SNIPPETS

The pregnant young hairdresser cut my hair with the utmost precision. It was a Monday morning, the the budget hair salon was characteristically devoid of people, as the bulk of clients frequent on the weekends.  ‘How far along are you?’- I asked. ‘I’ve got six weeks to go’- she answered as her stool swiftly glided from my left to my right. We exchanged more words. She told me it was her first. Then she made eye contact with me in the mirror, her scissors stopped- ‘It’s going to be my only child. I’ve always wanted a family of three that travels overseas. Not a family of four that only goes camping’.

***

When my mind is quiescent, when the worries stop and the letting go happens, I breathe deep.  I release the tense shoulders and neck muscles. I read novels while letting the bookkeeping pile. I lounge around in my dressing gown drinking matcha tea and enjoy my son deeply; my hands trace the contours of his round rosy cheeks while my arms gently wrap him in a light squeeze. Gratitude trickles into my heart and life suddenly becomes very bearable.

***

I {wrote about this} before. Now, strangely, I am my bag. I identify with the object so deeply it feels as though it is an extension of my being. Small, unadorned and weighs next to nothing. It’s a cheap calico bag.
I don’t like the crisp new bag but with use, the fabric crinkles. Harsh lines form as the objects inside the bag yield to gravity. Light stains appear and the bag strap softens and moulds its way around my shoulder. It is comfortable. I feel at home.

All the moons, stars , jeans and plain T-shirts.

I don't go through life thinking about certain things on a daily basis, things such as auroras on Jupiter or the spherical and the odd-shaped moons of Saturn, how these moons named after the mighty Gaelic and Inuit gods and how they journey silently through space, unknown to most humans most of the time.

I approach my clothes in a similar way, with little attention paid and a high degree of automation. While I am a passionate admirer of the brand Gorman - how fantastically bold and colourful and centre-of-the-party the prints are, most of the time, I wear my dark coloured jeans with my plain T-shirts, mostly grey. The uniform simplifies life. It frees up energy wanting, debating and shopping. It leaves plenty of room for admiring things from afar. All that little pockets of energy and time saved usually knit together into a sense of freedom and gratitude for the good things I have in my life.

The capricious Melbourne weather is actually kind to my wardrobe. Except for a few handfuls of hot days in summer, jeans and short-sleeved T-shirts are perfect for a base layer, before knits and jackets pile on top.

I am not saying I am dressing this way for the rest of my life. No. I know myself well enough to realise that I don't usually commit to a certain way of doing things forever. But now, I feel that I've truly stumbled upon something that both simplifies and transforms at the same time. And for that I am grateful.

I'm not my bag.

I call myself a minimalist, not because I have so few possessions that I can proudly do youtube video and show you everything I own in under two minutes. No. I am a minimalist because, for a few years now, one of my core beliefs and primary desires is this insatiable urge to contract rather than to expand the number of things I own.

I have one pair of black shoes that I wear ninety five percent of the time, one pair of heels, one pair of ballet flats, one pair of summer sandals, but that's not the point really. I spend money mostly on e-books, take-away coffees and colourful salads. My purchases often don't have a physical form, they don't add to the small number of things I have already own. What they do add to, what they grow exponentially in, is this incredible sense of freedom. Every morning, as I sit in my mostly empty room at home enjoying a cup of coffee, I feel as though I could easily PACK UP  and leave my life ANY TIME, even though the need for such a drastic act of abandonment has never arisen. I am telling you all this because I am about to tell you how I fell off the minimalist wagon.

A few months ago I caught up with a friend whom I  had not seen in a while. She works in the same industry as me. I had a good time, the meal was thoroughly enjoyable, until I noticed her bag. It was small, Chanel's, with a price tag of at least five thousand dollars. On that very day I had been walking around the city with my husband and son. At that very moment, my bag was a cheap vegan shoulder bag, wet from water spillage, bulging with my son's half-eaten package of rice crackers. Against a bag that was neat, elegant, and exquisite mine seemed unorganised, disheveled, cringe-worthy, and JUST-NOT-GOOD-ENOUGH.

Now, not-enough-ness is a peculiar thing. It compels people to do many strange things. So the next day after the bag incident I went shopping for a designer bag. I know. I know.

In the air-conditioned haven that's called Chadstone I agonised for hours. A few thousand dollars seem unreasonable given that those damn bags don't even suit my needs. They were either too heavy, too small, or too expensive. I wondered what the hell I was doing there. I wondered why I cared what people may think of my bag. I wondered if people even notice my bag at all. In the end, I settled on a large tote, light-weight, with a price tag of five hundred dollars. It it still slightly impractical for my everyday use, and until this moment it's still in its dust bag, waiting for the next occasion where I meet with same industry people with whom I think I SHOULD look successful.

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