Donald Miller's Blog, page 9

How to Slow Down in A World That’s Constantly On The Go

I find myself in a season of constantly being “on the go” both in my personal and professional life.

I’m on an airplane right now, headed to Kansas City to meet with a laminate company about their branding. I have two suitcases packed in the back of my car in the airport parking lot because, when I get back, I only have a few hours between landing and heading to New Jersey—with a day in New York— before catching more flights to North Carolina.

I have five more trips like that before I have a week at home where I finally get to catch up with my friends, do a crazy amount of laundry and play in a tennis tournament before heading out again.

I don’t seem to be able to slow down, let alone stop.

If I use the sentence, “If I can just make it through___ everything will be ok…” one more time, I think my friends are going to slap me.

This is not new for me.

I like to pretend like this is just what is happening right now, but really, this is a pattern I have developed over years of being constantly on the go. Sometimes it is because of commitments I have made with work and sometimes it is because I want to do fun things.

But it is always my choice.

I get to say yes and I get to say no.

The only real problem is, my choice or not, being on the go constantly is not sustainable. Nobody (except maybe Bob Goff) can keep up with that kind of lifestyle for very long.

It begins to weigh on you relationally, physically, and even spiritually.

I am learning this the hard way, again and again.

Years ago, my friend Scott Congdon taught me that, in order to stay healthy, we need to create points of demarcation in our lives. These are real or symbolic moments that mark an ending of one season and the beginning of another.

Scott is the President of AMOR Ministries, a short term missions organization doing community development in the some of the most poor areas in the world.

Every year, starting in January, the team prepares for thousands of teens and adults to come to Mexico over the six weeks of spring break.

Once spring arrives, it’s a sprint to the end of April—building hundreds of homes, schools and churches. By the end of April, they have about one month to prepare for the hundreds of more team members coming down for summer, followed by the 14 weeks of actually building homes.

It is non-stop “on the go” the whole way through.

It would be easy to not take a break for 9 months.

After all, the work being done is important. Lives are being changed on both sides of the border, families finally have a roof over their head before another winter, communities can find pride in a new school or church.

Yet even in the midst of the chaos and the drive to get things done, Scott always takes time off between spring and summer.

He said that he found if he didn’t, he would burn out and become ineffective. So each year he takes three or four days and heads out on retreat to rest, recover and reflect. While on the retreat, he asks himself a few questions.

The main one goes like this: “What did I learn?”

He celebrates his successes, mourns his mistakes, and learns from both. He closes the door on a season. This retreat has become a lifeline for Scott, something without which, he could not do the amazing work he continues to do.

In the Hebrew Psalms you will occasionally see the word Selah.

It’s meaning has been debated over the years, but most scholars believe that its intent is to offer the musical director a hint of how the song is supposed to go. The word is derived from the Hebrew root word that means “to hang” or “to weigh.”

Selah is a pause, most likely a musical interlude, in the middle of a song that is used to reflect on the words that have just been spoken.
Selah is there to tell the worshipper to measure or weigh carefully the meaning of what has been said: i.e., here is wisdom, reflect and understand.
It is often at the end of a phrase or verse, but still in the middle of the song.

I have found over the years that finding space for moments of demarcation or Selah is vital to my sanity and health.

Selah.

When I was a youth pastor, I would take a week away at the end of summer, our busiest season, to reflect on what had transpired over the past few months.

Yes, I could have been preparing for a fall kickoff, but I needed space to plant a flag in the ground and say, “This season is done” before I moved on to the next.

I needed to “hang” in the moment and “weigh” what I had learned from my successes and failures, and then not remain stuck in either. When I worked in higher education I would take some time away after each semester.

I continue to do this today.

Sometimes it is for a day, sometimes it is for a week. Sometimes my time is spent at a monastery in solitude and silence and sometimes it is spent in Vegas, eating great food and sitting by a pool.

God and wisdom can be found in both the feasting and fasting of life.

Like the Selah in the Psalms, these breaks come in the middle of the song. It is not a separate journey, distinct and disconnected from the rest of my life. It is a pause that allows me to reflect on the experience, wisdom and life that have been given to me over the recent past.

I get out of the noise and bustle of ministry and career to sit softly, learn and reflect on what has happened, why things happened, and what needs to happen next.

It is not always easy to find the time, but I choose to make the time.

What does “Selah” look like in your life?

