#have less

It seems so simple right? I never thought of myself as materialistic. That is until I decided to backpack Australia and realized how many things I’d been unnecessarily holding onto over the last decade. I realized that even though I was moving every 6 months to 2 years, I couldn’t let go of certain keepsakes. Silly things, looking back, just a benign little bundle of clothes and nick-knacks that, over the years, had grown into quite a large burden to be carrying with me on every move. It eventually came down to me seeking storage for all of this or getting rid of it. So, with a bottle of wine and a couple of joints, I forced myself to rifle through the years of memories and really think about what was necessary and what was not. In the end, I donated eight large trash bags of clothes, two boxes worth of shoes, and all of my art, jewelry, and random household things. I finally managed to consolidate it all down to 4 suitcases of varying sizes. But it was still too much. I feel like the universe was trying to show me this right from the start, when Fiji Airways lost my main and most “important” bag, the one they charged me for.

When we landed in Australia, excited for the upcoming adventure, our hearts quickly plummeted upon realizing my most important bag didn’t arrive with us. It turned out to be quite a blessing, as we decided to spend our first week in surf camp and didn’t need the extra weight (light flickering in my head). After two weeks and multiple emails and phone messages, I finally got all my shit back.

Working 50+ hour weeks in Sydney was not fulfilling and quite taxing on the psyche. That was not what we’d gone out there to do. So we bought a station wagon and hit the road. Every evening was a “shuffle” of moving every suitcase from the back to the front so we could set up our bed in the back and sleep (when we couldn’t set up the tent), and in the morning, moving everything from the front to the back to keep driving. At times, Australia had a way of making this more difficult for us. Like our first experience with green ants (run the fuck away!), the torrential downpours of the rainy season in far North Queensland (fml, it’s coming in sideways), and mosi (mosquito) infested rain forests (the itching never ceased). Whenever a bed was offered to us to avoid all that, we were happy to oblige.

Throughout the road trip, I kept noticing a recurring theme on most bathroom stalls, rest areas, and random signs, all with the same graffiti- The more you own, the more owns you. Every time I read it, all I could think about was those suitcases and the few things I couldn’t part with back home. They really did, in a way, own me. Things. If I lost my favorite pair of shoes (or that suitcase) could I survive? Absolutely. I’d be a little sad for a moment but it would pass and it wouldn’t hurt me in the long run. A little money lost and a little less to carry. One less thing that owned me and with it’s loss, I felt a little lighter. It got me to thinking about the box of pictures back home, before Facebook, and even about all the pictures on Facebook. What if all that was lost? It’s not entirely unrealistic. I feel like we are always trying to fight the inevitable outcome of loss. Everything and everyone in our lives will eventually be lost to us and us to them. Why do we struggle so hard against it when life proves to us that it’s a constant?

I’m coming to empathize with “hoarders”. I can understand why they need those objects to feel security. Life is constantly changing but they can take bits and pieces from it and keep it permanently as comfort. Something that won’t change. Except, it does. Those things begin to wear and tear, break, or get lost in the mess. What happiness do we have to truly gain from fighting against something that is guaranteed? I think the fear of loss eventually begins to outweigh the joy we get from that thing, it makes us fearful of the future and the world.

For all of these reasons the things we own really do begin to own us. I don’t want to be owned or to be a slave to something that has no value other than that which I put on it. Traveling and moving become so much easier when you have less to pack and keep track of. If I never had that pair of shoes (or suitcase) to lose in the first place, I never would have felt remorse for their loss.

Did you know that a new Samsung or Iphone is the same price as a roundtrip ticket to Europe or India?

Throughout all this lugging around and shuffling I realized that I’d rather have stories to tell than things to show. I’d rather have an old dinged car that will get me where the people are scarce than a souped up one to feel better about my social status. Who will be more upset if the car gets damaged? I don’t want to put my happiness into a car. And if I don’t want to put my happiness into a car, then why the fuck would I want to put it into a suitcase or a pair of shoes? (blinding light in my head)

I feel like the universe kept trying to show me something throughout that trip. All that stuff was ultimately not making me happy because I was too worried about losing it or protecting it from damage. So much so that it all became more of a burden on me than a reward. Sure, it would be nice to have a place to store all my shit, but then what? I’d be worried about it getting burglarized or burning down while I was away. Oh no! All my things! Caught again in this incessant loop. 

So I’m left with a realization that I cannot rationally deny- The less I have, the more freedom I have. The more freedom I have, the easier it is for me to focus on things I need to work on myself and that fulfill me; the more I’m able to do. The more I’m able to do, the more I learn and grow. And the more I grow, the greater an individual I’m able to become.

Have less.

Do more.

Such a Jerry Maguire move.