A word of warning: there is an actual, for reals bulleted list of stuff below. It’s not even a complete list, long as it is. It’s a partial (and somewhat perfunctory) list of how I’ve deliberately pared down distractions and streamlined resources to free up time to lose my mind.
Still here? Well, when your eyes start to glaze over, feel free to fast forward to night sweats and littlest toes (third-to-the-last paragraph). And remember: there is no such thing as an errand emergency.
- My apartment is already sparsely decorated. I’ve diminished those furnishings further, and increased my cash flow, by renting out my spare bedroom. My renter is also my pet sitter, which saves me thousands of dollars in cat care costs and a great deal of worry while I’m away.
- Wifi: shared with neighbors.
- I’ve agreed to work commission-only with the same investment team that sent me home without a severance package on November 21, 2014. In real-world dollars, the fiscal impact of this decision—for all parties—is not yet known. But I accomplish eight hours worth of work in approximately three hours of time because I work from Habitat or Blank Spaces or my sparsely decorated apartment, rather than from a small, windowless office. (OK, so, I loved my office. It was downtown. It was painted Pharaoh Purple.)
- Cable: nope.
- I’m an errand bundler. If I need to run to the bank, I plan the outing to coincide with the week’s grocery shopping at the Trader Joe’s location nearest the bank. I’ll gas up the car and pick up a book from the nearest library branch during this trip. However, I’ve recently taken errand bundling to new heights: if an errand can’t be bundled with another in the same location, the errand gets shelved. There is no such thing as an errand emergency.
- I do not buy books online (unless I’ve already read them and know I like them). I borrow books from the library. There are people at the library. Like, actual, real people who talk and read and smile and stuff. Sometimes they smell, but that’s not the point.
- Bill pay: automated.
- Phone calls and texts: Google Voice. Unwanted calls and texts go to spam. Wanted calls are transcribed and sent to email. I type texts on my laptop’s keyboard; search my text and call history for any topic, number or name at anytime and since the beginning of time; and cut and paste messages to multiple recipients for speed and accuracy.
- Gmail filters all the way. All hail the Googs.
- Online music: free (Thanks T-Mobile!). Data to play music stations on cell phone: free (Thanks T-Mobile!). Running music from cell phone through home and car stereos: probably old school by the time this post is posted.
- I bundle at-home tasks as well. Laundry day is once every other Monday, the same Monday I update my budget and compare it against bank statements (while laundry is being laundered). Washing dishes, emptying trash, watering plants, etc. get done in 15-minute chunks once or twice a day only (I set a timer). Phone calls—all phone calls—are made and returned at the same time, again once or twice a day only. The purpose here is to eliminating switch-tasking, which is psychologically and energetically expensive. (Much like the length of this post.)
- Housekeeper: crucial. This may be my most controversial time and money saver implementation. But it takes a professional housekeeper a fraction of the time to clean my apartment than it takes me and, therefore, a fraction of the cost. I am expensive.
Why is it even important to bother with cutting costs, clutter and the time it takes to undertake a task? Because life is short and worth more than being shackled to the tyranny of stuff. And by “stuff,” I mean all stuff: unused furniture; time-wasting trips to (online or offline) shops; paid-for services when there are plenty of free counterparts; DIY tasks when there are plenty who do it faster, cheaper and safer; and day jobs followed by night sweats that absorb your hours and your hairline.
A word of warning: if you pare down your distractions and streamline your resources, you will free up time and, in all likelihood, lose your mind. Here in the west, we don’t seem to know what to do with ourselves once we chuck it all. Or half. Or one-fourth. I’ve taken to staring at my hands a lot, sometimes my eyebrows or my littlest toes.
Last night I took to imagining the ways I might describe the sensation of touching a tired man's stubbly face and how that sensation differs whether I use the back of my hand or my palm. Isn't that interesting? What would you do or imagine if you chucked it all?
Travel to Toronto or, perhaps, Montreal?