Editing, Minimalism, and Mindful Living
I am mostly unfinished; perpetually writhing in the throes of personal evolution. This process is something that I’m deeply grateful for. It means that I’ve been afforded the luxury to even consider self actualization. Circumstance doesn’t always provide for it, so I consider myself lucky. That’s not to say that it’s an easy way to live, or that I don’t spend much of my time gnashing my teeth and struggling to ferret out and simplify what I want, what I have to give, and what any of it means, given my own conditioning and the massive data overload of day to day existence. It wasn’t until I started writing that I truly felt empowered by my ability to edit both my ideas and my life.
My family moved around a lot as I was growing up. I don’t mean we moved a couple of times, I mean we ghosted in and out of cities, states, and individual houses every two years, like clockwork. I was that kid, the one you didn’t know or only vaguely remember. At some point my family settled, but by then the wanderlust had set in and I just kept going. My lifestyle wasn’t permissive of owning or having a lot of stuff around, but I was much less discerning about what I spent my money and time on. Translation: I’d still amassed a bunch of crap, but I had less of it than I would have had otherwise.
Visual storytelling was my first love, it has always been intuitive, and I’ve been making things since I could remember. As an artist, I’ll admit to a natural propensity toward hoarding, which I have to be consistently mindful of. Anything that captures my imagination I want to be around. I want to live in it. I want to enhance it. Regardless of how many times I’ve moved, I’ve still cobbled together a spectacular collection of books which I take both pleasure in and am aware could get out of hand. The ability to create an entire world that was limitlessly vast and intricate, and carry it with me always, was why I started writing. The ability to edit the bisecting, shark chucking, ink spewing, word tornados in my skull down to a sequence of cogent images and living characters was why the excitement of a more minimalistic approach spread to the rest of my life. If I could edit in fantasy, why couldn’t I do the same to my reality?
Here’s what I’ve learned thus far. 1) Buy less and make more. That goes for gifts, household tasks, room renovations, organization, character tropes, canned interactions, fitness, and probably a whole slew of other things. It’s a very multi purpose solution. For me it’s been gratifying. By limiting the things that I consume down to a manageable list, I can make mindful choices about what I do, buy, and interact with. Those moments and purchases are more satiating. 2) Subtract what doesn’t serve. I’m pretty sure this is a Bruce Lee ideology, which goes to show, it works for more than just writing. If a word, or a phrase, or an environment doesn’t make me melt with joy, I subtract. I yank out artifice until I can expose all of the raw goodies underneath. When it feels real is when I feel the most connected. I need that feeling in my life or else I’ll just float around heartsick and untethered. 3) Love each thing for what it is. There often exists a dichotomy between what a person or an object is, and what we want them to be. For me, this is the most prevalent when I don’t know my own needs. When I’m not aware of what I’m missing, it becomes almost guaranteed that I’ll fill up with things and interactions that make me feel more alienated instead of less. It can be easy to lose perspective in that place. When I’m not careful, I write that way. When I’m less careful I’ve lived that way. It’s unfair to everyone involved. When I’m aware of my own needs, or the needs in my writing, it becomes infinitely easier to love a thing for what it is.
If we meet at some point and you ask me about this in person, you will inevitably get more information from me than you would get otherwise. Sorry in advance. It get’s worse when I’m excited about the subject matter. I have yet to learn to self edit, on the fly, as the words are coming out of my pie hole. What I have learned, is that being mindful of the plot of my life really does seem to enhance the way in which I live it. Mindful minimalism helps to negate the creeping feelings that I once smothered or pacified with some emotional-duct-tape-stop-gap-measure. I push against the impulse to add more because I’m much happier and more literate with less.
My family moved around a lot as I was growing up. I don’t mean we moved a couple of times, I mean we ghosted in and out of cities, states, and individual houses every two years, like clockwork. I was that kid, the one you didn’t know or only vaguely remember. At some point my family settled, but by then the wanderlust had set in and I just kept going. My lifestyle wasn’t permissive of owning or having a lot of stuff around, but I was much less discerning about what I spent my money and time on. Translation: I’d still amassed a bunch of crap, but I had less of it than I would have had otherwise.
Visual storytelling was my first love, it has always been intuitive, and I’ve been making things since I could remember. As an artist, I’ll admit to a natural propensity toward hoarding, which I have to be consistently mindful of. Anything that captures my imagination I want to be around. I want to live in it. I want to enhance it. Regardless of how many times I’ve moved, I’ve still cobbled together a spectacular collection of books which I take both pleasure in and am aware could get out of hand. The ability to create an entire world that was limitlessly vast and intricate, and carry it with me always, was why I started writing. The ability to edit the bisecting, shark chucking, ink spewing, word tornados in my skull down to a sequence of cogent images and living characters was why the excitement of a more minimalistic approach spread to the rest of my life. If I could edit in fantasy, why couldn’t I do the same to my reality?
Here’s what I’ve learned thus far. 1) Buy less and make more. That goes for gifts, household tasks, room renovations, organization, character tropes, canned interactions, fitness, and probably a whole slew of other things. It’s a very multi purpose solution. For me it’s been gratifying. By limiting the things that I consume down to a manageable list, I can make mindful choices about what I do, buy, and interact with. Those moments and purchases are more satiating. 2) Subtract what doesn’t serve. I’m pretty sure this is a Bruce Lee ideology, which goes to show, it works for more than just writing. If a word, or a phrase, or an environment doesn’t make me melt with joy, I subtract. I yank out artifice until I can expose all of the raw goodies underneath. When it feels real is when I feel the most connected. I need that feeling in my life or else I’ll just float around heartsick and untethered. 3) Love each thing for what it is. There often exists a dichotomy between what a person or an object is, and what we want them to be. For me, this is the most prevalent when I don’t know my own needs. When I’m not aware of what I’m missing, it becomes almost guaranteed that I’ll fill up with things and interactions that make me feel more alienated instead of less. It can be easy to lose perspective in that place. When I’m not careful, I write that way. When I’m less careful I’ve lived that way. It’s unfair to everyone involved. When I’m aware of my own needs, or the needs in my writing, it becomes infinitely easier to love a thing for what it is.
If we meet at some point and you ask me about this in person, you will inevitably get more information from me than you would get otherwise. Sorry in advance. It get’s worse when I’m excited about the subject matter. I have yet to learn to self edit, on the fly, as the words are coming out of my pie hole. What I have learned, is that being mindful of the plot of my life really does seem to enhance the way in which I live it. Mindful minimalism helps to negate the creeping feelings that I once smothered or pacified with some emotional-duct-tape-stop-gap-measure. I push against the impulse to add more because I’m much happier and more literate with less.
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