Minimalist Regret

Fans of Doctor Who will recognize this device as the sonic screwriver. The sonic screwdriver was an all purpose device that mostly allowed the Doctor to open locks, but it did other things as well. It was basically a high tech Swiss Army knife for Time Lords and a handy way to let television script writers off the hook when they had written themselves into a corner.

In real life, the best analogue to the sonic screwdriver would be the smartphone. That thing can send and receive calls, email, and text. It can be a map, GPS, reference device, or what have you. Its functions are always expanding as dictated by app developers. It is very handy until you have scorched the battery just two hours later or run up your bill astronomically with data charges.

Not every device can be as handy or as useful as either the sonic screwdriver or the smartphone. Most of the things we buy, collect, and accumulate don't have multiple uses or do us the favor of being small enough to fit in our pockets. They are big and usually are of limited usage. They do one thing when we need it and occupy space and collect dust the rest of the time. The accumulation of all these things comes from theoretical uses that we anticipate. This anticipation is the genesis of hoarding.



If you ever watch an episode of Hoarders, you will notice the pathological nature of the hoarder's mindset. They have to cling to things. They can't let them go. They always say the same thing. "I might need this." Yes, you might need this. But what is the likelihood of that? Does anyone really need a storage bin filled with old newspapers? Even if you needed to look up an article, how could you ever find it in those stacks?

It is obvious to me that hoarders derive some sort of security from their clutter. This may seem like insanity until I point out the security you feel from things like having your smartphone. I remember a time when I traveled across multiple states with nothing but a quarter for a payphone and a bottle of water. Now, I can't go around the block without my phone. But I never carry change now. I put it all on the debit card.

Convincing someone to stop being a hoarder boils down to this security issue. They must become convinced that they can live without their clutter. The fear they have is that they might need that stuff, and it might come in handy except it won't be there. Imagine the Doctor locked in some alien prison without that sonic screwdriver, or you broke down on a long stretch of interstate highway without your cellphone. This is how those people feel about going through life without the clutter. It frightens them. Clutter creates options in a chaotic world and gives them resources against many contingencies. This might seem like madness but not to them.

Most people are not hoarders, but they are not minimalists either. They fall in-between. When those people see the closet of a minimalist, they are aghast. They always ask the same thing. How do you live with so little? The dirty secret is that the minimalist lives with the same amount many others do. Most people wear the same week's worth of clothes over and over while they have closets and drawers full of things they never wear. If you only kept what was actually worn and put it in an empty closet, it would be identical to that of the minimalist.



The word "austerity" crops up a lot in discussions of the minimalist lifestyle, but those who live that way don't find it austere. They find it is almost identical to the old way except they have less clutter and more space and freedom. There is no deprivation. There is simply the elimination of psychologically meaningful but utterly useless crap. To be a minimalist requires supreme self-confidence in your ability to innovate and improvise during a crisis. It also requires a willingness to endure and do without. The lifestyle requires psychological fortitude, and most people simply don't have it.

When people embrace this lifestyle, they eliminate the clutter. They pare back. They get to what they consider the essentials. Then, they realize how unessential those things are and pare down further. When this is achieved, there is a rush of exhiliration and freedom. Then, it hits. It doesn't happen at first. It happens later. This is minimalist regret.

Minimalist regret happens when a situation comes up, and you realize that you have the solution to that dilemma except you tossed it in the garbage or donated it to Goodwill. For instance, a friend may invite you to go golfing except you sold your clubs at the yard sale because you never went golfing. Now, here is the opportunity to do what you never do except you are missing the equipment you never use. You have to tell your friend that you gave up golf though you might have otherwise enjoyed that one day on the links. That feeling is minimalist regret.

I get that feeling all the time. It usually hits when someone asks me about sports, but I have to tell them I don't follow sports anymore. I hope they don't ask anymore than that, but they do. Why do I not follow sports? I just tell them I don't have the time for the trivial nature of it all. This makes them feel that you are judging them, and you must be some sort of douchebag or possibly homosexual. The minimalist regret is most acute when you hear of how a team you used to follow just won a huge game. You missed that. Nevermind that you are in better shape because you use that time to work out instead of working on growing the beer gut in front of the tube.

There is no way to avoid minimalist regret. You just have to recognize it as a trick of the mind. Undoubtedly, the human race has evolved to consider these things as they impact our survival. We have to make choices, and regret is simply rethinking a choice that is already made. The hoarder wants a life of fewer regrets, so he or she accumulates their options with most of them going unused.

This brings us back to our sonic screwdriver. The things we choose to retain must have the qualities of that device. It must be multifunctional, compact, and reliable. This is why minimalists can go without TVs or cars, but everyone of them owns a laptop computer. This is also why they buy quality because their few things get maximum usage. Looking at nomadic minimalists gives you an idea of what this is about as they choose those things that will fit in a backpack. Granted, having more stuff gives you more options, but it also gives you more burdens. That realization is the antidote to minimalist regret.

I can only speak for myself, but I have fewer regrets these days. This is because as a minimalist I accept that life is about trade offs. You cannot have your cake and eat it, too. In a life of finite time, money, and energy, I have learned to say no when I would have said yes before. I have learned to count what I have gained when the minimalist regret comes along. Ultimately, regret is the belief that you could have had a better life. I realize that is a lie. Garages filled with the detritus of all those possible other lives are evidence of the lie. As for the crisis, the ultimate multipurpose device is money. Most problems you encounter in life can be solved with a check or a swipe of the debit card. The best way to have money is to not blow it on shit you don't need.

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