I was putting away my earrings the other day — for the third time that week — when I had a small existential crisis.
Why do I have this many earrings? I have one body and two ears, and one piercing each. Yet there I was, putting up pink earring number 5.
And then I remembered a verse from Ecclesiastes that always hits differently when you’re doing something deeply unnecessary:
“Vanity of vanities,” says the Preacher, “vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”
Whew. Even earrings?
Yes, even earrings
It’s a strange kind of emptiness — to be surrounded by stuff and still feel slightly anxious.
Earring trinkets that don’t close. Outfits I’ve never worn, but somehow still can’t let go of because “one day I might need it.” (Spoiler: That day never comes.)
The garage? Let’s not talk about the garage. That’s where dreams, dust, and unopened Amazon boxes go to die.
And yet, for a long time, I convinced myself this was normal. That more meant I was doing well. That accumulation was proof of success.
But slowly, I started to feel the weight.
Not just physically — emotionally. The guilt of waste. The tension of not knowing where things are. The quiet stress of always tidying, organizing, pairing, rearranging… for what? For who?
For vanity.
Let’s be honest: we were raised on it.
”Buy it because it’s on sale.”
”Keep it because it’s still good.”
”Store it just in case.”
”Hold onto it — you never know.”
And suddenly, our homes become museums of indecision. Shrines to purchases we made when we were bored, insecure, impulsive, or trying to impress someone who doesn’t even remember our name.
Recently I gave away a juicer I bought with the best intentions to juice everyday, and I asked my friend a month later what she’s used it for. To my shock, she hadn’t used it yet!
King Solomon would’ve been shaking his head.
But here’s the turning point: I realized clutter wasn’t just taking up space in my house — it was blocking my peace.
All the time I spent organizing books, folding clothes, putting away jewelry could be time spent building freedom. Financial freedom. Emotional clarity. Breathing room — literal and spiritual.
So I started small.
- Sold some stuff I never used — put the money toward my credit card.
- Cleared out a quarter of my closet — and felt like I gained square footage in my brain.
- Donated two kitchen gadgets plus a Hoover I hadn’t touched in a year — someone else is probably making magic with them right now.
- Paused before every purchase and asked, “Is this filling a gap in my home or a hole in my heart?”
That’s when things shifted.
Minimalism isn’t about deprivation. It’s about intention.
It’s saying: I don’t need to surround myself with things to feel secure.
It’s realizing that sometimes, your peace is buried under a pile of unnecessary stuff.
It’s choosing presence over pressure. Room to breathe over racks of “someday” outfits.
And maybe most beautifully — it’s turning your clutter into cash. Yep, literal money sitting in your kitchen drawers, shoe rack, and bathroom cabinet.
You don’t have to sell everything and live out of a suitcase (unless you want to).
But what if you sold $500 worth of stuff and made a debt payment?
What if you downsized the “just in case” drawer and upsized your savings?
What if you finally let go of the things that never really served you — and made room for what does?
Solomon had everything — palaces, gardens, gold, wisdom, women, wealth. Yet he still looked at it all and said:
“Vanity.”
Because at the end of the day, he knew: possessions without peace are just distractions with price tags.
So if your heart’s been feeling heavy and your home’s been feeling loud…
Start small. One drawer. One corner. One shelf.
Choose peace. Choose lightness.
Sell what no longer serves you.
Keep what loves you back.
And maybe one day soon, you’ll look around your space — towel drawer and all — and smile, not because you finally have more…
…but because you finally need less.
