Whimsy, and why I'm trying to eradicate it.

Never say I'm not fun.

What is whimsy?

Dictionary definition: an odd or fanciful notion.
This isn’t what I’m describing. What I’m talking about is the unnecessary, which I have given the name; Whimsy.

For the last year (and now into year two) I’ve been working on something I’ve entitled; Project: No Whimsy - meaning that I’m trying to remove anything unnecessary from my life. Things on a shelf I’ve not used for more than a year - get them gone. Clothes, kitchen utensils from the very back of the drawer, tat that’s cluttering up the place - time to move it on. As a younger man, I was murder for “stuff”. Stuff was good, having things was good. These days, all this stuff is a hinderance and I want it gone.

One man’s trash truly is another man’s treasure and I’m pleased that so much of my old tat has been moved on to someone else that wants it or will otherwise make use of it. I am by no means finished. I still have an awful lot of crap in my small flat. This is a process that takes time.

Separating is hard but sometimes brutality is necessary. Eventually the memory of the thing fades. There were objects that were easy to get rid of, and other things that really pulled at the heart strings, but applying the logic of “I haven’t used this in years, why is it here?”… I haven’t missed it.

I’m not going for Full Minimalism. I don’t think I could do that. I do like things, but I’m trying to follow the words of William Morris:

“Have nothing in your home that you think is beautiful or you know to be useful”.

I think this has come about for a couple of reasons:

Firstly, I’ve been clearing out the lock-up where I’ve been storing what’s left of my parents possessions. With one gone and the other in a nursing home, with the best will in the world, they’re not going to need any of this stuff again. I can’t keep it all (although there are a couple of sentimental items I want to hold on to), but for the most part these are things that meant something to other people. Paying a fee month-on-month to keep it all in a dusty lock-up on an industrial estate on the edge of town is ridiculous.

Secondly, and related to the experience of the first, I’m not getting any younger. I hope I have a good few decades left but I’m at a point in my life where I’m considering that one day someone will have to be the person to get rid of all my own accumulated crap, and considering what I’ve managed to amass over the last almost-fifty years, I don’t want to burden anyone with that.

There are things that are not whimsy and are generally immune from culling. Tools are almost always useful. Books are for learning and entertainment, there fore mostly stay (unless I find out ther’re actually worth quite a bit of money, then it’s fair game) and will eventually be turned over to the charity shop to make room for more. It hasn’t helped that in the last 12 months the library at work have had several remainder days, and I’ve had to save a lot of books - they were going to be sent to the shredder for heavens sake, is nothing sacred!

Otherwise, nothing is safe. If it’s not nailed down, then it’s a potential candidate for eBay / a car boot sale / donation.

I think this is me finally growing up. How awful.