Chapter 1: The Struggle with Consumerism

Have you ever considered how the chaos of consumerism might be robbing us of life's simple pleasures? Often, we need to step back and simplify our lives to truly grasp what happiness feels like.

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I find myself limited to just one practical cabinet in my kitchen. Imagine a space so compact that your dishware and food storage can only fit into this one, standard-sized cabinet! I have six others, but they’re minuscule—some are out of reach without a ladder, while others have narrow doors that only accommodate items less than six inches wide.

This cabinet dilemma is a daily annoyance. Many items I regularly use can fit into that one cabinet, yet it doesn't have enough space for everything.

Over the summer, I realized my cabinet strategy was neither practical nor efficient. I had several seldom-used items crowding it, while essential gear for my outdoor activities—like thermoses, water bottles, and mini-coolers—was scattered throughout the house.

By late July, it became clear that rummaging through various drawers and cabinets to gather my essentials for a day by the lake was not only inefficient but also frustrating. It made me forget key items that I preferred to have on hand.

Wouldn't it be more sensible to consolidate everything in that one large cabinet, right above my usual sandwich-making spot? Having everything in one place would ensure I wouldn’t overlook anything.

One evening, I resolved to completely reorganize the cabinet. As I sifted through the contents, I felt as though I was unearthing a graveyard of past decisions and attempts to manage chaos.

At one point, I held a suribachi, an item I'd discovered on the top shelf—something I’ve used only twice in 13 years, purchased on a whim after seeing Alicia Silverstone recommend it back in 2011. Suddenly, I felt overwhelmed.

Joy comes from simplicity for me. Life can be incredibly straightforward. Yet, here I am, surrounded by the latest gadgets that are supposed to bring me happiness. All this clutter and complexity do nothing to enhance my joy.

Let’s clarify: I’m not advocating for minimalism. While I appreciate simplicity and would enjoy a less complicated life, I’m searching for a middle ground.

As a Cancer-Virgo-Virgo, I cannot escape my desire to make my home both comfortable and beautiful, nor my need to organize and restock endlessly.

However, I believe it’s acceptable—and perhaps even beneficial—to embrace some maximalism in areas that genuinely boost my happiness or comfort.

For example, I’m continually refining my home office with not just the essentials but also some little luxuries. Sure, you could argue that some items are unnecessary, but they genuinely uplift my mood and enhance my work life. In such cases, I think it’s perfectly justified to indulge a bit.

Consider creating a tea station on your counter. If you cherish your daily tea ritual and have the space, go for it! Or how about investing in a mini-cooler for your paddle board to keep your lunch and drinks cool while you’re out on the water? That’s definitely worth it for the convenience.

Yet, my pursuit of balance is often hindered. For instance, I don’t always recognize what will truly bring me joy or simplify my life until after I’ve made a purchase. Like the suribachi—who knew I wouldn’t be inspired to make gomashio as often as Alicia Silverstone suggested?

Then there are the tricks of consumerism that lead us astray. Sales create pressure to buy items we might not genuinely want, or to purchase in quantities we don’t need just because the price is appealing. We’re often left feeling we need to keep up with others, compounded by frustrating packaging that limits our options.

Before we know it, our homes are overflowing. Items spill out of cabinets, drawers are stuffed to the brim, and finding something as simple as an Allen wrench becomes a challenge, even though we likely own dozens.

How did we ever convince ourselves that this chaos would lead to happiness or make our homes more functional?

Chapter 2: The Joy of Simplicity

When I was a child, one of my favorite books was Strawberry Shortcake and the Winter That Would Not End. In it, Strawberry Shortcake and her friends journey through snowy woods to retrieve a stolen item from a badger’s den, breaking the spell that keeps spring at bay. I vividly recall how they packed a few essentials onto a sled before setting off on their adventure.

This simplicity has echoed through my life. In my thirties, I commuted by bike, carrying everything I needed with me. I’ve enjoyed hiking and relished the knowledge that everything I required was in my backpack. Most recently, I find joy in paddle boarding, able to explore a 400-acre lake without needing to leave my board because I have all the supplies I need with me.

During those moments on the trail, the lake, or the bike lane, I’m reminded of the beauty of simplicity. Yes, I need some accessories to feel comfortable on these adventures, but they are practical, manageable, and either essential or enhance my enjoyment. One backpack suffices for hiking, while one mini-cooler and a dry bag cover all my needs for paddle boarding.

If it’s so easy to find peace and joy in these outdoor escapades, how can I replicate that feeling at home?

I’ve often fantasized about living in a grand ancestral home—the kind where my grandparents were born and where family gatherings occur during holidays. Imagining hallways adorned with family portraits and heirlooms in every corner, it’s hard to reconcile this dream with reality.

My family moved through seven different homes by the time I was 18. I thought we would all stay in the same town, but that didn’t happen. More importantly, I don’t have children, and the chance for motherhood has passed. Even if I lived in that ideal ancestral home, I wouldn’t have the joy of seeing my grandchildren grow there.

Nonetheless, I cherish my current life and home. Yet, as I near my fifties, I must often remind myself of my reality.

I’m a single woman without children, residing in a 600-square-foot space. I can’t keep every book I read—space constraints dictate that. I can’t fill my kitchen with every appliance and accessory from my domestic dreams—where would it all go? A few years ago, I finally sorted through boxes of items I had saved for a future daughter and chose to give them away.

While I’m not interested in rigid minimalism, I do seek to incorporate it in some areas to balance out the places where I’ve gone overboard.

Do I need my tiny pantry overflowing with every ingredient for all my favorite recipes, or can I limit myself to a few classic staples? Is it necessary to have candy bar molds I rarely use, or should I focus on keeping a supply of homemade cookies in the freezer? Do I need a collection of fifteen essential oils, or can I narrow it down to one or two I’ll use frequently?

I’m still figuring out how to achieve this, but after cleaning out drawers that hadn’t been touched in seven years, I feel inspired. I’m tired of items occupying my space that I haven’t used in ages, even finding things I can’t identify. Enough is enough.

Perhaps the hardest part is pausing before clicking the Add to Cart button. It’s so easy to get swept up in that dopamine rush.

But there’s a different dopamine rush I prefer—the one I experience when I throw a backpack over my shoulders and hit the trails, or when I pack a sandwich and kombucha into my mini-cooler before hopping on my paddle board.

When the chaos of consumerism interferes with that joy, it’s clear that significant changes are necessary…

Consumerism Creates Societal Problems

This video discusses how consumerism can create issues for individuals and society as a whole, impacting our happiness and well-being.

The Real Trap of Consumerism

In this video, the hidden dangers of consumerism are explored, revealing how it complicates our lives and detracts from our joy.

© Y.L. Wolfe 2024

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Y.L. Wolfe is a gender-curious, solosexual, perimenopausal, childless crone-in-training, exploring these experiences through writing, photography, and art. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com. If you enjoy her writing, consider leaving a tip on Ko-fi.

More on downsizing:

• The House of Undoing

  The six hundred square feet that have undone everything I once knew

• Are Our Possessions Getting in the Way of Living?

  How downsizing and death have taught me the importance of simplicity