It’s not that I don’t have flair or that I’m too lazy to decorate (although to be fair, there is likely some of that going on). I have found that a clear, clutter-free desk space makes it easier for me to focus and get my work done. I’ve had slightly cluttered desks in the past, and I’ve slowly cut back on what I keep on it’s surface or the wall above it.

Some of my coworkers comment that my desk is sparse – it looks like I just got there. One of my coworkers has gone so far as to start decorating my space himself. Two of the three pictures hung up are courtesy of him, and I have to say, he’s done a great job so far.

I feel more relaxed when I sit or stand at my desk and the space is clear of distractions. No papers strewn about. No notes stuck to everything. No trinkets to stare at or organize or dust or listen to them rattle.

It’s peaceful.

So far at every company I have worked for there has been at least one person whose desk makes me anxious to look at. One such office was full of 20 plus years of papers, food wrappers, books, and who knows what else. It drove me crazy just to walk past it.

I vowed to myself I would never be that person.

Every night before I leave work I clean my desk. It takes me less than a minute to put away my pen and notebook. While my computer shuts down I sort through anything else my desk has collected and recycle what I don’t need. I take my dishes to the kitchen from my afternoon snack or my tea.

When I return in the morning it’s serene and ready for the day.

I love the library.

When I was little my mom would take me to the library frequently. I remember walking the stacks in the children’s section and climbing on top of the stools to see the shelves that were taller than me. One of my earliest memories is of pulling books out of those shelves.

We went so often that I could remember exactly what books we had read and I could instantly recognize when a book was new. I would pull out huge stacks of books, often waist-high on me. We would shove them in a tote bag (which was my limit, anything that didn’t fit had to wait until next time. It wasn’t a small bag – a true sign I was loved). As soon as we were home I would giddily ask to read them all. At once. No stopping.

And as soon as we were done I would ask to go back.

More than twenty years later, I still feel the same. I get the same butterflies and excitement to walk the shelves. I still fill my arms with more books than is reasonable for a single person. It makes me happy to see all of the books waiting for someone to come along and pick them up.

My recent haul

But I get a lot more out of the library than joy. It always blows my mind how few people frequently use the library. You know they let you take books, for free, as long as you promise to bring them back, right? It’s the best!

Borrowing books from the public library (and rarely, friends) keeps my shelves clear and prevents me from spending a fortune on books. It always takes away the guilt of reading. Reading shouldn’t be a guilty pleasure. Just a pleasure.

I’ve never regretted checking a book out of the library instead of buying it. It lowers the risk, which means I will often try books I never would have paid money for. I can check books out again and again if I really feel like rereading them, which sometimes I do.

I have an e-reader, but I really only use it when carrying around books isn’t practical, like when I’m traveling.

There is something to be said for the weight of a book in your hand, the feel of the paper on your fingertips, the smell of a fresh binding or years collecting that perfect old-book scent.

I paid a dollar to get my library card back in the ’90s. It was one of the best dollars I’ve ever spent.

*Yes, I am aware that this was not an actual ode.

I’m getting down to the stuff where it’s harder to let go. I’m not satisfied yet, but it’s a challenge to get rid of what’s left. All of the obvious things are gone. The clothes that don’t fit, the random stuff in the corner of the closet I didn’t know I had, the papers piled about. Now I’m left with the shirt I like, but probably don’t wear enough. The books I want to read, and yet somehow never pick up. The things people recently gave me that I feel guilty about getting rid of.

I read blog posts about decluttering and stalk reddit threads with before and after pictures. I constantly encourage my friends and family to get rid of things and to not buy things they don’t really need.

But I’m still not quite satisfied.

This is where we stayed in Madrid. I liked how open and decluttered it was. I’m trying to get my home to feel the same.

And to be honest, I’m slightly annoyed with all of the bloggers and people who have decluttered and cut back who say that you just know when enough is enough. Part of me thinks I haven’t cleaned out enough stuff, that I would like to have fewer things still. But a voice in the back of my mind questions if I will ever be satisfied.

Do I want to live in a stark room with hardly any things? Would I be happier if I removed 10 more pieces from my dresser? I really don’t know. I’m so caught up in my cycle of decluttering.

I’m also aware that it’s an odd thing to worry about, but at the same time, I want to see the finish line. I want to be able to say “this is it,” and stop constantly racking my brain for another item to get rid of. I want to go home and enjoy the space I have, not dig through it to find one more thing to remove.

But every time I think of stopping, I realize I’m not there yet. The excess items weigh on my mind, and I haven’t yet found my balance. There are days where I envy the people who can live out of a backpack for months on end, and others where I think I’m almost down to my essentials and the things that add value and happiness to my life.

Perhaps I need to stop reading blog posts. Or maybe I need to set aside a day and do one final, harsh cut. Or maybe I need some space from my stuff. Or perhaps I’m really just over-thinking it and I’ll just know when I’m done.

