I have been craving less for a while now. I want s smaller living space, a more manageable wardrobe, and fewer possessions. Having come of age in the era of “Greed is Good,” where status symbols reigned supreme, I admit I participated in some of the excesses of the 80’s and 90’s. But I have grown weary from the Too Much of it all. There is just too much stuff in my life. Do I really need four Bundt cake pans? Three Spring-form? Why so many champagne flutes? My closets contain countless items that I have not worn in ages. I just want a decent pair of jeans and a T-shirt that fits.
I never got into the crazy-expensive handbag thing. Always seemed ridiculous to me. The really, really exclusive ones come equipped with a device that can tell you if your lunch companion is carrying a counterfeit version. That’s a tad off-putting. I mean really, if you care about that, I do not want to dine with you. I also could care less about cars. I cannot tell a Hyundai from a Range Rover. I once dated a man who was very proud of his Mercedes and who got upset every time I headed to any old black mid-size vehicle in the parking lot, mistaking it for his.
“That’s a Honda for God’s sake! That’s not MY car!!!!!” He would say clutching his head.
He was a nice man but overly fond, I thought, of a mere machine. My current auto is a 2001 CRV and I love the look and feel of it. I am not that keen on driving anyway, so as long as it is comfortable and I can see out of it, I am good. There are areas though, where I have engaged in my fair share of Too-muchness. I have, in the past, spent ridiculous amounts of money on homes and clothing (I once had an obscene collection of shoes), so I am not claiming sanctity on the issue of consumerism. Preparing my house to go up for sale has served to further illustrate my guilt in this matter.
The pantry alone was the stuff of nightmares. “Stuffed” being the operative word there. Among the ridiculous assembly of goods was a jar of every conceivable spice, most of them long expired, many of them duplicates. There were eight different kinds of flour and six gluten-free cornbread mixes. I cannot remember the last time I ate cornbread so that one baffles. Ten different vinegars and an equal array of oils. Seventeen cans of beans. I am not a big eater of beans, so that begs the question: Why??? There were also six enchilada sauces and an inexplicable collection of pastas of every shape, size, and derivation. Flat lasagna noodles, corkscrew, orzo, penne, and spaghetti to name a few. There was pasta made from corn, buckwheat, quinoa, and chickpeas, and even one made from hearts of palm. Hearts of palm? Who even thought of that?
Nuts!
I cannot bring myself to discuss the state of my freezers. Yes, plural. There are two, and yes, I live ALONE.
Ridiculous!
Looking for an apartment in L.A. was eye-opening in more ways than one. As expected, the prices were sky-high, but there is also a clear trend toward smaller living spaces and bigger communal amenities. I looked at several of the high-end buildings that make up the new Hollywood neighborhoods. The apartments are small but include the use of a gym, yoga studio, pool, and a barbecue area with all the bells and whistles. Most even had a small room with special tubs and equipment for washing your dog. All or most of them are located near shops and restaurants, so that one can walk to pretty much everything.
On a tour of one of these, we were suddenly joined in the elevator by a bevy of young women wearing only thong bathing suits. Their faces were beaming as they clutched their poolside beverages, not a bit concerned that their ample and mostly firm behinds were completely bare. It was sightly, to be sure, but it struck me as a tad unsanitary.
This new lifestyle has big upsides. The walkability factor is better for the environment, and the communality encourages socialization. It is also one that I am too old to inhabit. There were a few too many backsides on display for my taste. I will leave the midday fanny viewing to the young folk. Seemed like they were having a time of it.
I found a modest two-bedroom in a leafy old-school neighborhood on the cusp of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood. It is nothing fancy but I took to it immediately. Something in the rooms just felt right. As a bonus, when I toured the building and strolled the street, I was happy to discover that everyone, to a man and woman, was fully clothed.
It’s the little things.
The drive for more--more growth, bigger profits--is not healthy or necessary. The investors who demand quarterly reports showing increased productivity are lining their pockets at the expense of person and planet. All of this more more more is destroying the environment, the middle-class economy, and our social fabric. The people coming into peak adulthood right now have caught on to that. A recent study found that 56% of Gen Z and Millennials say they would consider living in a tiny house. The trend toward small is gaining traction and could not be more timely.
I sent a niece packing with a suitcase full of my clothes. The pantry items have been earmarked and distributed among friends. The too-many bottles of shampoo with a half-inch of product in them have been combined. We are down from three dog beds to two, from eight sheet sets to three. The many extra blankets have found new homes.
There is less and that feels good.
I still have not tackled the freezers plural. That will have to be done in the evening. I am going to need a serious Chardonnay glass full of courage to even begin.
On we go …
So GREAT! So true and of course very funny!! New DIRECTIONS!
Rock on, dear one! Godspeed!