Letting Go of the Past

How minimalism can help you find focus in the present moment

Minimalizing compels us to define who we are and face who we were.

It’s powerful and therapeutic. There are layered memories that require sorting through — painful moments, past traumas, and cherished memories. 

Facing our truths and letting go isn’t always straightforward, but it’s an important part of moving on.

When we make peace with our past, we can focus on the richness of the present moment. It’s a compelling journey that inspires new beginnings. 

This past week has been an emotional seesaw.

It’s said that ignorance is bliss. But as J. C. Watts said, “Isn’t it better to be hurt by the truth than comforted by a lie?” 

There’s truth in both. 

But part of making peace with our past is finding the sweet spot within the conflicting truths. 

I found my Cuisinart cast iron pot the other day. It was a permanent fixture on our stove back when my former spouse and I were still living our happily-ever-after. 

It was always filled with a simmering pot of soup or beans, waiting for his return. 

Back then, he was gone 80+ hours a week. He drove an hour and a half each way to work six days a week. We had seven children at the time. 

My job was everything else:

Being a wife and mother, homeschooling, changing diapers, maintaining two gardens and the lawn, preparing meals from scratch, grocery shopping, sports activities, scouts, keeping the house clean — and so on. 

We were happy but busy. 

He worked late and often didn’t get home until late evening. The kids sometimes got a bedtime story from him, but his days were long. 

On his drive back home, he’d call so we could catch up. It was an hour and a half of connection — and I looked forward to it every day. When he was close to getting home, I’d dish up a bowl of something warm from the pot, cut some homemade bread, or warm up tortillas.

I’d also prepare a fresh-made smoothie in the summer or cuachalalate tea in the winter.

I tried to make coming home something he looked forward to. 

But we were both constantly on the go. I needed help, and he needed less on his shoulders. 

We both craved simplicity and knew something needed to change. 

But what and how? Around that time, I’d been working toward simple living and minimalism. And soon after, in an unexplainable twist of events, we were able to make a drastic change and transitioned into RV living. 

On many levels, it was the greatest experience of my life. Our family had never been more connected. We experienced the beauty of living simple.

Though, there were tough parts too. 

Societal norms, for one. Everyone, minus a few close friends, thought we’d lost it. When you live life outside the box, people sometimes have a hard time grasping why. 

I was already used to side glances and outright staring because of our large family. But in the RV, it brought it to a new level. The questions were never-ending. Nobody could imagine living in an RV back then — and probably still now. 

I’d built up a fairly thick skin by that point, though. I mean, way back then, I used to make my own almond milk, eat a mainly raw food diet, and homeschool. 

To say I lived outside the box is a bit of an understatement. 

Living life according to my own principles is important to me, though. And while societal norms matter, I won’t let them define me.

Returning to my earlier point, it’s important to find our own truth within our conflicting truths.

• I like blending in, yet I don’t live my life that way.

• I like consistency, but predictability bores me.  

• I’m happiest staying within rules, but please —  don’t tell me what I can or cannot do. 

• Routines feel comforting, yet I love going with the flow.

• Although I prioritize simplicity, I also value financial freedom.

Living authentically can be a challenge when we face our own opposing viewpoints.

And when we dig through our past, we may find conflicting truths about ourselves. Maybe our values and actions don’t align with who we are today. It’s humbling to look back on who we were —  then and now.

As we go through life, we might test our truths by stepping outside our lines. Perhaps we give up our ideals for the sake of peace. Or go against our beliefs so we can feel accepted. Until we realize who we are and what we stand for, it can feel chaotic. 

My former spouse felt I was trying to hold him back —  that I was afraid of success. In a way, there’s probably some truth to that. I was concerned about what might happen to us when he finally had enough money. 

I saw subtle changes in him when he was up with money— and down. 

"Money doesn’t change people. It just magnifies who they already are: if you have a lot of money and you’re mean, then you have more to be mean with; if you have a lot of money and you’re generous, you’ll naturally give more.” — Tony Robbins

Money was never my motivator, but for him, it was everything. I tried going along for the sake of us, but I somehow always gravitated back to my center. 

I like money — but it has never been my source of happiness. But if I dig deeper, I believe it’s less about money and more that I define success differently than he does. 

And if I go even deeper, I see we were probably doomed from the beginning. When a couple’s values clash, it’s a struggle to find peace. 

There’ve been times I tried using money to buy happiness. 

Once we’d gotten the kids an elaborate Thomas the Train village. We bought all the pieces and created a town on a large, sturdy wooden table. We got levels upon levels of tracks, bridges, fixtures, gadgets —  you name it, it was there. 

And, of course, we needed to get all the trains they offered (times seven).

It was incredible — but we nearly needed to take out a loan after that investment. 

I somehow justified it in my mind. 

They loved it — for a short while. It ended up downstairs in the unfinished basement collecting dust, though. And when we minimalized the first time around, we simply gave it away.

Another time, I went to a garage sale and found two huge bins of legos, small and large. I also found a collection of more than a hundred barely-read magazine issues: Ranger Rick, Kids Discover, Highlights, etc. I think I paid thirty dollars altogether. 

My kids spent hours every day playing with those legos — inventing, creating, and playing a pretend game they called Legoland. 

They also spent hours reading, learning, and laughing from those magazines. You never know what will spark a child’s creativity, but it doesn’t have to be elaborate or expensive.

Money doesn’t buy kids' happiness. It’s time, love, experiences, and freedom for creativity. 

So in the continuing saga of our minimalizing project, I have yet another decision about whether to keep, toss, or donate the Cuisinart pot. 

It’s a pot filled with memories: good, bad, and somewhere in between. 

It symbolizes an important part of my life and represents who I was at that time. 

Minimalizing is an act of letting go of the past in order to leave room for the present. I’ll be donating a lot of my stuff but keeping the things that matter to me. 

It’s that opposition again, letting go and holding on. Finding the center within the new lines. 

I can envision my family enjoying homemade meals prepared lovingly in this pan for years to come. Creating simple yet treasured moments in our kitchen. 

Minimalizing is a sentimental journey. It compels us to define who we are and face what we were. It’s so much more than simply getting rid of stuff.

So the red pot goes into the keep pile, waiting for new memories to be created. 

These past weeks have required me to confront more truths than I anticipated. And as blissful as ignorance can be, it’s important that I faced them— the good and bad. 

Stepping outside our lines is sometimes necessary to find our center. The simpler version of me is who I’ve always been — I just got a bit sidetracked. 

Minimalizing is a compelling process; it’s powerful and therapeutic. We’re making room for the present by letting go of the unnecessary. We’re rediscovering and staying true to who we are. 

And when we live our life aligned with our beliefs, it’s much easier to experience the richness of the present moment.