Extremes are dangerous

I loved minimalism. It seemed to me a coherent, practical, and healthy philosophy of life. I didn't want to accumulate unnecessary things that only took up space and generated clutter.

I only kept what I really needed and what made me happy. A closet, a bed, a laptop, a phone, a backpack, and a bike.

That's how I learned to live for some years, traveling around the country, meeting places and people, working once in a while, learning, and enjoying. I felt free and fulfilled, without ties or worries. I didn't have a house or a car, but I didn't want them either. I was satisfied with what I had decided to have.

But one day, something changed. I began to feel that I still had too much. That I could simplify my life even more. That everything I had was a limitation, a dependency, a source of anxiety. So I decided to get rid of everything that wasn't essential to my existence.

I soon realized that I had been wrong. That there was still something that made me uncomfortable. That there was still something left over. That there was still something that prevented me from being completely free.

That something was the world.

The world was chaos. The world was a distraction. The world was an illusion. It was of no use to me, it had no meaning to me, it brought me no value, and it annoyed me. It was only an obstacle to true happiness. The happiness of absolute nothingness.

So I made the most radical and logical decision of my life. The decision to isolate me from everything and everyone. To disconnect completely. To stop interacting.

I gave away the phone and laptop. I cut up the credit card. Then I dedicated myself to being a nomad, without a fixed place, without giving excuses for anything, without justifying anything.

I felt like the ultimate minimalist.

But I went to the extreme, I couldn't keep it up. What I was doing was falling into a state of irresponsibility and I reacted.

Extremes are dangerous.