Today Trent over at The Simple Dollar wrote an extremely thought-provoking piece about what it means to live a rich life. To quote, 'it's about the time, not the stuff.' Living a rich life (whatever that means for you) is related to how you spend your time, not the stuff you accumulate.

I love this attitude.

Do I really need four huge boxes of fabric, when I never 'get around to' sewing? Would we be more likely to play our card and board games if there was a less daunting selection, and the closet they're in wasn't blocked by a mountain of clutter? With our five bookshelves, how is it that I often 'can't find anything to read'?

As I continue on my anti-clutter campaign, it's important for me to consider not only how useful a given item is, but whether I even want to use it, and whether it would contribute better to my quality of life by its absence (and thus the ability to see, find, and use other things more readily). Hooray for anti-consumerism!



Ever since getting swept up in the last-minute stress of wedding planning, all the good exercise habits we'd built up had been inactive. I know, intellectually, that I should work out more, I should go running, I should get up off my behind and actually do something. I even have plenty of empirical evidence that it means I'll feel better, sleep more soundly, and have much more energy.

Getting out of this lethargy slump is an extremely good idea, by all accounts and by my own personal dataset. Does that make it an easy choice to make in the moment?


Inertia is an extremely powerful aspect of life. 'Oh sure, I'll definitely start working out again,' I'll tell myself, 'starting tomorrow.'

We always have two alarms set; one is to let us know it's morning-time, and the second one happens 15 minutes later and is designed to actually get our butts out of bed. Last night I declared that instead of lazing around for those 15 minutes I would get up at the first alarm, bundle up (winter has come with a surprising amount of vigor!), and take the dog for a run around the block.


Then the inner monologue starts.

'I said I'd go running. Do I really want to? It's cold out there. Maybe just a minute more in bed. I can't see the clock from here, so I'll assume I don't have time. I'll go running tomorrow.'

Tomorrow. It's always tomorrow.

Once I get going I know it'll be good for me and I'll feel better. But overcoming the initial activation energy is going to be a challenge.

My resolution, right now, is that I shall actually go for that 10 minute run tomorrow (see what I did there?) morning. Wish me luck.