Whatever season you find yourself in, make sure you take time to eventually end the season. Even if there is not a “good” time to pause, make time. Whether you classify the season as good or bad, mark the season with an ending.

Then take time to pause, weigh what has happened and what will happen next.

You have to make it happen because it doesn’t happen on accident.

I will be on the road for the next seven weeks, but at the end of that season, I would like to take a weekend to drive up to Connecticut and go to the Elephant’s Trunk flea market.

I’ll walk the rows, hold items that remind me of my youth or help me dream about homes in my future, and enjoy the day in the sun. I will take the afternoon journal and reflect, have a nice dinner with a steak and bottle of wine, and cheers to the end of a season before preparing for the next.

Selah.

Why 80% Of The Work You Do Is A Waste Of Time

I read on airplanes now because it’s almost the only time I get to read. Life has become that busy. And fortunately (or unfortunately) I’m on airplanes several times each month, so I’m keeping up with my reading.

When I’m traveling for business, I tend to read business books. Recently I read one that changed the way I think and live.

It’s called The 80/20 Principle.

The book was written by Richard Koch and the argument is this: 80 percent of the results you’re getting at work flow from just 20 percent of your efforts. And not only this, but 80 percent of your profit likely comes from 20 percent of your products.

It’s an old theory, honestly, but Koch explains it well and helps us apply it in new ways. And this theory applies to much more than work. It also means 80 percent of our unhealthiness is likely coming from just 20 percent of the food we eat. And 80 percent of our social troubles likely come from just 20 percent of our relationships.

Amazingly, Koch presents statistical proof:

The theory holds true in much of life.

And I think understanding it and adjusting accordingly is a great way to become more and more productive.

So, the trick is to figure out what your 20 percent is and enhance your understanding and commitment to those actions. What meetings should we take? What products should we get rid of? What employees should we hire? In other words, what’s in your 80 percent bucket, and what’s in your 20 percent bucket?

I’m buying a copy for every member of my staff, not only so we can be more productive, but because it’s going to prevent us from burning out.

Spinning our wheels in the 80 percent is exhausting.

What about you? Is the 80/20 principle true for your life? Are you willing to identify and enhance the 20 percent and cut back on the 80 percent?

Of course, this then begs the question: What if we turn our 20 percent into the 80 percent and are that much more effective? Wouldn’t that disprove the theory?

Perhaps, but then again, wouldn’t we find there to still be a top 20 percent that is that much more productive than the rest? Perhaps continually asking what the top 20 percent is would be a great way to make sure we’re only getting better and better.

The theory works for me, and I hope you find a way to apply it yourself. Have fun dropping the 80.

Having Integrity Doesn’t Make You a Good Person

I recently had a conversation with somebody in which I doubted what they were saying was true. I hate those conversations, but years ago I promised myself that if the person was a friend, or somebody I worked with, I wouldn’t just walk away.

Instead, I decided to say something.

I kept it light, but I said enough that I wouldn’t go to bed that night without some clarity.

The response I received was a long, passionate monologue about how the person had never told a lie in their life.

This person kept using the word “integrity.”

The truth is, we all exaggerate. We all see the facts through our own self-serving lens. We are all, well, a mixture of good and bad. And the sad truth is, we’ve all told lies.

Often when we talk about integrity, we don’t fully understand what the word means.

A person with integrity isn’t always a good person. There aren’t any purely good people. Another, more realistic understanding of the term integrity involves a person being integrated.

And by integrated I mean they understand they have a mixture of motives.

They sometimes do good.

They sometimes do bad. They sometimes are loving, and they’re sometimes spiteful. Some people are better than others, but nobody is purely good and nobody is purely bad (I’m speaking in practical terms, not theological terms regarding sanctification and so on).

And so, when I hear a person defending their integrity as though they are completely good, I know, in fact, they aren’t really integrated. And people who aren’t integrated are dangerous. Not evil, not bad, I just wouldn’t ride too closely behind them.

They have blind spots. If you can’t admit you have blind spots, you’ll never check them, and if you don’t check them, you’re more likely to get in a wreck.

Religious communities love the word integrity.

But I don’t think many of them understand it. Sadly, the word is often used as a way of painting ourselves as righteous, or worse, to describe another person in unrealistic terms.

Let me ask you this: Do you feel the need to be a better person than you really are? Do you feel the need to defend yourself as having integrity rather than feel at ease being truly integrated?

When somebody confronts you, are you able to process their comment objectively or does something rise up inside you that wants to defend yourself?

