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Ownership Isn’t Real, We Rent This Life

By Frugaling 41 Comments

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Manhattan Beach Ocean Photo

“Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”
–Lao Tzu

There was a time when I could describe exactly what my life would look like in 5, 10, 15, and 20 years. It felt so grown up and reassuring. I was the man with the plan.

There was a time when I envisioned a beautiful home with a yard. It had windows overlooking an ocean. It’d be mine. I could wake up to it every day.

There was a time when I owned a car and wanted to buy an even nicer one. I held my smartphone, but wanted a newer one. I was obsessed with latest upgrades and features.

There was a time when I looked at my ratty spiral notebook and needed a chic Moleskine. Imagine what it would be like to write in those acid-free pages and flip open that iconic cover.

Largely, those days of desire without logical reason are dying out. I’m no longer urgently pursuing or planning for material possessions. Nowadays, the white picket fence isn’t for me, and I’ve finally realized why.

Life is exceptionally fragile and short. Think about it, our 70, 80, or 90 years represent but a fraction of the Earth’s existence. We are little blips on this planet, and unrecognizably small objects within this solar system, galaxy, and universe.

From the time we exit the womb, we are bombarded with messages that demand our attention. They don’t stop until we do. All five of our senses are put into warp drive, as they begin to process everything around us. Despite our relative insignificance, we cling to material goods and messages — buying whatever we can afford and socking away the rest for rainy days.

These messages beg us to consume, own, and carve out space. They tell us that, with maturity and income, you should own a residence. We are expected — from employers to families to spouses — to buy a car to get to work. But ownership is a figment of our capitalistic imaginations. In this economy, it’s easy to be pulled into a mental trap of expectations and hopes for a possessive future.

Each step countering the current culture of consumption is like running into a 50-mph headwind — you’re not moving fast. Bucking the status quo means isolating yourself from society’s expectations of amassing wealth. But the reality is we don’t own anything — ever. I mean it!

We are simply temporary custodians — holders — of physical objects that we lug around. We fill containers, storage warehouses, and entire homes with stuff. We bear witness to various forms of mass, but all fade — like us. Even the most prized possessions will transfer to someone else or perish. No matter how much home and life insurance we take out, we will eventually pass away.

Truthfully, we rent this life. It’s not solely ours to destroy, abuse, love, and cherish. We share this rental with everyone. Any rental necessitates respect. Destroy another’s property or object, and you’ll be on the hook to replace and/or fix it.

There’s more to life than amassing more than thy neighbor. Forego the mortgages, down payments, and constant maintenance. Choose a life that honors and recognizes everyone. When we rent this life, we recognize that we are just maintaining it for future generations.

Filed Under: Minimalism Tagged With: apartment, Capitalism, Consumerism, house, Life, minimal, Minimalism, ocean, rent, view

What’s Your Most Prized Possession?

By Frugaling 29 Comments

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Colorado State University Oval

Hello, roomie!

The windows were open, and I could smell the grass outside. It was green and sunny — not a cloud in the sky. A prototypical Colorado day followed me around, as I moved what little I owned into a small cubby, under a lofted mattress, and into a petite wooden desk.

It was move-in day for college — fall 2007.

I rolled out a single-bed mattress sheet, chintzy comforter, and single pillow cover. The mattress was an ocean blue, and perpetually felt uncomfortable. But it was my new home.

Somewhere in this process, I learned to live with less. I didn’t call it minimalism back then. It didn’t feel like minimalism.

Forced space? Mandated minimalism

I wasn’t given the option to live any other way in college. My closet only accepted a few shirts, shoes, pants, etc. My bedroom didn’t allow for larger mattresses. And my desk only had room for the basic necessities: pens, paper, and laptop.

After my first year of college, I moved into another residence hall to become an “RA” or resident assistant. I loved my position. It was and still is my favorite job. But even then, with a little more room, I was forced to stay minimal.

Now, minimalism doesn’t always mean being frugal. Despite my enclosures, I cycled through lots of things. There was a $1200 road bike (kept outside and then sold), a mini fridge (under the bed and then sold), electronics (a desktop computer and then sold), and more. For everything I bought, I sold something else — both to afford the new item and make space.

