Let's talk about minimalism.
The substance that flows isn't the tool itself, but the life it enables.
I first came across the term minimalism when I was in college. At the time, it was incredibly appealing to me. In a way, it also aligned with a certain life philosophy I already had.
I’m not a big fan of owning things. Because it means you constantly have to keep them in mind, think about their “maintenance,” and that’s a kind of psychological burden. But at the same time, I’m also quite curious and love trying new things. These two life philosophies are, you could say, contradictory—they’re always leaving me wavering.
Every time I dive into a new field, it always involves acquiring all sorts of gear and tools. In the process of trying things out, I unconsciously accumulate a lot of “possessions.” This feels like a real drag, but getting rid of them also means that a part of my memories will disappear.
So, how to handle and archive these memories has become a kind of philosophy that needs to be thought through. The thing is, my daily quota for thinking is limited, especially now that I’ve reached an age where I’m not really willing to spend a lot of energy comparing and weighing options. I just want to make choices without having to use my brain.
That’s why, to me, minimalism felt like a test-taker finally getting a chance to peek at someone else’s answers. To see how others were dealing with this exact predicament.
But the answers were never satisfactory.
A lot of books and articles about minimalism are just that—a sheer “ism.” They feel like an empty sermon, telling you how easy and comfortable life becomes after you adopt minimalism, while glossing over the specific struggles, including the entanglement with nostalgia and sentimentality. That’s really frustrating.
I didn’t find the answer I was looking for. I’m a pretty indecisive person in life. I rarely use the same tools for the long haul. Take the most common to-do list or note-taking apps; if I stick with one for over a year, I consider it an old friend. The frequency of switching is super high.
Eventually, I even fell into the trap of being a tool enthusiast (tool-collector or tool-hoarder). Every day, I’d be obsessing over whether I was using the handiest tool, or if there was a better, more elegant workflow. Of course, that’s not realistic. Because the so-called better, more optimal solution simply doesn’t exist.
Tools are a relative concept. The internet is full of countless pros vs cons articles, but what ultimately flows is the substance that the tool carries or creates.
Of course, this is all old news. Content over form is the most correct, most indisputable conclusion.
However, I think I’ve been stuck in the trap of form for so long that my perceptiveness and creativity for content have withered. Like a dry well.
How to get my sense of content back is the problem. Naturally, the first answer is to shift my focus away from form.
So, the former me thought that minimalism would be the answer to my life philosophy.