Outside my window the wind is picking up. “Notice me, it says. “I am back.” Dark scudding clouds, quick pellets of rain start. All morning my mind flirts. “Go for a long walk.” "No, it’s going to rain.” “Stay in and write a journal post.”
Now a light rain is falling, and I’ve got a pot of split pea soup on the stove.
I’ve recently returned from a few days in Bodega Bay along with wandering up Highway 1 without a plan, stopping when the ocean or forest called to us, winding our way into Mendocino County. Slow days, along with a slow drive home.
I have also been wandering in my journal, with insights jumping out at me. After only three months into My No Buy Year, already I can see that this is going to be about more than just not buying clothes for the sole purpose of social wear, it’s about changing the habits and routines I’ve spent years perfecting.
My worst habit is saving clothes for good. I was one of those kids in the 50s and 60s instructed to come home from school and change into play clothes. And this is what I did throughout my teen years and into adulthood. I’d come home from school (or wherever I had been) and change out of my favorite bell bottom jeans, chambray shirt with embroidered flowers, and put on house clothes. As an adult I’d come home from work and take off my office wear and change. Always a clear divide between what I wore as "a person of the world” and the clothes I wore at home.
A number of years ago I had stopped this pattern and had begun wearing my favorite things often, and then along came the pandemic, and most of the time I didn’t wear my usual clothes. Instead I put on my oldest jeans soft and faded, pajama pants, and everything else in my closet just hung around, waiting to be chosen, and for a turn to be invited out.
Then we moved to a different part of California with a casual rugged lifestyle, a colder climate and weather pattern. The result was I bought clothes to meet my new needs. Before we moved I had edited my closet and let go of many things, but with the addition of the new stuff to fit my new life, I had too much and most of it wasn't being worn.
For the past two months however, I’ve been wearing almost all of the winter-weather clothes I own. I’ve made an effort to wear the things I seldom wear in order to discover why. And I’ve given my favorite clothes, which are the things I usually wear, a rest.
Anything that was too tight, itched, or just didn’t feel right, or feel like me anymore, along with the things I regretted buying are gone, given away. I also gave away everything that was difficult to wash and dry. I want my laundry to be easy. I will gladly hand-wash things that would likely wear out fast in a washing machine, but those items need to be limited.
There are still plenty of things in my closet. It’s not bare, but it’s still a bit more crowded than I would like it to be.
The commitment I’ve made to myself for my “no buy year” is not to buy anything for "social wear" because I usually don’t wear these things often enough to merit adding more to what I already own. Though I will replace anything that gets a lot of wear and is wearing out. In February I bought new jeans. I wear jeans often.
What I have learned so far is that my clothes typically fall into two categories: The clothes I actually use, and the clothes I wanted my ideal version of myself to use.
The clothes I wanted my ideal version of myself to use are the things I had once bought, or things someone had given me, that held my hopes that it would make my life or myself better. Clothes I thought would make me feel more put together, or help me feel more comfortable.
With each item in my closet, I’m now asking myself. “Who did I buy this for? The person I am? Or the person I hoped to become?”
In the past I seldom purchased clothing that I needed to wear right away. My habit was to buy things to fulfill future needs, and for things that might come up. I bought clothes on sale at the end of the season. But often when the season arrived, I’d discover that I didn’t need the item, it didn’t fit, or I no long wanted it, and wished I hadn’t bought it.
But not all of the clothes saved in my closet were bought by me. Many were lightly used, gently worn, hand me downs from family members and friends. Things I likely would never have bought for myself and yet I paid the rent for them to take up space in my closet. Makeshift scrapes of memories that belonged to someone else.
Right now from my view outside my window, I can see the wind is doing high drama. Tree branches are swaying. The rain has stopped, and the wind carries the scent of the ocean, soft and seductive, pulling my thoughts back to Bodega Bay. All I brought with me was an extra pair of jeans, an extra flannel shirt, extra t-shirts, pajama pants, socks, underwear, extra shoes, my jacket and rain shell. I had everything I wanted and needed, including my freedom from worry.
Whereas my husband unintentionally traveled minimally. He left his carefully packed, large duffle bag with his clothes at home. He said, “The bag was a bit too heavy to carry with the other stuff I had in my arms and I planned to go back into the house and retrieve it.” But it was forgotten.
Each night in our clean and simple motel room he fashioned a bathrobe from the white bath towels, and dried his socks and underwear on the radiator. And he had a lovely time, even without extra clothes, this from a man who owns plenty, and has no desire to become minimal.
My end of the year goal is to own only what I love wearing on a regular basis, along with a couple of dressier outfits for nicer occasions. And to gain some extra space in my small closet, room for my clothes to breath, in this beautiful location where I live by the sea. And to gift myself with a mindset where I would behave as kind, grace-filled and fun-loving as he did, if my duffle bag was left behind!
“Creativity is a lamp, not a candle.” Julia Cameron writes in The Right to Write. “Something wants to write through us as badly as we want to write. Discovering this is a matter of time and practice.”
I pick up my pen and begin writing in my journal. Along with writing, the something else that wants to come though me as badly as I want it, is simplicity, with a desire to thrive with less.