Enough Stuff?

          Some time ago, I adopted a deliberate policy of thinking twice before acquiring any more stuff. The change may have coincided with our downsizing to a smaller apartment, though I prefer to believe its origin was more loftily conceived, the result of ideological and moral contemplation. Certainly, I was influenced by William Morris’s advice to “…have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful…” and by the noble philosophy of asceticism, though less so by the latter, given that it requires considerable self-discipline and is tainted by association with religiosity. Most likely, the cause was a combination of pragmatism and idealism, but one thing’s for certain: the ticking clock of advancing age introduces a reality check to the rationale behind accumulating worldly goods.

          Decluttering has become a thing that people consciously do, whereas cluttering is not necessarily deliberate. Moreover, these terms apply not only to objects. Without due care and attention, one’s life can quickly become crowded with relationships and activities that complicate our days, obfuscate our priorities and eat up that most finite of commodities, our time. Of course, it’s not easy to divest oneself of relationships, since they are usually reciprocal. Activities, on the other hand, are easily terminated, as when I gave up gardening.

          One day, I woke up to the realisation that with both a garden and a share in an allotment, my weekends were spoken for well into the foreseeable future. Not long after this dawning, I relinquished both by moving into an apartment. I then bought a campervan, thereby gaining not only the time but also the means to pursue more varied leisure activities. It’s not that I find horticulture uninteresting. It’s just that I would rather someone else’s life were devoted to its execution. In return, I show my appreciation by subsidising the National Trust and visiting its gardens and orchards to admire – and sometimes harvest – the fruits of their labours. Last Sunday, for example, I went to Cothele, where a daffodil fest was in full swing. The gardens there are stocked with 320 varieties of the trumpet-like blooms, some of which date back to the 17^th century, though it was enough for me to pick out the half-dozen types that differ most obviously.

          The next day, I went to the re-opening of the leisure centre that closed for refurbishment a couple of years ago, thereby temporarily terminating my membership of its gym facility. I have to say that I have not missed the treadmill and, despite the shiny new upgrade and reasonably priced membership offer, I cannot work up sufficient enthusiasm to commit to re-joining. It’s not that I begrudge the time – one must exercise to stay well and, besides, music and podcasts are there to fill the mental void – but I’m inclined to postpone the decision ‘til winter, when recreational bike-rides and walks are less appealing options.

          I also spent a few days travelling up north, where I spent time with a few old friends that I don’t see from one year to another – long enough for visible changes to register. Everyone looks a degree or two older, something that might go unnoticed if we met more frequently, but that is to be expected. What I was looking for were changes of opinion, attitude or lifestyle. Of these I saw little. Set in our ways or committed to hard-fought-for values? My vote is for the latter.

          Conversely, I admit to a lapse in principles last week. I was browsing, somewhat scornfully, in a shop full of “collectors’ items”, when my eye was drawn to a framed print of a townscape, prettily done in muted colours and in a style reminiscent of the sixties. Perhaps I bought it for nostalgic reasons but, at only four quid (a mistake, surely?) it didn’t take me long to override my ‘no-acquisitions’ policy. Now, I have to find a space on the wall to justify its purchase.