May 17, 2026
Most people are familiar with the term “less is more”: the less chocolate cake we eat, the better it will taste when we occasionally indulge; the less choices we have, the easier it is to make decisions; and the less material items we own, the more space, clarity and purpose we stand to experience. What if we invert this phrase to “more is less”? More chocolate cake than we need may have us feeling less than well; more options lessens our ability to make confident choices; and owning more stuff, ironically, lessens the chances of us using it.
We know how to make all of this stuff look presentable when we have a bit of time and motivation, or when company is expected; stacking it into piles, then pantries, cabinets and closets. But if we were to constantly try and keep up with it, it would start to seem as though these possessions are not only crowding our physical spaces, but also devouring all of our time.
We inherently know that there’s not much freedom in this, so we organize our stuff or we obtain more space for it to fit. If we’re responsible adults, some items make their way into a labeled box or bin that lives some place where we don’t have to look at it– usually a garage, basement or shed, where we’ll be substantially less inclined to use it again.
We might spend an entire weekend figuring out how to get all of these surplus belongings transported (while still “keeping” them); we might pay a higher mortgage or rent for a bigger property, just to contain all of it; we might even have to cough up a few hundred dollars every month to make sure some of our less significant things can live comfortably in a locked and surveilled facility; and out of our way.
These things we’re inconveniently lugging around and stashing all over the place are not assets or treasures, they’re the reason why garage sales exist– the cluttered result of these sophisticated, methodical hoarding practices is also probably the reason why, in part, we often feel so weighed down.
Check-In (gin light)
My partner Jessica has gently guided our family through minimalism over the last decade and a half. This application of a “living more with less” philosophy didn’t happen overnight; in fact, for us it has become a practice that continues daily, constantly evolving and shaping the people we will become over time; and yet, there are singular moments when we’re quietly, but profoundly reminded of what we’re doing and why we’re doing it.
My recent experience with this was subtle (and possibly pretentious): one night I was standing in my living room and looking around in a warm hubris of a freshly cleaned room; and the fact that it didn’t take but a couple of minutes to put things away made me feel like I was staying in one of those short-term rental properties, like a VRBO or Airbnb. I even got that giddy little feeling that says “mm, I can’t wait to jump into bed and enjoy this tomorrow!”. It’s cheesy, I know, but anyone who has stayed in a VRBO-style rental, knows the feeling.
We also know, and expect, that when we vacate these short term spaces, we are to leave them just as clean and neat as when we checked into it. We do this out of common decency (and the fact that we’ll likely get dinged a penalty cost for our negligence); but it’s also a more intimate experience when we’re sleeping in another individual’s home, as opposed to a commercial establishment, such as a hotel, where people are hired to clean up after us.
VRBO spaces are personalized, items are often carefully curated and there typically aren’t mountains of junk everywhere (unless we bring with us 40 suitcases)– it sort of makes us want to treat it nicely. When provided temporary access to these personal and sometimes magical spaces, we might find ourselves actually doing a puzzle that we found in the coffee table drawer or reading a book that was sitting on a shelf in the sun room.
It’s true that less clutter in these provisional rentals allows us to be able to spot this book or even consider choosing that puzzle as a fun and worthwhile activity; and because there’s considerably less to put away, we’re actually capable of keeping things clean and organized with greater ease; but I find it interesting that we’re not as good at doing this when it comes to our own homes.
Death and Taxes
When does the honeymoon phase of mindful living end in a short-term rental? Well, there is a reason they cap it off at 30 days (which extends beyond tax purposes), for once a domicile, or even an object, starts to feel like it “belongs” to us, something changes: if we want to understand why VRBO’s feel nicer and more spacious than our regular, everyday homes, we may look no further than possession (not by Satan, hopefully).
Picture a toddler yelling “Mine!” as he snatches his toy back from his buddy or his sibling, only to shuffle away and secretly shove it in between some couch cushions. This is kind of what we’re doing when the adult version of us begins to develop the financial capacity, coupled with an innate desire, to obtain more– when the idea of owning things is actually more captivating to us than using them. Even when we’re renting an apartment, condo or house, when someone hands us the keys it doesn’t take long for us to claim our territory in this way.
