Extreme Minimalism: Adapting to Change

I love living with as few possessions as possible. Yet there are times when those of us who love a life of extreme minimalism must adapt to change. We must adjust our ways.

For instance, way back when, after spending the first ten months of the pandemic in Portugal, then essentially becoming illegal aliens, many of us had to head back from where we came.

As well, I wasn’t sure my two questionable pandemic passport stamps would be accepted everywhere I might want to travel next. It just didn’t look good.

I also needed a new passport.

Mostly, I didn’t want to navigate the world while it was in so much upheaval. Travel insurance covers so much, but I’m not one to place myself in situations with endless legal warnings.

In a crisis, I prefer to flee, then hunker down. However, I want to avoid endless cycles of fleeing and hunkering down.

Naively, I thought that we would only need to wait out the pandemic in our home region for a few more weeks or months. At most.

So I stayed in the moment. But the moment kept stretching. The pandemic continued.

Back in my home region, I found affordable furnished lodging for a few weeks, which stretched into a few months. I found more affordable furnished accommodations for another six months.

Then furnished lodging became scarce and expensive. Who would have ever predicted such a change?

So I found an unfurnished apartment for seven months. I just needed a few minimalist capsule furnishings—the simplest, most portable household possessions I could find.

I purchased a wooden zen-like folding bed frame, organic shikibuton and bed linens, a small folding table and chair, bowls, three planters, a hemp shower curtain, and an air filter.

I later purchased a lightweight wooden bench, a lamp, two stainless buckets for trash, a cordless vacuum, an Instant Pot, and the items to create organic cafe curtains.

A few other purchases didn’t work out, so they were donated.

My boyfriend voyaged to his boat, where he reveled in personal and household items he’d long forgotten, items he loved to share.

I was so grateful for a beautiful minimalist apartment (on solar power). I loved having the private space, a private bathroom, and a front-loading washer/dryer.

But I was also a bit burdened by the thought of having to own, manage, then get rid of these new possessions once they were no longer needed.

Though I knew this was still the wisest temporary situation for my life, given the worldwide upheaval.

So I reassured myself that I could easily sell these possessions (or give them away) as soon as it was time to travel freely again. My boyfriend reminds me that he’s happy to store them, too.

Amazingly, as the seven-month lease was ending, the pandemic was improving, so it felt like time to make travel plans again—starting with three summer months in Sweden.

While booking those travel plans, the horrific war in Ukraine broke out, also placing loved ones in Sweden at risk. Those fleeing the war would need all the housing they could find in Europe.

I’m not one to travel casually when there are serious threats to the people and places I know. That just doesn’t feel good to me. So I canceled all international travel plans.

I wanted all resources to be available to help those needing support. I didn’t want to needlessly take up valuable space in someone else’s crisis, even if I missed my loved ones.

Honestly, I could not have relaxed and enjoyed travel during that time.

The threat of worldwide nuclear war became a reality. That did not sit well with me, especially since we were literally perched near the largest stockpile of nuclear weapons in the world.

My home city was also in the midst of the most crime I’d ever witnessed. Violence, shootings, fires, and the impact of drugs were audible and visible everywhere.

Then, in the middle of all this, I was in a bike accident that rendered me mostly immobile for a few months, activating autoimmune challenges I didn’t know were possible.

I couldn’t believe this was my new reality, however temporary.

Thankfully, I’d already found accommodation in a mountain town I know well. As humorous as it sounds, it wasn’t near nuclear sites of any kind. And I could enjoy crime-free time outside.

My boyfriend scooped me up, drove me (and all those minimalist household purchases) thirteen hours to said mountain town. It was bliss.

Then it began snowing. I don’t think it’s stopped snowing since. This is not normal. I’m used to winter sunshine and blue skies fighting for equal time in this mountain town.

When my boyfriend calls now, I laugh as I share that I'm still in a snowpocalypse. I promise him I’ll dig myself out of this mountain town and join him soon. I also know he’ll rescue me.

Needless to say, this minimalist has had to purchase additional clothing, too. And that’s okay.

This is all okay. It’s important to remember that change will always happen around us.

This is why flexibility is so important to me. I want to remain as flexible as possible—even when that flexibility doesn’t come naturally.

I’m adapting to change.