For many years, I've been a practitioner of the Pomodoro Technique. You know, the productivity system in which you set a timer for 25 minutes of dedicated focus on whatever task you undertake. When that timer goes off, you take (or have the option of taking) a 5-minute break. Rinse and repeat this twice and then you can take a longer break—anywhere from 20-30 minutes, depending on who you ask.
I used to use an application—either on my phone or computer—to time these sessions and keep track of how many I had completed. That worked fairly well, but I didn’t like how accessing these systems meant I needed to resist several other distractions.
Recently, I stopped using the applications. I replaced them with a silent analog kitchen timer and a mechanical clicker-counter.
And I have to tell ya, there's something immensely satisfying about these single-function devices. Not just the tactile sensation of handling a thing rather than a screen. Not just the the mechanical response of compressing a spring that then stores the energy you gave it and uses it in your service. No, also the idea that this device and system was built for a singular purpose. And I find that the few functions a device has, the better it tends to be at performing said functions—or function.
Actually, there's something satisfying about all simplified mechanisms or processes. Or ideas. I've started to see a trend to my preference for these simplified devices, systems, or even philosophies.
Exhibit A: Things
I own a number of tools. I have a professional-grade Milwaukee power drill that, in addition to drilling holes in things or driving screws, it can also hold a kitchen spoon to stir natural peanut butter. Despite this, it is not among my absolute favorite tools. No, those are my screwdrivers. Japanese-made with carved wooden handles and steel caps, these screwdrivers are works of art. And no, they don't contain any additional bits. They were crafted for one purpose—to be great screwdrivers.
This simplicity continues in the rest of my favorite things. A cheap Nalgene bottle. A stainless steel cup. An 80-year-old typewriter. My running sandals that are no more than sole-protectors. A $9 OLFA utility knife.
And though my relationship with Minimalism has cooled a bit (I'm not big on "-isms" these days), I still believe that life is too short to have a least-favorite pair of underwear.
I guess the fewer the parts and functions, the more I'll probably like it.
Exhibit B: Movements
I didn't really become aware of my need for physical fitness until my youth-driven metabolism began to wane. But I wasn't as excited by diet programs, carbon-fiber bicycles, or exotic fitness technology. Instead, my interest in adult fitness was inspired by something many consider a child's toy—a jump rope.
You stand in one place. You spin a rope around your body. You hop over it before it wacks you in the toes. That's the gist.
But quickly, I used the tool to build my strength and endurance. 235 easily-winded pounds slimmed down to 185 pounds. Basic hops led to more complex maneuvers and the lightfooted dancing of a boxer in the ring.
Once my endurance allowed for it, jump rope allowed me to explore my city with a quicker foot. 1-kilometer shuffles morphed into 10-kilometer race podiums and 20-kilometer trail runs. The only required tools being my own two feet—one placed in front of the other, repeat as you so desire.
To support my other fitness interests, I've sought out the sweat-shedding haven of my garage to build and tone muscle. But even then, the preference has remained simple. Though I have the room for an array of muscle-boosting machines, nothing has seemed as appealing as the 5-counts of a military-engineered "Burpee" exercise procedure: (1) squat, (2) plank, (3) drop-down, (4) push-up, and (5) stand-up—a basic field exercise that targets almost every muscle in the body, yet requires no accessories other than the ground beneath me and the willingness to perform it.
Exhibit C: Philosophy
How we experience life is complex. However, I am of the opinion that how we think about it can be quite simple—there are things we can control and things we can't. For the things we cannot control, we're best not wasting our energy worrying about. We'll need that energy to improve those things which we can control. I would consider that a decent elevator pitch for Stoicism—a philosophy that has rescued me from much mental anguish.
I'm a textbook hypochondriac. This means that I have the tendency to catastrophize every peculiar bodily sensation. A brush with cancer can do that to ya. But I'm comforted by a few very simple ideas.
1. You have the ability to control certain things, so aim for sustainable improvement.
2. Some instances are completely outside of your control, so let them go.
3. You're definitely going to die one day, so live life while it is with you.
Though these philosophical concepts seem quite complex but they're really quite simple—essentially saying "Improve what you can, let go of what you can't, and live while alive."
Exhibit D: Spirituality
My spirituality has grown increasingly simplified as I've grown older.
I started life with a complex theological viewpoint. Certain detailed beliefs were required. Over the years, many of those details fell out of alignment with each other. I've filled up my bookshelf in search of answers. Most of these answers came from connecting with other souls, experiencing Creation, and communing with my Creator in my own words or in perfect, beautiful silence.
I am a monotheist. I am a Jew. I have certain religious beliefs, practices, preferences, and interests. I don't have all of the answers and I don't have opinions about many things. I feel that simplifies a great many aspects of my spirituality.
In Conclusion: I dig simplicity.
Some folks relish complex ideas, systems, or items. Not this kid. They're neat, sure. But life is complex enough without us overthinking it.
It goes to show that you can be minimal without being a minimal-IST. I've found that most minimalists aren't minimalists at all -- but technological maximalists. They don't have a TV, but they have 3 smartwatches, a mac, a tablet, and they can't live without their smartphones. But hey it could be worse and you could be a hoarder.