Here’s a little tip on becoming integrated:

Lean in close to love.

When we know our we are loved, whether we are good or bad or a mix, we don’t have to be so defensive.

When we know we are accepted by God—the only judge with the authority to judge (in eternal matters) we have the power to accept ourselves as we really are, and that means to be integrated.

An integrated person is somebody who can remain objective about themselves. And it’s Jesus, not religion, that allows us to be objective about ourselves because if we know Jesus there is no penalty for our shortcomings.

Of course we may be disciplined in love.

But ultimately we are okay as we are. It’s a works-based religion that doles out reward and punishment based on our actions and can easily lead to a disintegrated personality.

Do you feel safe letting people know about your shortcomings? If so, why and if not, why not?

What Your Instagram Feed is Keeping You From

I could theorize and offer scientific evidence all day long. I can give you source after source, anecdote after anecdote on why our obsession with our phones is killing us.

But here’s the real truth: Your fixation with your phone is killing your ability to do work that matters.

While your phone harbors many tools for good, when you get caught in its tractor beam, you’re in for a swamp of time sucking molasses.

I come to you as a fellow addict.

And trust me, I’m in deep. Like a wi-fi enabled lab rat, I’m obsessed with the Pavlovian rush I get from a text message or a Facebook like. On countless late nights, my wife will turn over in bed to see the glow of a screen illuminating my face.

Wife: “What are you doing? What time is it?”

Me: “I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz to see which Friends character I am. It’s super important. Go back to sleep.”

If you’re an addict like me…

You know deep down that your obsession with the small, insignificant things is destroying your ability to tackle the stuff that really matters.

Now I’m not advocating for cutting yourself off from 21st century technology. If that’s your path, I commend you, although it won’t be mine.

What I am advocating for is technological self-awareness.

I call it Mobile Mindfulness.

Mobile Mindfulness is the art of deliberately tempering your relationship with technology. Mobile Mindfulness is using technology for its benefits and then stopping – relishing in your ability to thwart addiction.

Mobile Mindfulness is challenging yourself to resist technology in the moments where you know it’s teetering on becoming a vice.

Use technology. Milk it for all it’s worth.

Then learn to put it down, cultivate real human relationships, and get to work.

What You’ll Find When You Stop Running

I’ve had two epic dreams in my life. One of them entered my sleep the week before I got married at age 36, after years of running from relationships, fearing intimacy, and petrified of commitment. The other came the day after my 60th birthday.

I’d like to tell you about the first.

In my dream, I was a member of a counter terrorist group. I wore dark camo, a helmet, night vision goggles, a bulletproof vest, and black face paint—the whole deal.

Before I go on, you must know how comical this is.

In my non-dream life, I’m the kind of guy who would pet all of the forest animals if they’d let me, and I’m freaked out by guns and loud noises.

Back to the dream.

Our group (think SEAL team) was going after the bad guys.

To reach them, we had to make our way through a dense forest and scale a steep and jagged cliff, which we did with both stealth and skill. It was nearing sunset.

As we reached the cliff’s crest, we advanced toward the enemy’s camp. Suddenly, there was a huge explosion, followed by gunfire from almost every direction. They were waiting for us. The ensuing battle was fierce and chaotic.

It soon became evident that we were being overpowered. Our only escape was to retreat the way we came. Somehow we made it to the cliff and scaled down it amidst heavy fire.

The enemy followed us.

Running furiously through the woods, we eventually fanned out, finding separate paths—a strategy we’d obviously learned in training. As I was charging through the underbrush, I heard footsteps behind me. I had been singled out for pursuit.

I could hear him running behind me; the leaves and sticks under his feet crunching as he followed.

Nearing exhaustion, I kept running as fast as I could, but he followed me relentlessly. With limited visibility, I tripped over a root, sprawling on the forest floor, my face in the dirt. In a moment, his footsteps stopped, and I realized that he had caught up with me.

I turned to look at the face of the person who I thought would surely kill me.

And then I saw him.

A kindly, old, little guy – about the size of one of Snow White’s friends, only with the cool factor of someone in The Lord of the Rings. About three feet tall, this fellow had long, silver hair and a beard.

He didn’t look at me, but was busy spreading out a tablecloth over the ground. Then he brought out a large picnic basket and began placing plates and food on the cloth. There were meats and cheeses and desserts and foods that I’d never seen, but it looked like if you ate them, your life would change for the better.

He turned and looked up at me.