We might do this by getting tools to fix or hang some things up, purchasing some cool furniture and then re-arranging it; buying some cookware, and framing some pictures, and a few decorative plates, some party lights for the deck, definitely patio furniture, sets of kitchen towels, sets of bathroom towels, plus a desk and a computer to put on top of it (after all, there’s a spot for it!) and some more pictures and vases and faux flowers and pillows upon which we’re not actually supposed to lay our heads…
While we could have just as easily claimed our territory by strutting around naked all the time instead of filling it to the ceiling with decor, this is not actually the scary part; for when we reach middle-age, we start to fear that our life is not amounting to as much as we’d expected, so we amount even more stuff to stand in place of quality time, accomplishments or even legacy, designating a story to it in the process: “At least I’ll have these trinkets and treasures to pass down”.
More often than not, being left with other people’s stuff is mostly a burden. Now if we had a massive fortune, we’d be correct in assuming that there are a lot of people who want our stuff; but the point is moot, because greed is driving the bus, these net worths and assets don’t actually carry with them any depth of meaning, and 99% of us are not in that position– plus, we actually have to pay our taxes.
Songs and Smoothies
A $100 price tag on some really rare vinyl record probably won’t prevent someone from purchasing it; hell, the ramp up in price might even ramp up their endorphin-juiced purchasing power. And if another customer bought 20 vinyl records for 50 cents a piece, with the sole intention of adding them to their massive collection, who is getting more value out of their purchase?
When we guard our possessions by stockpiling them in unseen spaces or securing them in concrete lockers, we’re reminded of the toddler who only wants the toy so that he may call it “his”; and he would rather it be put away, where not even he can play with it, as long as it means nobody else can take it from him. If we don’t use something, then it ceases to add any value to our lives. So, I guess the person getting the most value out of their record store purchases, would have to be whoever is actually listening to them.
There are many who would say, “well I don’t use it every day (or once in the past 5 years), but I have it in case I need it”. Here, it is the “in case” that we’re actually purchasing, more than the “need” for the thing itself; which means that we’ve prepaid for indefinite chunks of time in which it could be possible that we would play this guitar or use that blender, instead of just writing songs and drinking smoothies every day.
While this theory may seem benign or even silly, when we apply it to the hundreds of thousands of items we have collected over the years (yes, the average American household contains this much) that just sit, as literal, disorganized time capsules, this ownership and possession becomes a paradoxical delusion; because, not only do we have too much stuff to ever use any and all of it, but everyone of us is really just borrowing money, time and everything else we consume until we’re gone– I’m sure there’s a song about this somewhere in that fat record collection.
B.R.B.O.’s
The VRBO, live-in fantasy temporarily satisfies that “if” part of the transaction; as in, “what if my life was actually like this?”. By “this” do we mean better? That, of course, depends on whether or not we’re willing to find value in sustaining a simpler and more intentional existence. It can be useful to look at ourselves as temporary stewards of our homes and our personal property, carrying with us the knowledge that, once we’re gone, it is no longer ours.
Yet, the reality is, when it comes to real ownership, we tend to be much less responsible than we think. And, unfortunately, this type of complacency doesn’t just stop with our material items either; we do this with our time, with our circumstances, with our reputations/self-image; we even do this with relationships– many of us have suffered through a sour partnership or a painful separation because we simply assumed we just “had” the other person, while neglecting the fundamental component of care and attention.
What if we didn’t feel this inherent need to haphazardly possess things and people in the way we often do? What if we treated our personal property more like it belonged to someone else? What if we actually tried living more with less?
What if, in the future, we had BRBO’s? (This would basically be renting someone else’s body for a long weekend). Regardless of how much dough we may spend on a “good bod’, how long would it take us to soften up those buns of steel or turn that six-pack into a pony keg?
Sure, when we realize this sleek and sexy rental mass can dunk a basketball or swim the 400m in under 7 minutes, we’ll have some fun with it, take it to the beach and beyond; but what if they made us an offer we can’t refuse: “it could be yours for an entire year!” (upon signing).
12 months later, would we be returning our borrowed body-rental back in the same shape which it was received?; or will the owner be keeping their security deposit?; and what the hell are they supposed to do with all of those tattoos?
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