Mindful Living

I Did the Minimalist Challenge and Now I Want My Stuff Back

I can’t stand being alone with myself

Attention all recipients of recent donations to the New Haven Charitable Donation Center: I’m glad you’re enjoying what the donation coordinator referred to as the “largest, most generous donation ever received” but I’m going to need it all back.

I got swept up in this scam posing as a life improvement movement called “The Minimalist Challenge” developed by Joshua Field Millburn and Ryan Nicodemus. The one where you get rid of things based on what the date is. For example, get rid of one thing on the first of the month, 2 on the second, and on and on for the entire month.

I’d like all 465 items I donated back.

It seemed like a good idea at the time but now I’m sitting on the floor of my empty living room, staring at the wall where my TV used to be, wondering what the hell I’m supposed to talk to my husband about. Sitting on the hardwood floor sure is cold, especially because I gave away all my pants. I hope I can track down the person who acquired my living room carpet.

Mealtime has become the biggest challenge. Having to hand back and forth the one fork I saved is tiring. Eating soup with a fork is a nightmare that led to third-degree burns in places I’d rather not talk about. Just another reason pants are so important (and spoons for that matter).

My husband was on board with the entire thing until he realized I gave away all his underwear except two pairs. He can just keep turning them inside out.

What? I just watched him pick the dog hair off a piece of bologna he dropped on the floor and eat it. All of a sudden he’s “mister hygienic”.

My neighbors participated in the Minimalist Challenge with us too. Now, they’re using their time productively and keep asking us to go hiking with them. I guess I should be happy I got rid of all my shoes because holy hell if I have to listen to Frank and Maria talk about how transformative it is to share one square of toilet paper and sleep on the floor one more time, I’m going to stuff the only pair of socks I have left in their spiritually rejuvenated mouths.

I’m watching them through my kitchen window while they do trust falls in their front yard. I miss my blinds.

What’s so great about minimalism anyway?

Now I’m so bored that I’m forced to be alone with my thoughts. Turns out, I’m not that interesting. Not that pretty either. I’m sure my husband would be appreciative if I got all my makeup back.

I wouldn’t mind getting him another toothbrush and some deodorant. The smell wafting through these empty rooms is offensive even if there is no furniture for it to burrow into.

I understand it may be hard to track down every last item I donated. At the very least, if I could just get the contents of my liquor cabinet back, I might be able to make it another night listening to my husband’s rants about how TikTok is going to be the end of civilization.

So if any of the recipients of my stuff is reading this, I'm ready to clutter up my life again. Perhaps you will recognize me in some of the family photos I donated.

Please, respond soon. My phone battery is dying and it’s Frank and Maria’s night with the communal charger.

*This story is loosely based on real events thanks to my husband's discovery of the Netflix documentary “The Minimalists: Less is Now”

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