And with the kindest of eyes said with a gentle but firm voice, “You’ve been running from me all of your life, and all I ever wanted to do was give you a feast.

So here it is. Enjoy!”

And that was it.

I woke up crying and laughing, savoring every second of both the dream and the feast. Up until that moment, I don’t know when my heart had every felt that full. It was a holy moment.

It doesn’t take Sigmund Freud to interpret my dream. And from conversations I’ve had with friends of mine, this dream contains a familiar theme.

Our fears lead us to lonely and crazy places.

We often run from the wrong things. Sometimes we end up fighting ridiculous battles against imagined enemies. Often what we fight or evade are the very things destined to bless us.

Is there something you are fighting against or running from? Things that you’ve feared? Situations or relationships you’ve avoided?

I encourage you to turn around to face the stranger who is pursuing you.

You might be surprised at who (or what) is chasing you and maybe, just maybe, you’re in for a feast and the beginning of a new chapter in your story.

Discovering Your Calling Won’t Make You Whole

When I was 24, I was in a job that was not a great fit for me. Not terrible, but not great, and the “not great” part was all I focused on.

I was very anxious about my job and very restless for the next thing. I wanted to find out exactly what my calling was and do only that. I thought if I found the job that was my calling, I would love it and jump out of bed every morning, even on Mondays.

I’ve felt this way for most of my twenties.

Even when I got a new job at age 24 that was a much better fit for me and gave me more joy, I prayed God would show me exactly what He wanted me to do and give me the courage to do it.

A few months ago I began reading a book called The Call by Os Guinness. I loved the title and decided by the time I finished it, I would have a clear picture of God’s will for my life.

This was going to be great.

Then, I read this paragraph.

And it’s basically all I’m thinking about right now:

“…it is easy to become spoiled if we concentrate on the core of our giftedness—as if the universe existed only to fulfill our gifts….We live in a fallen world and the core of our gifts may not be fulfilled in our lives on earth. If there had been no Fall, all our work would have naturally and fully expressed who we are and exercised the gifts we have been given. But after the Fall, that is not so.”

When I first read that part of the book, I fought it. No, I thought, I will “arrive” one day. I will discover my perfect calling.

It’s here, and I’m going to find it.

But what if it’s not?

What if this really is a fallen world in which things fell, and now they are broken? This is what was promised to us after all: “In the world you will have tribulation,” Jesus said (John 16:33).

How quickly I forget that. How quickly I get discouraged and wonder why I don’t feel content or why work is so hard sometimes. Maybe it’s because it’s supposed to be. Maybe it’s to remind us that things are broken here.

And the reminder of brokenness carries over into all areas of our lives. We scramble for perfection, peace, clarity and happiness, but are they here? Sometimes yes, but also sometimes no.

And they’re not meant to be.

Eternity is in our hearts, so we long for it everywhere. When we don’t find wholeness here on earth, we are forced to look forward and upward.

When I see it this way, the breaking of things is a promise for the whole that is coming. “But take heart; I have overcome the world,” says the rest of John 16:33. And though this promise does not lessen the longing, it does deepen the hope.

What to Remember When Your Life Plan Gets Derailed

Life didn’t turn out like the preacher said it would. Cancer came. Our spouse left. We tried to accomplish our dreams and failed. This is definitely not what we asked for.

So what do we do when we don’t get an answer to our prayers?

When I began writing and speaking, I prayed a lot. I was carrying a lot of weight. I was saying things that would impact peoples lives for better or for worse. And I wanted them to be for the better. So I really needed God’s help.

But I’m human. I’m flawed.

I’ve said or written the wrong thing before. I’ve left speaking engagements or stopped typing on my computer, wondering if I messed up so much that God’s grace couldn’t work through it. Why didn’t He answer my prayer? Why didn’t I nail that church service or blog?

Why didn’t He make it perfect?

And then I learned about Wabi-sabi.  

Have you heard of wabi-wabi?

No it’s not the green stuff that comes on the side of your sushi plate. It’s actually a really cool Japanese idea that says imperfection is beauty.

A piece of pottery that’s not symmetrical or has a chip is seen as alluring, not despite its flaw, but because of it. 

The same is true of our lives.

Our mess ups and mishaps are our wabi-sabi.

2 Corinthians 4:6-7 says that we are like fragile clay pots that contain a light that shines from our hearts. We crack. We have scars and flaws. But that’s the point.

We’re supposed to chip sometimes because those holes are to spaces where God’s light shines through. 