I was hardly frugal. I was mad with the need to consume away my problems, concerns, and stresses of school. No matter how much I purchased, the feelings remained.

Where I failed budgetarily, I seemed to succeed in minimalism. My room was still neat and tidy, and presentable to residents and their parents. I didn’t have a need for lots of stuff — nor could I put it anywhere.

While I wasn’t ready to change my spending habits until years later, an inclination towards minimalism was cemented. All it took was a forced restriction from many years of residence hall rooms to prevent the purchase of more than I needed. I developed an affinity for a clean, organized room. I didn’t need or want to have tons of things.

The losses hurt immensely

Another component pushed me towards minimalism: loss. In college I was exposed directly and indirectly to losses in life. Three of my grandparents passed away, three people died by suicide on campus that I knew, and I went through some pretty nasty breakups.

These losses encouraged me to look beyond the petty grievances and consumer comforts of society. What was important was the life of those around me, and spending time with those I cared about. Again, things weren’t as important as people.

During this period of tragedy, I realized how loss of material possessions didn’t matter. Suddenly, I stopped worrying about people stealing my stuff, things failing, and/or leaving my home unattended. Renters insurance seemed irrelevant and unnecessary. I had nothing “priceless.”

What’s going to fit in the trunk?

After college and the losses, I moved for graduate school. Again, it was a time of forced minimalism. I could only take what would fit in my Honda Civic coupe. And there was an added caveat, as my brother would be occupying the passenger seat.

To lighten the load, I listed items on Craigslist and asked friends if they needed odds and ends. Then, my brother and I filled the car with deconstructed IKEA furniture, clothing, and other household items. Our seats were forced upright — unable to recline — by the tightly packed vehicle.

Everything I owned fit into one tiny little car. It felt freeing, but frankly, all I could think about was the truly precious cargo: my brother. If everything else disappeared, let it not be him. That’s all that mattered/matters.

What really matters in life is…

I never sought to be a minimalist in my younger years, it found me. When I entered a small space and shared it with a roommate, I was forced to have less. When I lost loved ones, I was forced to reflect on what was most important. When my brother helped me move, I pictured what I would really need.

Stuff never came first.

Recently, I was grabbing a drink with someone and this question came up: “What would you grab if your apartment/house were on fire (excluding pets and humans)?”

I thought briefly about this question and almost cried. I couldn’t come up with anything. Nothing mattered beyond the human and pet connections in my life. Nothing. I feared the loss of… nothing.

Filed Under: Minimalism Tagged With: apartment, Consumer, family, Frugal, home, Minimalism, minimalist, Space, Stuff

I Just Moved From A Utilitarian Batcave To An Opulent Apartment

By Frugaling 10 Comments

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Hope you enjoy this little tour of my old apartment!
(Warning: sarcasm ahead.)

Over the last 7 days I’ve been moving boxes, furniture, and settling into a new abode. I have a terrific roommate and some good friends with me — all in the same complex. We’re one big, amalgamated family. It feels wonderful to be around and supported and having fun with such great people.

But there’s a foreignness to my new residence. Every time I walk into the brand new apartment (for me and the area), it feels opulent and grand. It’s like I’m a little ant, looking up at the big blue sky — captivated and scared by the scale.

My home has wood floors and a stone-tiled bathroom, which reminds me of a hotel room. There’s fresh, soft carpet in the bedroom to greet me in the mornings. Central air and heating insulates me from the inevitable weather extremes of Iowa. A community center features a fitness room, laundry facilities, and regular staff.

As my friends know (and certainly some of my readers), I’m quite class conscious. When I see inequality and/or inequity, I can’t help but comment and try to change it. This new apartment, full of accoutrements and amenities is a reminder of my privilege. And with that, I feel deeply mixed.

The previous couple years were spent in a batcave-like apartment, which was comically awful. I lived 20 feet from an active railroad, 40 feet from a lurking cell tower, and my views were of a crater-filled parking lot. Despite its misgivings, I felt at home; at times, proud of it. I just never wanted to be above it all — separated too greatly from how many live.

Physical separation from more humble surroundings scares me. I worry that if I move to far from poverty, lower incomes, and more modest livelihoods, I could get swept up in craving endlessly. Perhaps more importantly, that this distance may come at the cost of being able to empathize with those who struggle economically — that I wouldn’t be as inclined to give back.