Most of us claim we want to slow down. We want to take our time. We want to enjoy our coffee in the morning and not chug it like we’re doing keg stands.

And yet we never do it. We walk even faster to get to the office a few minutes sooner. We rush through conversations with our friends and family so we can move on to the next thing. We microwave frozen meals so we can sit in front of the TV while we scroll Instagram.

I’m just as guilty as the rest. I walk like I’m training for the speed walking olympic team. Always. I get annoyed when slow people drive in front of me. I’m addicted to crossing things off my to-do list – the faster the better.

Taking it slow is worth it.

When I was traveling it seemed like time stretched on forever. Only part of that was from the weird hours I was keeping thanks to the jet lag. I savored each moment. I strolled. I took the time to look around and absorb what I was seeing. My to do list for each day went something like this: eat a delicious breakfast, sit and sip on a cafe con leche, walk around for a bit, eat a delicious lunch, sit and sip on some sangria, walk around and see some things, eat again, sit and read or talk or do whatever else seems relaxing, go to bed.

Nothing was rushed. Nothing needed to be done. I was there for the experience, and I never stressed about making it to one place or another by a certain time (if anything, it was a struggle to make it to dinner late enough).

I’m still working on not rushing in my every day life. There is a time and a place for it, don’t get me wrong. There are occasions at work where time is of the essence – no diddle–daddling allowed. But that doesn’t mean every moment needs to be rushed – the whole day lost in a haze of running. I don’t have to speed through my workout or hurry through dinner.

My weekends are typically one long race toward finishing an unrealistic to-do list. Do I need to wash the baseboards, go to five different places, do all of the laundry, and finish up everything I didn’t get to that week? Definitely not.

Instead, I have been trying to not think of what I’m doing next. If I’m reading, that’s all I’m thinking about. I don’t constantly line up activities or tasks. I take the time to sit and just be. This weekend I moseyed about the farmer’s market, savored every sip of a mocha (with whipped cream!), and sat in a coffee shop to write and just be.

And time stretched on. The day wasn’t a blur or an exercise of endurance.

I enjoyed it. I relaxed.

The weekends are getting easier. I still struggle to sit back and not stress over traffic. Work isn’t exactly a leisurely experience. Dinners still aren’t slowed down as much as they probably should be. Too many things are likely added to my to-do list every day.

But it’s a start.

I’d like to think I’m handling this injury better than my last.

Which is funny given my propensity to lose my mind the minute anyone suggests I can’t run, jump, or do anything fun.

It’s almost easier that this injury has been visually pronounced (my bruise turned a nice shade of green just in time for Halloween. It didn’t hurt that I walked like Frankenstein’s monster) and the pain is violent and consuming.

There’s no ignoring this one.

The good: I didn’t break any bones. The bad: I’m out for 4-6 weeks. The ugly: … well my ankle.

After x-rays and WAY too many doctors painfully poking and prodding my already grotesque, swollen lump of an ankle (MUST you push so hard? I mean really!), I had “sprained ankle” stamped across my chart and I was sent on my merry way.

I finally started PT, which means I now spend 30 minutes or so a day doing weird exercises that seem like a test of patience more than a way of getting back to the things I love. Like going down stairs without pain.

This time there’s no groveling. There’s no trying to run or pushing through nagging pain. I’ve never been so in touch with my painful reality. I’m out for the count.

It doesn’t matter that I was in great shape. It doesn’t matter I had just pulled off a massive 7-minute PR on a difficult course. It doesn’t matter that I have a half in February. It doesn’t matter that I love to run in the rain and it happens to be raining.

On Wed. 10/28 at exactly 12:30ish p.m. I massively sprained my ankle.

Those are the facts. That’s my reality.

I’m out for now, but you damn well better believe I am going to do all of the weird exercises and I am going to fight back and return to running stronger and hungrier than ever before.

Now, can you please pass the ice cream?

Over the years I have been slowly discovering new blogs on minimalism and hoarding them. Instead of randomly sharing thoughts here and there about some of the blogs I followed, I decided it was time a for a full list of the minimalist blogs I currently read.

Alastair Humphrey
King of the microadventure, Alastair’s blog is never lacking inspiration for going an an adventure of any size. He’s helped me rethink what traveling means to me and what is possible given the time I have. Fair warning, I do get jealous of how easy it is for him to travel to different countries and environments from his home outside of London.

Becoming Minimalist
Joshua Becker’s blog was one of the first minimalist blogs I followed. He writes honestly and explains things simply. It just makes sense when he says it. I’ve read Simplify and I enjoyed that just as much as his blog. I especially look forward to his Sunday recommendations of inspiring reads.

