I’ve been an admitted movie geek for as long as I can remember. My folks took me to see “The Rescuers” when I was four at the movie theater and I like it. A few months later, I saw “Star Wars” and I LOVED it. That was all it took. I have seen just about every movie worth seeing since 1977, I have analyzed them, quoted them, and cherished them. If I were asked, “What is your favorite movie?” I think I would say that it would be impossible to pick just one. However, if pressed, I would probably say “Fight Club”.
Ironically, I did not see “Fight Club” in the theater. I saw it in the condo we were renting in Mountain View, CA. Halfway through the DVD, I turned to Julie and said, “How did we miss this when it was out?” A few years later, I lobbied hard to name our first born child Tyler Durden Zlotnick. I was vetoed.
The major theme of the movie was about rejecting materialism. At one point, Tyler Durden states that marketing has us “working jobs we hate for shit we don’t need.” (just in case the boss man is reading this - I like my job, no really!) My move to Oz saw a lot of downsizing in terms of consumption and it has given me a chance to reflect upon what it that I really need versus what I think I needed.
I came to Australia with next to nothing. I had the clothes on my back and what I could carry in an oversized duffle bag. I had my laptop and some gadgets. I had four step down transformers which I didn’t really need (turns out most appliances will run on any voltage between 110-240 volts - all that’s needed is the physical adapter which is cheap).
We rented a place. I went for “necessities”. I had a mattress on the floor. Some sheets from Target. A couch, a cabinet, and a table and chairs from Ikea. We got a refrigerator and a washer and dryer. I protested but eventually caved to getting a small TV. Soon, Julie was gone to pack up our place and I was alone with next to nothing.
Immediately, I felt lonely. I missed the noise and blur of motion of my children. I missed their spontaneity and laughter. I missed the conversations we had. I missed playing with them, carrying them upside down, sitting on them and asking where they were. On Father’s Day, I was so terribly alone I almost broke down when I saw the video Julie made for me. I felt like the worst dad in the world for being away from them so long. I needed my children.
I missed Julie. I missed the quiet moments we shared when we knew the kids were in bed and weren’t going to pop up and ask for another glass of water or to use the potty. I missed the way we parent together, playing off each other’s strengths. I missed her humor, her warmth, her intelligence. I missed having someone to listen to my crazy rants. I needed my wife.
I filled my days with work, running, writing, photography, and exploring. Aside from my loneliness, I was fine. The days passed quickly and soon I was reunited with my family. The kids did an amazing job of adapting. Most of their toys were gone - placed on a container that would take weeks to arrive. They never complained about having smaller rooms or less toys. They played with each other. They asked to go to the beach. We put on our winter coats and would be the only family on the beach when it was sunny and in the mid-fifties. They collected sea shells and called them “treasure”. I was so proud of them for not caring about their possessions, living in the moment, and enjoying each other’s company.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. For three months I had relied solely on public transportation. The first weekend I rented a car, I knew I could not go back to taking an hour to drop the kids off or pick the kids up from school (about 1.5 miles away). I felt like I had taken a vow of celibacy, received a blowjob, and had the knowledge that this bell could not be unrung. At the same time I came to the epiphany that we “needed” a car, we got the call that our container had arrived. All of our worldly possessions would be delivered to us in a few days.
I had taken so much pride in living without. We had downsized considerably. We were living with the absolute bare minimum. The first day I walked in and saw our couches, our table, our paintings, our decorations; I thought, “Our place looks so much less ghetto. It looks... nice.”
So here I am, at a crossroads. I lived like Tyler Durden for an entire season. I forced minimalism onto my family and they took the challenge and exceeded all expectations. And yet... minimalism was not the nirvana that I had made it out to be. There has to be a middle ground between excess and nothing and that’s exactly the path I intend to discover.
Ironically, I did not see “Fight Club” in the theater. I saw it in the condo we were renting in Mountain View, CA. Halfway through the DVD, I turned to Julie and said, “How did we miss this when it was out?” A few years later, I lobbied hard to name our first born child Tyler Durden Zlotnick. I was vetoed.
The major theme of the movie was about rejecting materialism. At one point, Tyler Durden states that marketing has us “working jobs we hate for shit we don’t need.” (just in case the boss man is reading this - I like my job, no really!) My move to Oz saw a lot of downsizing in terms of consumption and it has given me a chance to reflect upon what it that I really need versus what I think I needed.
I came to Australia with next to nothing. I had the clothes on my back and what I could carry in an oversized duffle bag. I had my laptop and some gadgets. I had four step down transformers which I didn’t really need (turns out most appliances will run on any voltage between 110-240 volts - all that’s needed is the physical adapter which is cheap).
We rented a place. I went for “necessities”. I had a mattress on the floor. Some sheets from Target. A couch, a cabinet, and a table and chairs from Ikea. We got a refrigerator and a washer and dryer. I protested but eventually caved to getting a small TV. Soon, Julie was gone to pack up our place and I was alone with next to nothing.
Immediately, I felt lonely. I missed the noise and blur of motion of my children. I missed their spontaneity and laughter. I missed the conversations we had. I missed playing with them, carrying them upside down, sitting on them and asking where they were. On Father’s Day, I was so terribly alone I almost broke down when I saw the video Julie made for me. I felt like the worst dad in the world for being away from them so long. I needed my children.
I missed Julie. I missed the quiet moments we shared when we knew the kids were in bed and weren’t going to pop up and ask for another glass of water or to use the potty. I missed the way we parent together, playing off each other’s strengths. I missed her humor, her warmth, her intelligence. I missed having someone to listen to my crazy rants. I needed my wife.
I filled my days with work, running, writing, photography, and exploring. Aside from my loneliness, I was fine. The days passed quickly and soon I was reunited with my family. The kids did an amazing job of adapting. Most of their toys were gone - placed on a container that would take weeks to arrive. They never complained about having smaller rooms or less toys. They played with each other. They asked to go to the beach. We put on our winter coats and would be the only family on the beach when it was sunny and in the mid-fifties. They collected sea shells and called them “treasure”. I was so proud of them for not caring about their possessions, living in the moment, and enjoying each other’s company.
Days turned to weeks. Weeks turned to months. For three months I had relied solely on public transportation. The first weekend I rented a car, I knew I could not go back to taking an hour to drop the kids off or pick the kids up from school (about 1.5 miles away). I felt like I had taken a vow of celibacy, received a blowjob, and had the knowledge that this bell could not be unrung. At the same time I came to the epiphany that we “needed” a car, we got the call that our container had arrived. All of our worldly possessions would be delivered to us in a few days.
I had taken so much pride in living without. We had downsized considerably. We were living with the absolute bare minimum. The first day I walked in and saw our couches, our table, our paintings, our decorations; I thought, “Our place looks so much less ghetto. It looks... nice.”
So here I am, at a crossroads. I lived like Tyler Durden for an entire season. I forced minimalism onto my family and they took the challenge and exceeded all expectations. And yet... minimalism was not the nirvana that I had made it out to be. There has to be a middle ground between excess and nothing and that’s exactly the path I intend to discover.
Whatever boxes you haven't unpacked after a month, throw them out (or donate) without opening. Now you have just what you need.
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