linda may

April 7 I finally file our taxes and get a pleasant surprise. Not only are we getting a refund this year, but we are getting a hefty $3,300 kicker refund from the State of Oregon, for a total refund of over $4,800. This could help us get closer to our goal of being debt free 3 months sooner, and save us over $1,500 in interest. And it is also rare that we get the gift of that much cash at once. Since we have less than $1,400 in our savings at the moment, this makes us think about using it towards our next car purchase. We have an aging 2013 Nissan Leaf with a dwindling battery. It will lose its battery life next year right around the time we finally own it outright. With auto loan rates of between 7-9% right now, we’ll be looking to borrow as little as possible after we sell the rapidly depreciating old Leaf for maybe $4,000 and buy a newer electric vehicle with a longer battery life. I don’t for a moment consider a gas-powered car. I hate going to the gas station so much, and never having to take the time to pay for the privilege of filling up the tank with fossil fuel is a luxury I don’t want to give up.

April 8 While I am getting dressed for work a metaphor, and an image pop into my head: A human figure on a road – maybe like the yellow brick road – with their life and hopes and dreams and a brilliant future stretched out before them. But they are only sort of on the path, maybe they have one foot on the bricks and one on the shoulder, because they are bent over a shiny object that appears to be a small golden bundle. As I pull back to take more in, I see hundreds more people, also bent over these small golden bundles, and no one is walking the path or looking ahead. As soon as someone starts walking they are disracted by another bundle on the side of the road. They stop to admire and inspect each one. At this rate, they won’t reach the Emerald City or any of the destinations up ahead.

This is how my stuff is starting to feel; like a distraction from my path. I have ascribed so much value to belongings, to purchasing, to collecting, to expressing my “self” through displaying things I own. And now, at the age of almost-50, I am starting to feel the burden of all of this ownership. I just want it gone. The clothes in my closet, the papers in my files, the boxes in the basement, the bags in my car, the junk in the junk drawer, the tubes in the “medicine” chest (p.s., they aren’t medicine).

But then the thought of the monumental effort it would take to actually go through everything seems Herculean. The emotional work of holding each item and weighing its value, feeling its “meaning,” yuck. I attach too much sentiment & memory to things. I worry I will lose memories once I discard the items that evoke them. And now I think I finally see, it’s OK to lose them. We can’t keep every memory. Maybe that is also a product of consumerism or, let’s call it what it is: greed. This idea that we get to keep all of our memories in tact through possessions.

This is a familiar feeling, embarking on a long journey, or a difficult project: I just want to fast forward to the part where it’s over. I know there is no way around but through. I dread talking to Nate and the kids and I’m afraid they won’t want to do it. Or maybe I’m more afraid they will.

For the first time in this experiment I think, “It is kind of a relief not to have to buy any stuff.” I pack my lunch and have coffee at work.

Before bed, I pull everything out of our bathroom and put it on the dining table. I set aside expired COVID tests, (we have so many) years-old hair products, and empty bottles for disposal. This is the easy stuff. I have only culled about 20% of the stuff in our tiny bathroom. I can barely notice a difference once I wipe down the surfaces and put everything back. Truly minimizing will be much, much harder than this.

April 9 Judith Levine: “Having less, I feel financially more secure this year than I have in decades.” This resonates with me today as I notice our debt shrinking and our savings growing. I pack leftovers for lunch, and drink Work Coffee.

April 10 It is a gorgeous sunny day and I walk to the food carts at lunchtime, spending a whopping $22 on curry and crab puffs. Got my first haircut of the year, $102. Feel amazing.

April 11 I fail to pack lunch due to oversleeping – then fortune smiles on me and one of my teams orders pizza and salad. Courtney and I chat with the team and debate the merits of pizza with ranch. Cancelling out this good fortune, I stop for Friday bubble tea and a macaron ($11) because it’s Friday.

I also receive an email from Grove – where we sometimes buy cleaning products. They are offering free handsoap with any order – and since we are out of handsoap, I think this is probably OK. We are out of household cleaner (for mopping) and running low on toothpaste and dishwasher pods. I also had to throw out our dish mat due to mildew, so I order a replacement. All of this is “allowed.” My order totals about $62. What’s a bit more ambiguous is the $30 glass bowl with a silicone cover that I order for the purpose of packing my lunch, Several of my to-go containers have started to deteriorate and have broken or mildewed lids. Nate is complaining about the ungainly collection of ziploc containers and lids that all but cascade onto our heads each time we open the cabinet.

I see my tax refund hit my savings account. I have the uneasy feeling of being unclear how we will use this money. I recall that at least once, years ago, I received my refund and spent it from my checking account before even realizing it had come. I remember experiencing a strange kind of despair in that realization, that I could never gain control of my spending. We decide to put the money into our HYSA which earns 5% interest until we figure it out.

April 13 On the way to my son’s 9am soccer game, I announce that I intend to “Minimize our whole house this year.” Cue the simultaneous groans from both kids in the backseat. I tell them they can keep what they want in their bedrooms, as long as they are willing to tidy them up every weekend and find 3 or 4 things to let go periodically. They seem OK with this. Nate is all about it.

After doing all of the dishes and cleaning off the counter, I pull out all of our glassware, mugs and plastic storage containers. Nate helps me discard a whole box full of broken/chipped/rarely used items. There are even a few things that are perfectly nice that I still sort of like and use once in a while, but I bargain with Nate that I’ll let them go if he lets go of his old dented Simpsons Thermos from the 90s that we never use, and I have long considered an eyesore. Deal. The interior of our cabinets is respectable and more spacious. There is now room for the ambiguously-gotten $30 bowl. Truly, it only has to get me to pack my lunch twice to have earned its keep.

We’ve been looking for a used mini-fridge for our Airbnb unit. We’ve gotten away without a kitchenette so far in the first year of renting out our basement guest room – but we finally received a review from a guest who said a mini fridge would be an improvement. We’ve been comparison shopping on craigslist and FB Marketplace for several weeks, seeing them go for $80, $90 and upwards of $100 used. Today, I find one online for $40. It’s like new- a score. I drive 20 minutes across the river to pick it up.

On the drive back I think about my black t-shirt – the one I have been shopping for to no avail. I decide to drive downtown to Muji, the last place I bought a really perfect t-shirt – 2 years ago. I try on at least 20 different Ts – short sleeve, long sleeve, 3/4 sleeve, some are 100% cotton and some are an unsatisfying papery kind of cotton/poly blend with no loft or stretch whatsoever. 2 or 3 come close, but none of them are a “hell yeah this is a perfect t-shirt.” 2023 me would have purchased 3 or 4 of the almost-right t-shirts, so I figure I saved myself between $60-80. And I walk out of Muji emptyhanded, grieving for the t-shirt of 2 years ago, sweatstained, unsightly, stretched out, never to return again.