Growing up, I lived on a farm in Southern Germany. On a farm, there’s a lot of stuff. Lots of machinery, tools, spaces for the animals to live, a garden, a garage with lots of tools, many a shed, a room that functioned both as a shed and a bakery of sorts (it had a large oven in it where we baked our bread). You see, being on a farm comes with having a lot of stuff to maintain the farm.
But that was not all. Our family lived in a big house attached to the farm with about 10 rooms and a little cabin that my father had built that we used in the summer. And we had an attic. Let’s not forget about the attic. When I think back, I remember every room was filled with things. There was no one room that I would describe as “calm” or particularly inviting looking back.
I don’t ever remember family members doing a purge of their things or throwing stuff out deliberately. Some rooms were like little museums. I remember my grandmother’s dressing room with her wardrobe filled to the brim with old and new dresses and her dresser with drawers hard to open and close. The attic, filled with stuff from god knows how many years back. My mother’s room filled with clothes, bags, shopping bags, and more stuff. No clear surfaces in sight. Our bathroom (before the renovation) was a disaster not only style-wise but so cluttered I always was ashamed when I had friends over.
At some point, I became conscious of how untidy, cluttered, old and unpleasant our home looked. It made me feel uncomfortable. Not only because I was embarrassed when people came to visit, but I myself felt quite burdened. And I may have not known it at the time or could have pointed it out. I remember years of myself taking on the task of cleaning our home every Saturday. As a teenager. Voluntarily and regularly. Because I didn’t feel my mother was good at keeping our house clean (only if “important” visitors came, she made an effort, cleaned and hid all the “stuff”).
I remember as kids we often received huge bags of hand-me-down clothes from my aunt whose two daughters had outgrown their things. An influx of stuff. Everything was acquired without much thinking. A burden. Also, the farm was a burden. As a kid, I used to think that one of us three kids would need to stay at the farm and continue it. That’s just what all the generations before us would do. So I was a little anxious about it. I very much disliked living on the farm. And being surrounded by all these things might have played into that a tiny bit.
Growing older in my teenage years and having my own room then, I remember going through my clothes regularly and purging. I didn’t want to own things I didn’t wear. When I moved out, I had to fill my little VW Polo twice. I made two drives to my new apartment and that was it.
Peace. For the first time, I was only surrounded by what I chose to be surrounded with. What a new feeling. What a relief. Not knowing any other growing up, surrounded by excess stuff and a borderline hoarding mother, I began to repel the notion of having more things than one actually needs and uses as I grew conscious of my surroundings. I believe I’m a minimalist at heart but that my growing up made me lean into minimalism just a little bit harder and with even more conviction than maybe someone else.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I “found” minimalism many years later. When I discovered people who wrote about their distinctive choices and deliberate lifestyles of LESS (maybe a story for another time who those people and influences were that shaped me into a true minimalist). That’s when I realized that this is my way to live as well. I had found “my tribe” if you will.
How has your upbringing, your culture shaped you in how you choose or want to live? If minimalism and maximalism was a spectrum from 1 (minimalism) to 10 (maximalism), which number would represent you?
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