Maybe life isn’t what you wanted it to be.

Maybe God didn’t answer your prayers the way you thought he should.

But His goal for you isn’t perfection, it’s wabi-sabi. It’s Grace making broken things beautiful.

So the next time you feel like your prayers have hit a wall, or shame starts to sneak in when you mess up, just say “wabi-sabi.”

What to Do When You Just Want to Give Up And Quit

It’s been one of those months where I’ve wanted to throw my hands up and quit. Have you been there? Big stuff is brewing in your life, hard stuff. It’s heavy and all over you, and all you want is out.

For me, work and writing have been the hard stuff.

Writing is usually hard, but it feels particularly hard right now, and I’ve wanted to quit. Because this is what I do when things feel hard. I want to quit them, and then I decide I need to quit everything else too. Work…people…America. It’s a quick spiral.

Tell me you’ve been there.

Tell me I am not crazy in my occasional bouts of quitting-it-all.

I recently started reading Annie Downs’ new book Looking for Lovely. In it, she talks about her struggles with being a quitter:

“I’ve never been good at looking past my current pain or suffering and trusting that it will pay off in the future. I think the road has always seemed too long. So when a situation feels painful or scary or hard, I want out.”

Me too, Annie, me too.

I hate feeling uncomfortable.

So my default is to try to escape what’s making me uncomfortable. Over the past two years, though, God has been gently teaching me what it looks like to “sit in the tension.”

Instead of running away, consider staying where you are.

Keep moving forward. Try not to freak out, and trust.

I was sharing some of my tension and desire to quit with a friend the other day. She said something very simple that I really needed to hear: “The moment you start feeling like you’re going to quit, don’t.”

Just don’t. Back away from the quitting ledge and keep walking, however slowly, however slumped over.

Just keep going.

If what you’re doing is really worth it, it will be worth going after. I realize that some stuff isn’t worth struggling to the finish line for. There are things I look back on in my life that I quit (like club volleyball in high school for example) that I don’t regret quitting.

They weren’t for me and, therefore, were actually keeping me from being me.

But there are other things I think back on and know, if I had stuck it out a little longer, it could have been something good for me.

Writing is one of those things.

I just know, deep down inside of me I know, I’m supposed to keep giving it what I can even though what I have to give right now is not much.

I guess that’s the good thing about not quitting though.

Not quitting doesn’t mean plowing full speed ahead. It just means choosing to take one more step. When I think of it this way, it’s much less daunting.

So in this slow, unsteady and insecure season I have decided to do what my friend suggested and not quit. You’ll see me beside the road. I’ll be the one walking a little slowly, my shoulders might be a little slumped over, but I’ll be going in the right direction.

And trust me, that’s better than running in the wrong one.

Judging Others Is Making You Unhappy

My wife Nita and I were finally buckled into our seats on a plane en route to the beach for a week of quiet and rest.

It had been a long year, full of changes.

Among those changes—we’d packed up our house, renovated it for a sale, bought a new house in a new town, and sent our son off to college. To say it was an exhausting year would be an understatement, and this long planned trip was just the break we needed.

Sitting next to me on the plane was Tom from Louisville.

The father of three young kids, he worked the night shift at the Ford plant. He described how it worked, putting his kids to bed before he left for his shift, and greeting them when they got home from school.

I could tell he was a good dad, as he proudly showed me photos of them on his phone.

When I asked him why he was coming to the beach, he said his wife sent him off for a few days to attend the annual Bike Week celebration. It took about 4 seconds for me to realize that he was not talking about Schwinns. He was talking about Harleys.

And thousands upon thousands of them were arriving at the beach when we were.

If this had been a movie, the camera would have zoomed in on my face.

You’d see this expression that was a blend of terror, fear, regret, anger, and anxiety—all at once. And along with that, the question “Why me, God?” which was repeated often that first day.

The noise level on the street outside of our condo could have shattered my glasses. I’m not sure why these folks feel the need to rev those engines so much, but they do. (Freud would have a time with that!) There was a constant loud rumbling sound.

For the first few days, I was not doing well.

I’d say things to Nita like “What’s next—the Chainsaw Art Demonstration Convention? Or maybe the Firecracker Testers Institute?”

As I said, I was NOT doing well.

By the second day, I was an angry, judgmental curmudgeon.

My inner and exterior dialog was “These people are rude. They have no regard for others, based on the noise level of their mufflers and open air radios blaring “Wild Thing” for all the world to hear.

