I have two selves in constant battle. I truly believe my most authentic self is a minimalist. And yet, like many of us, I’m very open to persuasion. As a member of Generation Jones, known for "keeping up with the Joneses," I often find myself admiring and even envying other people’s possessions—not because I want what they have, but because I want to create a similar vibe in my home or wardrobe. Unfortunately, this often results in a bit of a mess. I lack a designer's eye, and with a husband who insists we only add to the landfill as a last resort, "more" is rarely good for me.

The Irony of My Minimalist Aspiration

My minimalist aspirations met their greatest challenge while organizing several shelves of books—the one thing I can never seem to have enough of. I tried to group them by theme on the same shelf, abandoning my usual system of alphabetizing or arranging by priority reads and recent purchases.

Here are the books I currently have in my "minimalist" section:

Inner Simplicity by Elaine St. James
Living the Simple Life by Elaine St. James
Outer Order, Inner Calm by Gretchen Rubin
Simplify Your Life by Elaine St. James (my favorite classic)
Soulful Simplicity by Courtney Carver
The Gentle Art of Swedish Death Cleaning by Margareta Magnusson
The Joy of Less by Francine Jay
The Minimalist Home by Joshua Becker
The More of Less by Joshua Becker
The Not So Big Life by Sarah Susanka

I have about 100 books on two shelves dedicated to personal development, and 10% of them are about minimalism. That’s irony at its finest!

The Emotional Attachment to “Stuff”

I often find myself laughing at my dual nature. The idea of minimalism appeals to me on many levels—having fewer things, experiencing less clutter, and feeling lighter in both mind and spirit. But the reality is I'm surrounded by objects I can’t seem to let go of. Many of us over 60 have collected a lifetime of belongings, each with its own story or memory. It's not just about letting go of an item; it’s about what that item represents—a moment, a relationship, a piece of our history.

Yet, I’ve realized that holding onto everything doesn’t honor those memories. Sometimes, it does the opposite. It buries the meaningful things under a pile of less important stuff. I’m learning to keep the essence of those memories alive—maybe through a photo, a token that represents a larger collection, or repurposing a beloved object—while still letting go of the physical clutter.

The Evolving Definition of Minimalism

Minimalism has meant different things to me over the years. In my younger days, it was about living in a smaller space or owning fewer things. Now, as I enter a new phase of life, I see it as curating what truly adds value to my life. It’s not about having a perfect, sparse home; it’s about being intentional with what I keep and why. Minimalism isn’t a one-size-fits-all philosophy. It’s a practice that looks different for everyone, especially for those of us who have lived many lives in one lifetime.

The Challenges of Decluttering with a Partner

Minimalism isn’t just my journey; it’s ours. My husband and I often disagree on what should stay and what should go. He is firmly in the “nothing should go to the landfill” camp, which I respect, but it makes decluttering a shared exercise in negotiation and compromise. We've established some ground rules, such as having “negotiation zones” where items are placed until we both decide their fate. It’s an ongoing process, a dance we do together—sometimes gracefully, sometimes with a bit of friction. I don’t understand why he needs buckets of nails and hardware, and he doesn’t understand why I can’t just use Kindle for my books.

Mindful Consumption in an Age of Abundance

Living in an age of abundance presents its own set of challenges. With a click of a button, I can have anything I desire on my doorstep within days, sometimes hours. Often, this desire stems from wanting to recreate an ideal—whether it’s a perfectly styled bookshelf or the right outfit for a trip. I’m trying to practice more mindful consumption these days. One year, I had a "no-purchase year" (except for consumables). Instead of making impulsive purchases, I kept a wishlist. By the end of the year, very few items on the list still appealed to me. I may need to revisit this practice soon. Sometimes, simply pausing before purchasing is enough to realize I don’t actually need or even want that item.

The Satisfaction of Letting Go

Despite the challenges, there’s undeniable satisfaction in letting go, in embracing “less.” When I clear a space—whether it’s a closet or just a single shelf—I feel lighter, more at ease. It gives me more room not just physically but emotionally. It’s an imperfect process, and in many ways, I’m still a “failed minimalist.” But maybe that’s okay. Perhaps the goal isn’t to achieve an ideal state but to find balance and intention in how I live and what I keep.

Can You Relate?

What’s one thing you thought extras would solve (reading glasses, anyone?), but you’ve realized one is easier to keep up with than many? What are the “extras” in your life that you could eliminate to simplify?

P.S.Why Elaine St. James’s Simplify Your Life Is My Favorite

If I were ever to write a book, I would want to emulate Simplify Your Life. It is small, simple, concrete, specific, actionable, and matter-of-fact. Published in 1994, it offered radical ideas that have since become more mainstream—changing the way you shop, paying off your mortgage, living on half of what you make, and saving the other half—with a few outdated tips, like using a check register. Unlike today’s self-help books, St. James doesn’t “take a deep dive into the research.” She doesn’t mention neurobiology even once. Instead, she relies on her lived experience.

I read this book 30 years ago and still remember her example of owning just one nail file. When she had only one, she always knew where it was. When she bought multiples, they became less precious, and she could never find one when she needed it.

#Aging and Minimalism

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An Aspiring and Somewhat Failed Minimalist