Over the last two weeks, I’ve sold much of what filled my house. I’m past the point of being frugal, and well into the world of minimalism and austerity. I mean, it’s empty in here, readers.
With each sale, I feel this push and pull inside me; the wonderful feeling of letting go, which brings both loss and freedom. I’m free to spend the money inappropriately, but I won’t. I’m free to buy more stuff before I move, but I won’t. I’m free to feel loss, and I might.
Like a reflection of the bare rooms in my apartment, emptiness might affect me. It feels… lonely to be bare — like what I own hugs and tucks me in at night (I wish!). Everyone from my parents to random visitors have remarked at the empty nature of my home in the past. I’m curious what they’d think now.
Part of me wonders why I crave to fill every nook and cranny with goods. Why is it more natural for me to fill a house than empty it? Why do I feel embarrassed to welcome people into my home without stuff occupying the space?
I’m living with an everything-must-go mentality right now. A fire sale of sorts. And every purchase that goes against my new, frugal self seems to be in violation of my debt reduction plan. I don’t want that to happen.
I can’t predict how I’ll feel over the coming months; for now, I’m taking action to change my life. All that remains is me — that’s the one consistency. What fills my room is me — for better and for worse.