I was flying from Connecticut to Seattle the other day, coming home from a funeral. We left the east coast at 6pm, so we got to experience the most incredibly vibrant orange and pink sunset as we took off, then very soon darkness settled over us and I got a glimpse of the entire country over the next six hours, but only as a vast darkness, occasionally dotted with pinpricks of light. I wondered who those people were in those clusters of tiny lights. And I wondered where we were, what us was just below.
Why am I enthralled by little dots of light? Stars, lit up towns, city skyscrapers at night, lights on a tree or house at Christmas time. I know that light pollution is a significant problem and there’s lots that can and should be done to fix it, but somehow, I still love these little, tiny specks of light. Is it because in the vast abyss light is so rare that it becomes something precious? Is it so astonishing what a massive impact a tiny light can have in seemingly endless darkness? Maybe because it shows what a difference one tiny thing can make? I wonder if it has something to do with the idea of scarcity. Like when you’re given a box of specialty chocolates, you savor each one, wanting them to last. When you go to the effort to make a special pastry, you don’t just wolf them all down in one sitting, you make it a special breakfast where you can take your time. Last year in the nutrition class that Laura Conley taught, she talked about chewing your food. How important it is for your body’s digestion for you to take time, chew each bite, really taste it and think about what you are eating. The idea was not to practice scarcity, but by chewing and paying attention to what you are eating, it improves digestion, improves enjoyment, and reduces over consumption because you are aware when you are full. I think that in many senses, practicing scarcity is quite a valuable skill, for our food, resources, and time.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about minimalism, which is probably something my mother never thought I would say, if you take my 4th grade desk into account. I tend to be a little sentimental and for quite a while that manifested as keeping pretty much every scrap of paper and item I had found or made. However, it’s encouraging to know that we all grow and sometimes leave certain tendencies behind us, and in that vein, I’ve been thinking about, and (minimally) enacting minimalism in parts of my life. I’m not on the ‘mattress on a bare floor’ side of minimalism, but there’s a lot to be said for a little. I read about someone that has taken a minimalist approach to her life and, as a result, her entire life is less stressful. She has less items to dust, less devices to keep track of and update, her floors are easier to sweep and vacuum as there are more wide-open spaces. She appreciates the items that she has, not having to care for so much stuff. And I really think that all makes a lot of sense.
Tobin and I love to travel and over the last couple of years we’ve made a goal to only take carry-on items when going on a trip, no matter the length of the trip. If you manage to travel through Great Britain for three weeks in October with only a small carry-on suitcase and a backpack, you come home feeling like you can just get rid of most of your belongings. You’ve lived perfectly delightfully without them, haven’t you? Practicing minimal tendencies literally relieves the load. It frees up effort, energy, and time. And isn’t that the one commodity that most of us always want more of?
Now, I am still sentimental, and I still keep things, but on the whole, I am approaching minimalism incrementally. Perhaps we’ll call my approach ‘less-imalisim’. So, maybe the lights are beautiful because they are tiny, or we instinctively know that light is warmth and we crave that, but I think that some of why they are fascinating and beautiful, is because they are scarce. We cherish them in a way we don’t the lights in our home or the incredible light of the sun. So, maybe that worn out trope is true, but I’d like to propose a modification: maybe ‘less gives more’.
-Emily