And now, I feel like I’m in a gated community. The demographics have shifted, as families departed as they couldn’t afford the new residences. The multiculturalism that once filled my old neighborhood has significantly changed. It’s evidenced in the growing number of white people and shiny cars.

I’ve joined the economically privileged, and I’m still wrapping my mind around the shift. I feel both honored to have this place, and unsettled by the way privilege begets privilege — a burdensome path and procession of more, greater, bigger, and taller. It feels paradoxical, as there’s great happiness here for my friends and I, and yet the discrepancy between the haves and the have nots has never been greater.

Filed Under: Social Justice Tagged With: apartment, Economics, home, house, Income Inequality, Inequity, moving, Renting

Accidentally Frugal

By Frugaling 14 Comments

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Accidentally Frugal - Let It All GoWhen I think of my apartment, a number of things come to mind: gulag, cinderblock castle, bat cave, and my favorite, rectangular ode to communistic utilitarianism. Yes, my home is something special. One of the perks is insulation that never seems sufficient for either hot or cold extremes. In the winter, the bare linoleum floors chill bones — forcing occupants to wear sandals or shoes indoors. The summer brings a respite from the cold, and makes my apartment heat up like a sweat lodge — only, without the nice cedar wood smell.

The summer months bring some wacky weather through the Midwest. This being my third summer in the land of flat, I know that I’m in for hot, sticky days that border on 100 degrees — even overnight. Torrential rainfalls will produce floods and muddied areas, while you get baked throughout the other days. Pretty good if you’re a 4-year-old making mud pies; beyond that, not really quite sure who enjoys it.

I’ve lived in a few areas of the country that don’t really need air conditioning. People may have them attached to the home or in a window, but for the most part, these white boxes stand as decoration to a humble abode. But here in Iowa, air conditioning is a must have.

In August, I’m moving into an apartment complex that is supposed to have built-in, central air conditioning. To prepare for this, I decided to list my air conditioner on Craigslist two days ago. I hastily placed it online — without a picture or many details. It can take a little while to sell things in my city. There aren’t many people here; especially, over the summer.

I fully expected it to take a month to actually sell the unit. I was dead wrong.

Well, Frugaling fans, I’m in for one hellish summer. I just got back from selling my window air conditioning unit in one day. The family I sold it to were incredibly appreciative and kind — even paid me to drive to their place. The man who lifted the AC out from my trunk said, “Boy are we happy to have this right now. It’s only going to get worse and worse this summer.” All I could do was politely smile and nod. Inside, my stomach churned with the anticipatory anxiety of an entire season without it.

Naively, I didn’t think I’d spend an entire summer without air conditioning, but in a way this is all accidentally frugal. Letting go of the air conditioner this early in the summer season feels like trouble, but there are some tremendous benefits.

  • Reduced utility bill. The summer months can wreak havoc with my careful budget. Oftentimes, the budget is precariously balanced and if there are extended periods of heat, I can see my bill skyrocket. Most of those costs are associated with increased air conditioning use. Without this appliance, I’ll be struggling, but saving every minute that it’s not running.
  • A family in need is helped. AC units can be expensive and a family (with a pregnant mother) will enjoy the benefits of a cooler house. I’m really happy they were able to use this and save a pretty penny from buying new.
  • My wallet is padded. I didn’t just do it for purely altruistic reasons, though. I’ll be able to pay off another chunk of debt with this extra cash. Even more than paying off another portion of student loans is the psychological benefit of knowing I’m moving in the right direction — saving and earning. This has been my major goal since starting Frugaling.
  • Saving the environment. Air conditioners are a drain on energy resources, tax aging infrastructures, and push coal-fired power plants to go into overdrive. Removing the AC will reduce the amount of greenhouse gases I contribute. One of the most frugal things I can recommend is opening windows at night, and then closing them immediately in the morning. Also, put down your blinds. This small step will effectively insulate you from changing temperatures outside. Your apartment will be a nice ice box in comparison to the outside temperature.

Filed Under: Save Money Tagged With: ac, air conditioning, apartment, energy, Frugal, heat, home, house, midwest, minimal, Minimalism, minimalist, seasons, summer, weather, Winter

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