Florentine here, and yes, I’m a minimalist. I can fit all my essentials into two suitcases and travel wherever, whenever. I make about $30,000 a year, which might sound modest, but it’s enough for me. I live simply, with just a small studio and a bike, and that’s all I need for a fulfilling life.
Why minimalism? Well, for me, it’s partly out of necessity. After struggling to climb the ladder at an ad agency and then losing my job during the recession, I started calling myself a minimalist rather than admit I was jobless. I said I quit to pursue freedom, but the truth is, I felt stuck and embarrassed to admit that despite my education, I was just photocopying and answering phones—and not even succeeding at that.
I keep telling myself that my minimalist lifestyle is by choice. I dream of creating beautiful visuals and sounds, making art that everyone can enjoy. But after losing my job, it’s been tough to get back into the creative field. I’ve been locked out for almost a year now, and I’m just shouting into the void, hoping to be let back in.
So, I preach minimalism. I criticize consumerism and the corporate rat race because it makes me feel better about not having the things that many aspire to—like a nice house or a fancy job. And while I talk a big game about being able to live anywhere in the world, I’m stuck in a freezing, dismal city I sarcastically call Hell On Earth.
Yet, here I am, embracing minimalism because it’s become part of who I am. I argue it’s by choice, but it’s also a result of circumstances. The economic downturn pushed many of us into this lifestyle. Some embrace it wholeheartedly, others, maybe they’re fooling themselves or just making the best out of a bad situation.
So, while I might sound bitter or disillusioned, I’m really just trying to make peace with where I am in life. Minimalism isn’t just a lifestyle choice; for some of us, it’s a necessity turned into a virtue.
