a year, my aunt and uncle would visit us from wherever they were living at the time. they were both teachers and had one son about the same age as me. when i was a little girl, they lived in a historical home in santa cruz buried deep in the redwood forests. every so often, my mom would bravely drive the 7 hour car drive up to their house with my brother and me. my goodness, how i loved their home. this is what a home is supposed to feel like i often thought to myself. it felt lived in and loved. the house was two stories with a spiral staircase that lead to their downstairs guest bedroom. there were hardwood floors and eclectic rugs from different countries. it overlooked the redwoods and it would rain frequently- a serene picturesque landscape of greenery that i would marvel at as i looked out of the window and daydreamed about living in a place like this one day.

they had art all over their home that meant something. there was a story behind the different paintings and sculptures anytime i would ask about a particular piece. there were books stacks everywhere about history, art, philosophy, literary fiction and everything in between. even my little cousins room felt comforting- a bookshelf filled to the brim with classic children’s literature from all around the world. there was art on the walls from different countries as well and he had one stuffed animal sitting on his bed, a little green plush bear named patrice (french for patrick because he was born on st. patrick’s day).

i loved mornings at their house. when we woke up, they would always have two different types of cereals for breakfast: the barbara’s puffin cereal or peanut butter panda puffs (if you know, you know). the kids would drink odwalla orange juice and they would make coffee from their 1930s vintage italian moka pot. they discussed worldly things that reflected the literature that surrounded their home and discussed articles from the new yorker magazine they had read that morning. i listened intently and wanted nothing more than to be able to have these types of conversation with the people i lived with.

they were really into cooking, but they didn’t eat much, and not in an unhealthy disordered eating type of way, but rather, in a way that felt like it was just enough until they were satisfied. i vividly remember going to the store with them one afternoon to pick up groceries to make dinner for the evening- a pesto pasta with pine nuts and maple glazed carrots. they picked up the absolute bare minimum you would need to make this dish and they shopped locally from small markets. this was very different than the grocery store trip experiences i had back home where we would walk out of the store with a cart filled to the brim with stuff we really didn’t need.

right around the time when my father left, my aunt and uncle decided to live abroad with my cousin and they did this throughout the majority of my childhood up until early 20s. they taught english around the world and lived in france for several years, then lived in spain for a few more years, then spent about 4 years in italy all while raising their son in this multicultural diverse non-traditional upbringing that i envied and desired more than anything. they spoke 5 languages and anytime they would stay with us and visit, they would speak amongst one another in whatever language they pleased. they read to my little cousin in french in the morning and then again in spanish during bedtime. i was fascinated- so much so that one visit when i was about 12 years old, i wrote a 3 page essay about why my mom should let me live with them. she obvious did not consent to this, even though my aunt and uncle were more than willing to let me tag along on their adventures abroad.

it wasn’t until i was much older when i realized why they never wanted to attend family events or reunions. they often kept to themselves and felt ostracized, especially by my grandfather who would frequently speak badly about them behind their backs about how “they were just teachers”, and how he couldn’t possibly fathom why they would was to escape the mundanity of the suburban hell i was brought up in. when i graduated with my bachelors degree in english literature, my grandfather said something along the lines of, “it’s a good thing you plan on going into medicine. you don’t want to end up living frugally like your aunt and uncle with that english degree”. and in that moment, everything clicked for me. after i graduated college, they moved to portland in another beautiful historical home and worked in the portland public library as librarians (a dream). but my grandfather and other members of my family would continue ridiculing their lifestyle. i finally had enough of it during one of our reunions and i stood up for my aunt and uncle. i told them i wouldn’t be attending anymore family events like this if they continue speaking poorly about my family. and alas, they continued, so i stopped going.

when you’re raised with a specific narrative about what it means to be successful, it’s hard to look outside of that and challenge those views with something that feels foreign to you, despite what your intuition tells you about what it is you think you want in this life.

in a country where everyone looks like their living in a wall-e simulation with over consumption, uncultured, ignorant lifestyles, i craved their minimalist simple life that felt more wholesome than anything i had ever experienced.

as i’ve gotten older, i’ve found myself reverting back to wanting this level of contentment and simplicity. i often write about my desire to have a simple cottage life in the english countryside, and despite the over dramatization of this silly little dream, it feels very real and grows stronger as i’ve learned how to heal my inner child and figure out what it is i truly want in this life.

i don’t have a cohesive ending to this letter to conclude my thoughts because i’m still very much in this exploratory stage of my life, despite feeling too old to be here. i’m learning what i don’t want and what i’m willing to compromise and sacrifice in order to create a life worth living.

i do, however, want to leave you with some recommendations for books and films that emulate these feelings.

books:

the lost estate by henri alain-fournier: this novel explores the simplicity and nostalgia of childhood and lost paradise, capturing the essence of minimalistic living through its depiction of a serene and idyllic rural life.

a room with a view by e.m. forster: the story focuses on personal growth and the search for a simpler, more authentic life, highlighting the contrast between the confining societal expectations and the freedom found in embracing a minimalistic, genuine existence.

only dull people are brilliant at breakfast by oscar wilde: this collection of witticisms and reflections encourages a life of simplicity and authenticity, valuing wit and intellectual clarity over material excess.

coraline by neil gaiman: this tale of a young girl discovering a parallel world emphasizes the importance of appreciating the simple, true aspects of one’s life over superficial desires and temptations.

kitchen by banana yoshimoto: the novel celebrates the simplicity and comfort found in everyday domestic spaces and routines, portraying the kitchen as a central place of healing and connection, reinforcing the beauty of minimalistic living.

films:

when harry met sally (1989)

kiki’s delivery service (1989)

notting hill (1999)

practical magic (1998)

101 dalmatians (1961)

the before trilogy (1995)

you’ve got mail (1998)

serendipity (2001)

friends (1994)

sex and the city (1998)

okay, that’s all i have for you today. i’m curious to read your thoughts on this topic. comment below how you’re feeling.

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i love you.

bye.

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