They are obsessed with skulls, inappropriate sexual bumper stickers, and all things shiny.” And I went on, “These are just big kids with big toys. Don’t they have anything better to do like read Wendell Berry or something?”

And then, when walking through the parking lot full of vendors, I saw one of the guys who looked like a Hell’s Angel praying for another guy who was crying, his arms on his shoulder and head bowed.

Later, when I got back to the condo, three heavily tattooed guys and their wives/girlfriends got on the elevator with me and they were as nice as they could be. Then, I thought of Tom from Louisville on the plane, the kind father of three who had probably ridden past me during the week.

I hate it when this happens.

Just when I get settled into my anger and judgment, Jesus invites the object of my distain to dinner.

He asks me sit at the table with them and eat. And there, I almost always find a call to confront my inner Pharisee, to set aside my arrogance and embrace the humanity of another. I find that being a judge and jury is not only unnecessary, but it also makes you unhappy.

The rest of the week was noisy, but better. I wore earplugs when I needed them, enjoyed my ocean view, and read Wendell Berry.

And while I can and will work on my attitude and judgment, the next time I plan a beach vacation, I’m going to be looking for International Mime Week, the gathering of thousands of people who won’t make a sound.

That’s more my style.

Are You Being Blinded By Advertising Messages?

“What do you want from the toy store?” I asked my son, Salem.

It was a sentence every kid dreams of hearing, and my son was no different. He’d just turned five years old and had received a gift certificate to a toy store for his birthday.

“A skateboard,” he said with a grin.

He’d seen the older boys in our neighborhood skating and had been talking about getting one for months.

I assumed, knowing his conviction, this would be an easy trip to the toy store.

Boy was I mistaken!

Expecting Salem to focus on skateboards once inside the toy store was like asking him to learn algebra inside Willie Wonka’s chocolate factory. Mesmerized by colors and shapes, Legos and superheroes, flashy electronics and neon racecars, my son was swept up into another dimension.

As I was dragging him past the dinosaur display, featuring a tent in which a child could play with his dinosaur toys, things went south.

Solemnly, Salem announced, “Dad, I need this tent.”

Another year of hearing about the skateboard flashed through my mind.

“But you have been saving money for months to buy a skateboard,” I reminded him. “Besides, you would hardly ever play with this tent—the dinosaurs are not even included.”

We bantered back and forth, him lobbying for why he needed the tent and me with a list of reasons it would be a mistake.

Finally—remembering I was the dad—I announced:

“Salem, we are not buying a dinosaur pop-up tent. That’s final.”

Though he was crushed for a moment, when we left the store ten minutes later with the skateboard he’d been wanting, that would be well-used over the next several years, he was glowing.

Since the skateboard incident at “Toy Warehouse,” I’ve realized how much all of us are like five-year-olds when it comes to buying and owning things.

Though we’re not particularly enthralled with dinosaur tents anymore, we often convince ourselves that we really need this pair of shoes, or that kitchen appliance or some other shiny gadget to be happy. Whether or not we actually do need the longed-for item, or would use it for very long if we had it doesn’t matter.

It is irrelevant when we’re hoodwinked by the disorienting haze of desire.

Like Dorothy and her friends being overcome by opium in the poppy fields outside the Emerald city, consumerism is in the air we breathe. We’ve inhaled the toxic philosophy that we must buy, buy, buy to be happy.

The messaging that bombards us daily has so convinced us that consuming more will satisfy, we don’t even question it most days.

The win, though, comes as we’re able to notice our blind spots.

When Salem was bedazzled by the dino-tent, he lost sight of what he actually valued most.

Blinded, he was willing to exchange what was best for something less.

When we’re willing to get honest about the impact consumerism has on our lives—whether our temptation is clothing or electronics or tents or home décor—we can stop being bullied by consumerism and discover more reliable sources of happiness.

Over the last four years, when my family has gotten ride of about 60% of all we owned, we’ve enjoyed the lasting satisfaction we experience as we reject consumerism. In The More of Less I share a lot of the ways that we, and others, have found the lives we wanted under everything we owned. Together we’ve discovered something amazing.

The good life isn’t found under piles of stuff. It is enjoyed as we enjoy what matters most.

As a result, today the five-year-old inner child in me is outside playing with my son—sometimes watching him skateboard with his pals—instead of being stuck inside Toy Warehouse.

Blinders off. Good life, on.