The Process of Minimalism Is Just as Important as the End Result

Or what happened when I reached "the end" of Minimalism

I expected “the end of Minimalism” to be akin to Nirvana.

Once I’d finished decluttering and wrestled my diary into shape, I thought it would be peaceful. I imagined time-filled days stretching out like childhood endless summers. A halt to the chattering in my head.

That’s what Minimalist bros and influencers told me would happen, anyway.

By many major definitions, I did reach the end of minimalism. I pared my stuff down to just over 100 items, most of which would fit into one suitcase. You can’t get more traditionally minimalist than that.

And I never expected to feel restless. Weird.

And whilst I honestly would never return to my stuff-filled life, there are days when I wish I hadn’t glimpsed the end of the Minimalist rainbow.

Because it’s a weird place to live.

I miss the process

Oh yeah, the process. Some people struggle with it but I love it. I love how a clear space facilitates a clear mind.

Even Minimalists still accumulate stuff. In my case, I have a handful of things stored in my childhood bedroom. I was visiting a few weeks back and decided to do a spot of decluttering.

I felt myself getting lighter with every thrown used eyeliner or donated sweater. I remembered how much I enjoy culling the crap.

That feeling is addictive.

Then my brother made me watch Sort Your Life Out, a British reality show where a family moves everything they own into a warehouse, all neatly laid out, to prove how much stuff we really have in our homes.

The family then spends a few days jettisoning anything they no longer need, want or use.

This being reality TV, it’s a bit shameful and a bit judgy, but it’s also fascinating. I felt catharsis on behalf of the family as they threw out 546 plastic bags and 105 bottles of gungy nail polish. I was itching to get into that warehouse with them.

When it comes to Minimalism, the process is almost as important as the end result. Psychologically speaking decluttering lends a sense of control. It takes the power back. When you look at a decluttered room, one you've spent hours curating, diligently and sustainably throwing away items you no longer use, there is a huge sense of achievement. Of lightness.

I like that feeling.

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If I’m being truly honest with you, there’s been another strange — and specific — side effect to reaching the “end of minimalism.”

Nowadays I’ve lost the delicious feeling of the conflict.

We’re a weird bunch, us humans. We strive and we strive and we think when we reach our goal, we’ll be happy.

Sometimes we reach it and we’re not happy. Like Hans Gruber in Die Hard when he says:

When Alexander (The Great) saw the breadth of his domain he wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer.

Alex might have been happier striving for world domination than achieving it. And most of us would be happier if we didn’t focus so hard on the end result.

That includes decluttering as much as anything else.

We humans are addicted to tension. It’s why films, even the fluffy ones, will always include some sort of conflict. The moment when you think all is lost. It’s why home renovation shows spend 50 minutes renovating and only 10 on the reaction. It’s why every rom-com ends as soon as the couple gets together.

We don’t want to spend time on the end result, we want to see how people got there. Because what comes next is boring.

In the case of minimalism, it is kind of boring. Minimalism is a tool to help you live a better life, not a life in itself. Don’t let any of the Minimalist bros tell you otherwise.

So what does that mean for you?

It means enjoy the fucking ride.

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This is great news for you.

It means you can stop thinking life is going to be better once you’ve wrestled your bathroom into a high-end hotel knockoff. Or when you completely clear your diary.

It means you can take pleasure in the small wins, right this second. The cleared-out cupboard, clean and organized. The extra headspace garnered by a minimized kitchen.

Enjoy it now, not just at the end.

Forget minimalist Nirvana, it doesn’t exist anyway. Despite living for three years like some sort of minimalist extremist, I’ve just moved to Porto and I need to buy mugs. Blankets. Little things to make my new home feel like mine.

Life ebbs and flows. Stuff ebbs and flows. Keep it chill, don’t overbuy, don’t over minimize, and you’ll enjoy the whole minimalist life — including the process — so, so much more.

And when you need some help decluttering, give me a call.

As it turns out, I love it.

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