Life beyond stuff

FUMIO SASAKI ALWAYS FELT INFERIOR TO PEOPLE WITH BETTER CLOTHES, SMARTER FURNITURE AND BIGGER APARTMENTS. THEN HE THREW OUT ALMOST EVERYTHING HE OWNED ... AND FOUND HAPPINESS THROUGH THE JAPANESE ART OF DANSHARI

BACK when I used to have a lot of possessions, a typical day in my life used to go like this: I’d come home from work, haphazardly take off my clothes, and leave them lying around wherever I happened to be. Then I’d take a shower, always noticing the crack in the bathroom sink that needed to be repaired. I’d sit in front of the TV to catch up on the shows I’d taped or maybe watch one of the movies I’d rented, and crack open a can of beer. Wine was my drink of choice for later in the evening, and there were times when I’d finish a bottle too quickly and have to dash to the nearby convenience store, already drunk.

I once heard a line that went: “Liquor is not happiness but a temporary respite from unhappiness.” That was exactly the case for me. I wanted to forget about how miserable I was, if only for a brief moment.

I’d wake up the next morning feeling cranky and reluctant to get out of bed. I would hit the snooze button on my alarm clock every 10 minutes until the sun was high in the sky and it was well past time to get ready for work. I’d feel weary with a throbbing headache from drinking too much yet again. Sitting on the toilet, I’d pinch the fat around my abdomen as I took care of business. Then I’d open the clothes dryer and pull out the crumpled shirt I threw in there last night, put it on with a quick glance at the clothes that had yet to be washed, and step out the door.

I’d make my way to the office, sick and tired of the same old commute. I’d go online and visit an anonymous bulletin board to pass the time since I know I can’t concentrate on my work first thing in the morning. Check my email obsessively and respond immediately, thinking that this somehow showed I was great at my job. All the while, I’d keep putting off the actual important work. I’d leave the office at the end of the day, not because I had finished everything I was supposed to finish but simply because it was time to go home.

Back in my pre-minimalist days, I was full of excuses. I couldn’t get up in the morning because I’d been working late. I’m fat because it’s in my genes. I could get right down to work if I had a better living environment. There’s no room to put anything away in my home, though, so how can I help it if it happens to be a mess? I only rent it – it isn’t like I own it – so what’s the use in trying to clean it up? Of course I’d keep it clean if it were a spacious home that I actually owned, but with my limited salary I can’t move to a bigger place.

THE excuses were endless, the thoughts running through my mind all negative. I was stuck in that mindset and yet because of my useless sense of pride, I was too afraid of failing to take any action to change things.

Since I minimised my possessions, a drastic change has occurred in my daily life. I come home from work and take a bath. I always leave the tub sparkling clean. Since I got rid of my TV, I read a book or write instead. I no longer drink alone. I go to bed after taking my time doing some stretching exercises, using the space that used to be filled with all my stuff.

I get up as the sun rises, and I no longer have to rely on my alarm clock. With my material objects gone, the shining rays of the morning sun are reflected against the white wallpaper and brighten up the apartment. The mere act of getting up in the morning has now become a pleasant routine. I put away my futon pad. I take time to enjoy my breakfast and savour the espresso I make on my Macchinetta, always cleaning up the breakfast dishes right after my meal. I sit down and med- itate to help clear my mind. I vacuum my apartment every day. I do the laundry if the weather is nice. I put on clothes that have been neatly folded and leave the apartment feeling good. I now enjoy taking the same route to work every day – it allows me to appreciate the changes of the four seasons.

I can’t believe how my life has changed. I got rid of my possessions, and I’m now truly happy. Let me share with you the things that I’ve thrown away:

All my books, including my bookshelves. I must have spent at least a million yen (about £8,000) on those books, but I sold them for 20,000 yen (about £160).

My boom box and all my CDs. I used to pretend to be an expert on various kinds of music, even if they didn’t really interest me.

A big kitchen cupboard that had been fully stocked for some reason, even though I was living alone.