Minimalist lust

I go through bursts of enthusiasm for different things; new ideas take over and I obsess about them, search them out, read blogs, forage through Pinterest, create new boards, collect ideas until I somehow, some way, satiate that desire and it gently tapers off. Though I have many of these idea bursts going on concurrently I find they all last different intervals and some seem to just while away as life marches on, ebbing and flowing and not really knocking off. 

So it is with minimalism. 

Whenever I develop one of these new obsessions I, at some point, dig into why I want so very badly to know all that I can lay my eyes and hands upon about it. Frequently it is the need for newness, for stimulation and inspiration. And sometimes it is more about a desperate desire for control and calm in my life. Minimalism calls to this ongoing, burning exploration of what I have made of my life and what I really want from it. I am drawn to the perceived simplicity, the financial freedom, the clean homes, streamlined wardrobes... but I sew. And I love antiques. And I have no control over the material-loving hearts of my family. 

I lust for a tiny house with streamlined belongings, roaming wherever we choose to go. Parking in Julia's future neighborhood for extended visits while we snowbird our retirement away. More travel, more family, less house cleaning, less cold weather trapping us indoors. I daydream about capsule wardrobes and how to fulfill my maker heart while also cutting out my over-productive, stuff-creation down. 

How is it that learning and experiencing, for creators and makers, must be so stuff-intensive? What can we do to reduce our consumption, our impact and still unwrap the boundless joy of making and creativity?