Minimalism really appeals to me: little to clean up, little to pack, less possessions. Moby is a minimalist; I know this because I saw his NY apartment on MTV's Cribs (this is a sad confession). It seemed so calm and uncluttered. I guess I desire this because my personality is the exact opposite: high strung and cluttered.
When I worked with computer nerds, one of the engineers had a screensaver of a tiny island in the Pacific. I asked him once why that was his screensaver and he told me it was his escape. Minimalist design is my escape. Because I desire it, I'm constantly chucking stuff that I don't use or can't think of a reason for keeping it. This drives Aaron insane because he would pack his poopy diapers from when he was a baby (if he could).
But despite my desires, I am sad to report that I am not a minimalist...I am a maxamist. (I just made that up, don't judge it.) Moving has painfully pointed me to this realization. With every ridiculous box I open, my maxamist behavior spits into my face. Despite my hatred of crap, I have a lot of crap. (Although, I just unpacked some gems from college, that I plan to post on the loversons soon.) I try to tell myself that minimalism just isn't possible with kids...but what I'm afraid to admit is that it isn't possible with me either.
Maybe I'll find a picture of a minimalist room and make it my screensaver.
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