Ideally I’d have Swedish wooden clogs instead of plastic crocs, but all is not perfect in Eddie the van.

Last week I shared a little wabi-sabi van tour inside of Eddie.

A friend commented, “You have me looking at the objects around me and wondering (and perhaps realising) just how much wabi sabi is a state of mind, a lens, an intention or attention we bring to objects.”

Thanks, it’s a wonderful realisation and a perfect jumping off point for this week’s newsletter.

One reason I’m living in a van is that I have ‘aesthetic sensitivity disorder’. It means that I find it hard to be in places that I perceive as not aesthetically pleasing!

There’s no official diagnosis yet. That’s hard. People assume I am just being fussy, whereas if I could tell them I have ASD, they might stop rolling their eyes (then again, my friends?).

Some people are allowed to take a support animal with them when they travel. I take my support mug. It saves me from having to drink out of ugly ones. Actually, I am kidding. I’m not that fussy.

Correction, I am that fussy, in that I know what I like. But I don’t have to have things the way I like them. Living first in communities, then with kids, cured me of that. Living alone, you get to have things exactly as you want them, but you soon realise it doesn’t bring the happiness that a life full of messy people does.

I find the thought of being in even mildly unpleasant environments almost unbearable. I’m embarrassed writing that, but it’s true. It’s especially true if it’s somewhere I’m going to be alone. When I go to see mates, I couldn’t care less about what their home is like. I’ve gone to see them.

It’s a bonus if someone lives in a beautiful place, but we don’t all offer the same bonuses. I have a friend who dresses impeccably, with beautiful tweed suits, polished shoes. Being with them is a treat. Yet, I’ll not be dressing that way. We all offer something. Humour. Good food. A garden. Eccentricity.

But when I’m alone, I feel my relationship is with the surrounding things, and then everything matters.

In the pandemic, I got stuck living alone in a house that I was renovating. One day, cutting wood for the simple kitchen I was building, I had the radio on (Radio 4 is a good friend). It was a programme about loneliness. “Do I feel lonely?”, I thought. Immediately, the response came, “I’m not alone. I have all my tools!” It felt like I was in this dynamic relationship with the saw and the wood. In times of flow, we’d get on so well. Other times we fell out.

I have a genuine sensitivity to the things around me. Is that unusual? I can’t get inside of your head to see how it is for you.

It’s not that I want to be somewhere fancy, quite the opposite. A simple shack will do, as long as it’s the right shack. So what kind of environment do I feel at home in?

Natural materials

What things are made of is important. I love anything close to its natural state. Wood, wool, sheepskin, leather and basket ware. At a push, you could make it yourself. You know the story behind it; you know what it is.

With the right skills and tools, you could cut down a tree, turn it into planks and make a table. The ‘journey’ from tree to table is clear. Same with wool. Did you know that to clean and treat the hide of a sheep, instead of using chemicals, you can use the sheep’s brain? I saw a shepherdess doing it on TV. Gross, but not as gross as chemicals.

If I’m going to use natural materials, then I have to treat them as precious. They are precious. I’d like the things I own to last me a lifetime, even to live on beyond me. I find it so poignant that the man who invented plastic carrier bags had wanted to replace paper bags to save the trees.

Honest materials

I find it unnerving when things are made to look like something they are not. Eddie the van has a plastic floor, made to look like wood, except in a blue grey colour, so not really! Things that are covered in a laminate of something else.

I’m wary of materials that I don’t understand. In the food world, they’d be called ‘ultra processed’. I understand wood, clay, wool, metal. I have no idea how you make all these different plastics.

We know things from the earth can safely go back to the earth. They, like us, have their life cycle. I like to live with those things.

Loved environments

Finally, I relish being in a loved environment. Perhaps this is the most important. When somewhere is loved, its imperfections are loved too. Like Eddie’s plastic floor.

Did you have a Marie Kondo phase? I did. Her method was to keep only ‘what sparked joy’, and then to look after it well. We let go of the socks we didn’t love, then proudly showed my wife’s father the Mari Kondo’ed sock drawer, all the socks neatly folded. His response was, “Isn’t that what psychopaths do?”

An artist once told me you could put together an outfit of completely unrelated things, in terms of style and colour, but if you loved each thing, it would work. Same with our homes.

Some things that don't matter

It doesn’t matter to me if somewhere is minimalist or maximalist. I’m probably more at the minimalist end, but I love visiting my maximalist friends, with all their glorious stuff on display in every inch of the house. I’m not bothered whether somewhere is grand or simple, modern straight lines or full of antiques. If it’s loved, I’ll probably love it.

Rooms are reduced to bags in Eddie: brown leather bag = bedroom and bathroom, grey bag = office, soft black box = library.

Marie Kondo on the relationship with her handbag -

This is the routine I follow every day when I return from work… My first task is to empty the contents of my handbag on the rug and put each item away in its place first. I remove all the receipts. Then I put my purse in its designated box in a drawer under my bed with a word of gratitude. I place my train pass there and my business card holder beside it. I put my wristwatch in a pink antique case in the same drawer and place my necklace and earrings on the accessory tray beside it. Before closing the drawer, I say, ‘Thanks for all you did for me today’.
Next, I return to the hall and put away the books and notebooks I carried around all day. I take out my ‘receipt pouch’ and put my receipts in it. Then I put my digital camera that I use for work in the space beside it, which is reserved for electrical things. Papers that I’ve finished with go in the recycling box beneath the kitchen range. In the kitchen, I make a pot of tea, while checking the mail, I throw the letters I’ve finished with away,
I return to my bedroom, put my empty handbag in a bag and put it on the top shelf of the wardrobe, saying, ‘You did well. Have a good rest.’
Marie Kondo

Wabi-sabi as a metaphor

Okay, so I won’t be reading this Marie Kondo quote to my father-in-law! You’re possibly thinking it’s bonkers too?

But what would actually happen if we practiced living this way? Everyone is talking about animism these days, seeing the world of trees, rocks and clouds as ‘alive’ and realising the effect this has. Isn’t this just advanced animism? If we can see the tree as ‘alive’, what about the table?

I’m not talking about the scientific debate. Questions such as, ‘Is the table alive or not?’ or ‘What does it mean to be alive?’

The question I’m asking is, ‘What happens when we relate to things as if they were alive?’

Would there be more opportunities in our lives to experience gratitude? Or love? Or connection? If everything was alive to us in this way, wouldn’t those things also be amplified? Maybe then we would feel we have enough?

On the surface, it seems like we are talking about our relationships with objects. But the relationship we have with things often doubles as a metaphor for how we relate to ourselves and the people around us.

If we’re in the habit of taking care of things, doesn’t that overflow into taking care of ourselves? Of others?

In fact, ‘self, others, things’ don’t really come into it. We want to manifest love. We want to live as if everything matters.

Everything Matters
Some will tell
you that it doesn’t
matter. That is
a lie. Everything,
every single thing
matters. And
nothing good
happens fast.
- Carroll Arnett

Putting it into practice

Can you carve out a little time this weekend to take care of something in your home? Notice how it feels to treat things as if they really matter.

If you realise anything new about your relationship to things, can you communicate that to someone else. Sharing what we learn with others helps the learnings stick.

I hope this little letter lands okay and you’d still invite me into your home for coffee without worrying about your mugs!

Being aesthetically sensitive can feel a bit oppressive to others. There’s a fine balance between making things nice, yet ‘letting go’ enough that the people around me can relax. It’s a work in progress.