At some point in the future, we will gather at the ocean’s edge to rid our vocabulary of its most venerable clichés.
This is how it will happen: A ship will be brought up onto the shore, piled high with offerings and fragrant woods. I picture a Viking longboat with one of those fabulous dragon figureheads rising from its prow and rows of colorful round shields.
One by one, we will bring our tired phrases and lay them tenderly upon the kindling. “Hunker down” will be among first. Someone will sob softly as their “inner child” is borne to its final reward. We’ll bid a respectful farewell to “Beauty is just skin deep,” “Penny wise, pound foolish,” and “It’s all good.”
Then, as sunset fades, we shall together commit the ship to fire and the receding tide, watching in silence as the waves carry away our collective linguistic sin.
My personal contribution to the great pyre will have been phrase “Less is more.”
What minimalism isn’t
I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the philosophy of minimalism — or, perhaps more importantly, what minimalism is not. Unburdening oneself of needless things is good for the soul. I’m sure Feng Shui devotees are correct in their belief that clutter disrupts the energy of a room. Parents have been preaching this to their messy children since time immemorial.
But no matter how many times managers and consultants might intone the “less is more” mantra (usually before doing something unpleasant), reduction strictly for reduction’s sake isn’t minimalism. It’s vandalism.
Minimalism is the restoration of balance
Minimalism is actually a positive value. It’s the balance of that which is necessary against that which is desirable.
When I’m working around my office during the day, I’ll sometimes let my iTunes library shuffle through the lesser traveled sections of its music library. A passage from the Byrds’ lilting Turn! Turn! Turn! caught my ear this afternoon:
A time to build up, a time to break down;
A time to dance, a time to mourn;
A time to cast away stones,
A time to gather stones together.
A borrowing, of course, from the book of Ecclesiastes: three perfectly balanced couplets, each with a positive and negative value. Less isn’t more unless it brings the elements of something into harmony. Less isn’t more until it validates one of the clichés I will not carry down to the longboat: The whole can sometimes be greater than the sum of its parts.
And so we arrive at one way of viewing minimalism.