Blonde on a Budget
I’ve played around with shopping bans in the past, and I’ve become even more aware of my spending habits after reading about Cait’s saving and budget strategies. She writes about her now two-year long shopping ban, simplifying her life, and my guilty pleasure, what she’s getting rid of. Don’t skip out on her new forum. People have started amazing conversations!

Break the Twitch
“Break the Twitch is about intentional living in the digital age.” Anthony mixes his vlogs with writing and personal stories. He’s so damn honest and earnest. He writes about cutting back so he can travel more, how he and his wife approach minimalism, and the “twitches” that we do without thinking that greatly impact our lives.

Exile Lifestyle
Where in the world is Colin Wright? Colin got rid of most of his possessions so he could travel and write full time. He frequently travels to a new country and lives for a month or so before moving on. I am drawn to his blog not so much because I want to be a digital nomad, but more because I enjoy hearing about his life and how it juxtaposes with mine. This is less a travel blog and more musings on life.

Minimal Millennial
This is one of the few spots where I hear “millennial” and I don’t cringe. One of the more recent blogs to my collection, Emily shares her own, refreshing take on what it means to simplify and live the life you want.

Minimalist Baker
Delicious recipes. Few ingredients. Simple instructions. I’m hooked.

Reading My Tea Leaves
Erin and her husband live in a small apartment in New York. I’m hooked on her Life in a Tiny Apartment tips. She often says all of the things I don’t usually tell strangers (like that I’m obsessed with constantly cutting back and unconventional storage.

The Minimalists
These men started it all for me. They were the first on this list. I don’t really remember when I stumbled across their blog… I do remember I stopped what I was doing and read it for hours. Multiple. Their book Everything That Remains is one of the top books I recommend to people who are interested in exploring what it means to live with less.

Zen Habits
Leo Babauta has come up around here a few times. I especially enjoy his content on creating habits and his personal experiments.

Zero Waste Home
I’ve written about Bea Johnson and her book quite a bit. She doesn’t update her blog frequently, but I especially enjoy her small, second hand capsule wardrobe posts and her tips for zero waste living.

Want more on minimalism? Check out my list of 10 books on minimalism.

Life-changing. Inspiring.

It took me a while to get on the Big Magic wagon, and by the time I did I had been flooded with everyone else’s opinions on it. And despite my best efforts, my expectations might have been set a bit high.

Big Magic didn’t change my life forever. I’m not quitting my job tomorrow to pursue creative writing or to make art. 

What it did do is make me feel better about not quite knowing what I want out of my life. It made me realize that following an inkling of curiosity is good enough, I don’t need a deep burning passion that slights everything on fire except for The One thing I should be doing with my life.

And it did inspire me. It reminded me that it’s good to write, even if it’s total shit and no one ever reads it (and I wish I never read it). Getting the words out is progress. Researching weird things is progress. Figuring out what I want to do by realizing what I don’t want to be doing in any moment is progress.

Big Magic reminded me that often people who do have the creative jobs I’ve considered, like a magazine editor or writer, also feel like their work is dictated by someone else. They also struggle to find that creative spark, the energy that seems to come from within and outside of us at the same time. They too have to find an outlet, find something that is for them. Somewhere to let that inner voice free.

So for now I’m going to be content with not knowing. I’m going to let myself explore my own writing without worrying about how to turn it into a career or even something that could pay a single bill. Elizabeth Gilbert made a huge point that expecting your creative endeavor to support you financially is unfair, and it often suffocates your creativity and the joy you experience when making something.

I’d rather write because not writing is painful. I would rather “waste time” writing things that no one will ever see than hunt for freelance project after freelance project that I don’t love. I’d rather keep my day job (for now) while I explore my other possibilities.

Despite its allure (there is something to be said about the encouragement of large groups) I am not participating in NaNoWriMo this year. Instead I decided to do a November writing challenge that is a little more feasible and approachable.

I am writing for 30 minutes every day this month.

Whether it’s a random list of things on my mind, a blog post, journaling, a short story, a poem, all of the words I know in other languages, it doesn’t really matter. I am going to sit down for 30 minutes every day and write uninterrupted. I won’t cruise the internet. I won’t give up after five minutes… or forget to do it all together.

Why did I choose 30 minutes? Because 15 didn’t seem like enough and an hour isn’t reasonable for my life right now.

While I’m hoping that I get some good writing and enjoyment out of the challenge, my real motivation is creating a habit of writing. I read Big Magic this weekend, and it made me realize that I spend a lot of time writing for other people. I write in their voices, about their topics, in their style. I would like to yet again carve out time where I explore the things that interest me, and write because it’s something I love.

Some days it’s easy. Others I feel like I don’t have enough words to fill 30 minutes (going off of four days of data, it’s about 50/50 so far). I’m hoping by the end it will be easier to find what I’m trying to say.

So here’s to day four! Still going strong!

Want to join me? Here’s some great motivation from Leo Babauta’s blog, Zen Habits on why you should write every day.