Before anyone gets pissed off at my unconventional attitude, let me preface this by stating that I am the weirdo that watched a documentary about minimalism on Christmas morning. My Facebook newsfeed streamed collages of mountains of gifts. I had never felt so disconnected from this strange world that we live in. It’s not like it was a major decision that I made to wake up one day and have a grudge against consumerism. It’s really a truth that has developed over the course of my life.

Of course as a kid you want all the dolls and every colorful, whimsical, toy in the store. I remember having a change in attitude at about eight years-old when I started to realize that maybe this was all a gimmick. I would get a black trash bag out of the garage and go up to my room to analyze all of my personal possessions individually. Does this bring me joy? Is this useful? If it had been a considerable while since I had used it, I would come to the conclusion that someone else could use it more than I could. This is the kind of nonsense that happens when an eight year old is left alone without internet.

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Of course my mom was like, “What are you doing?” Any parent would be wondering why their child was willingly donating their toys. I tried to convince her that I was of sound mind. I was fairly certain that my collection of Made-In-China riff-raff would never be valuable. I say this while looking at the list of 90s toys worth serious cash. After the stuff was gone, I felt clean. I can only choke it up to the idea that de-cluttering my life was good for my sanity. To this day I can attest my surroundings with my frame of mind. I’m the type of person that knows when a pen on my desk is out of place. Clean and organized = healthy mindset. Cluttered and disheveled = send help now.

One of my middle-school crushes bought me a heart-shaped silver necklace for Christmas one year. I was shocked and slightly mortified. It wasn’t the kind that cost $5 from Claire’s. It was the kind you get behind a department store counter that doesn’t turn your skin green. The real stuff. As much as any other girl would have dreamed of that moment, I was at a loss. I was in sixth grade. I wore Bobby Jack shirts and Converse, and my signature jewelry style was shark-tooth necklaces. I feigned delight, but it was too transparent. In the moment, I was wondering what was wrong with me. It was the first of many instances when I’d realize that the person that cared for me didn’t know me at all.

Today, we understand it as love languages. Mine has always been quality time. I like going out and having fun and spending real time together. I like trying the new restaurant. I like travelling. I like walking in the park on a sunny day. It doesn’t have to cost money. We can pitch a tent on the beach with a few beers and look up at the stars. So many guys have been lost on this concept. Maybe it's because it's just too easy.

The past two Christmases we have been forced to focus on quality time because it’s all that we had to give. Our five years of hard work finally landed us in our first house. At the same time, things started going south in my industry. Money was tight. I found free and fun Christmas events to do around town. We spent more time decorating the house, baking cookies and watching Christmas movies than driving around town in a consumer-driven panic looking for the perfect gift.

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Last year we just did stocking stuffers courtesy of Five Below. This year was even more scant than that. We had to spend $200 fixing my husband’s truck window after being broken into the night of his holiday party. This was followed by a $1500 veterinary emergency and monitoring to keep my cat alive when he was facing kidney damage. That was when we mutually gave up and decided that whatever we had for each other was going to be it. No shopping. I gave my husband a book on grilling and a $5 box of chocolate. He gave me a lotion gift box that he had won, the one thing in his truck that had been overlooked by the robbers. This Christmas I was just happy to be home with my family, and to have my cat back happy and healthy. I can’t imagine what it would have been like if either of us were material people.

It all ties back to a cap I saw years ago on a bottle of Sweat Leaf Tea. I usually read the back to see what quaint knowledge or saying was on the back. It read, “The less you own, the less that owns you.” What I’ve learned is that it’s all about gaining control of your life. When you go to work in the attempt to finance a lifestyle of “bigger and better” that you can’t afford, you’ve lost control. It’s not because you actually want it. It’s because someone told you that you wanted it. You become a slave to the hunt of the next new gadget, the best new car, the bigger and better house. It’s a never ending cycle and I promise that no one person is happier than the next. So here I am, trying to figure out where I fall in all of this, knowing that this is the way I’ve felt all along.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from bottle caps and documentaries, it’s that minimalism is about making it work for you. If there’s anything that you can walk away with, it’s a different approach at consumerism. It’s about becoming a conscious consumer rather than a programmed lab rat trained to respond to catchy jingles and the concept that you have to buy love.

For more information on Minimalism and conscious consumerism, check out Minimalism: A Documentary About The Important Things.