Is minimalism self-abuse?
Sometimes it seems like it is. Especially when the job gets tedious and laborious.
When things don’t fall into place. Where every decision seems insurmountable.
I’m in one of those funks right now, tortured by a bed topped with STUFF.
I wish it would go away right now. Poof. I wish I could take a match to it all.
But that ain’t the way it works — at least not in my world.
Everything needs to be processed. Everything needs to be decided upon.
I see it as a soul struggle. What do I truly need? What can I release?
Will I let go of the wrong things? When I let go, am I being impulsive or wise?
THIS is the simultaneous fascination with and hell of minimalism.