My Kind of Minimalist Living

I kept saying I wanted a slower life while replying to messages in the bath.

A flawless system, obviously.

For years, I think I confused busy with alive.

If there was something to do, somewhere to be, someone to reply to, something to fix, something to plan, something to worry about — I was on it.

Even when nothing was actually wrong, my brain seemed to find something to rattle around about.

That constant internal noise.

That feeling of being mentally three steps ahead of where I actually was.

Always anticipating the next thing.

Always thinking about what I should be doing.

Always feeling like I could relax after I'd dealt with everything.

Except everything is never dealt with.

There is always another message.

Another email.

Another job.

Another idea.

Another thing to buy.

Another thing to improve.

Another reason to keep moving.

And honestly?

I'm a bit fucking tired of it.

I'm choosing the slower lane

I'm starting to realise that peace is a choice too.

Not because I've suddenly become someone who meditates for an hour at sunrise, drinks green juice and has their shit completely together.

I'm still me.

I still have chaotic days.

I still eat toast over the sink.

I still have moments where my brain has seventeen tabs open and somehow they're all playing different music.

But I'm starting to want something different.

A life that doesn't constantly feel like I'm trying to catch up with it.

A life where my body isn't permanently waiting for the next thing to happen.

A life with a little more breathing room.

So I'm experimenting with smaller things.

Leaving one evening completely empty.

Putting my phone in another room instead of carrying it around like an extension of my nervous system.

Making a cup of tea without photographing it, filming it, turning it into a Reel or wondering whether it could become a blog post.

Going for a walk without needing to turn it into something productive.

Sitting somewhere without immediately reaching for my phone.

Doing one thing at a time.

Letting a day be ordinary.

And perhaps the biggest one:

letting rest exist without having to earn it first.

Because somewhere along the way, I started treating rest like a reward.

I'll rest when I've done enough.

I'll relax when everything is sorted.

I'll switch off when I've caught up.

I'll slow down when life calms down.

But what if life doesn't calm down?

What if there is always something?

Then I could spend the rest of my life waiting for permission to breathe.

And I don't want that anymore.

I want quiet that actually feels quiet

There's a difference between having nothing to do and actually feeling at peace.

You can have an empty calendar and still have a head full of noise.

You can sit on the sofa and still feel like you should be doing something.

You can take a day off and spend the entire day mentally listing everything you haven't done.

I've done all of it.

So when I talk about wanting a slower life, I'm not really talking about having less to do.

I'm talking about having less internal noise.

I want to stop living in anticipation.

I want to stop constantly thinking about what's next.

I want to be able to sit with a cup of tea and just drink the fucking tea.

No phone.

No content.

No productivity.

No agenda.

Just tea.

I want an empty evening to feel like a gift rather than a problem to solve.

I want silence without immediately filling it.

I want to be somewhere without thinking about where I need to be afterwards.

I want to feel like I'm actually inside my own life instead of permanently standing outside it, organising it.

And I think that's where my version of minimalism comes in.

My kind of minimalist living

I'm not interested in owning three beige mugs and pretending I don't have a drawer full of cables I'll probably need one day.

I'm not trying to create some perfectly curated minimalist home where everything is white, neutral and suspiciously free of personality.

That's not me.

My kind of minimalism is much less about what I own and much more about what I allow into my life.

Less stuff.

Less noise.

Less rushing.

Less unnecessary spending.

Less clutter.

Less scrolling.

Less comparison.

Less saying yes when I mean no.

Less filling every spare minute.

Less buying things because I think they'll somehow make me happier.

Less consuming just because something is available to consume.

Less trying to keep up with everyone else's version of life.

And more space.

More quiet.

More intention.

More experiences.

More time outside.

More proper conversations.

More laughing until my stomach hurts.

More books.

More tea.

More mornings where I don't immediately reach for my phone.

More things that actually make me feel something.

More people who feel like home.

More time doing absolutely fuck all without feeling guilty about it.

Because I'm starting to realise that less doesn't mean deprivation.

Sometimes less is the luxury.

Less stuff means less to clean, organise, maintain and think about.

Less commitments means more room to breathe.

Less noise means you can actually hear yourself think.

Less rushing means you notice where you are.

And less consumption can create space for actually living.

I don't want more for the sake of more

I think we've been sold this idea that we're always supposed to want more.

More money.

More things.

More followers.

More experiences.

More productivity.

More achievements.

More holidays.

More skincare.

More clothes.

More everything.

And don't get me wrong — I like nice things.

I like finding things I love.

I will absolutely spend an unreasonable amount of time looking at something on Amazon that I have convinced myself is going to improve my entire existence.

I'm not suddenly becoming a hermit.

But I'm becoming more selective.

I want things to have a reason for being in my life.

The things I own.

The people I give my time to.

The places I go.

The work I do.

The content I consume.

The conversations I have.

Even the thoughts I entertain.

I'm asking myself:

Does this actually add something to my life?

Or am I just adding more because I'm uncomfortable with having less?

That's a question I'm still learning how to answer.

Less Rush. More Glow.

And I think this is where Less Rush. More Glow. is starting to mean something different to me.

It isn't just a cute tagline.

It's becoming a way I want to live.

I'm working towards a life with a little less of everything that makes me feel scattered — and a lot more of what makes me feel like myself.

Less rushing towards some imaginary finish line.

More actually being here.

Less performing.

More experiencing.

Less proving.

More feeling.

Less chaos.

More peace.

Less “what should I be doing?”

More “what do I actually want?”

And maybe that's the kind of minimalism I'm interested in.

Not an empty beige house.

Not owning five things.

Not becoming perfectly organised.

Just a life where everything has a reason for being there.

Where the things I own serve me rather than the other way around.

Where my calendar has breathing room.

Where my phone doesn't get more attention than the people sitting in front of me.

Where rest doesn't have to be justified.

Where doing less doesn't mean I'm falling behind.

Where I can actually hear myself think.

I'm not there yet.

I'm still clearing things out.

Still learning to sit with empty space.

Still catching myself rushing when absolutely nobody is chasing me.

Still having days where I completely miss the point and eat toast over the sink while scrolling on my phone.

But I'm getting there.

Slowly.

And maybe that's the whole point.

I'm not trying to build a perfect life.

I'm trying to build a lighter one.

One with less noise and more meaning.

Less rushing and more presence.

Less clutter and more space.

Less pressure and more peace.

A life that doesn't constantly leave me feeling like I need to escape from it.

Because maybe the goal was never to fit more into my life.

Maybe it was to finally make enough room to actually enjoy the life I've already got.

Less rush.

More glow.

I'm starting to think that's my kind of minimalist living.