Why Camping Reminds Me to Want Less: Reflections on Simplifying Life
The Simplicity I Always Come Back To
The first camping trip of the season always reminds me of how uncomplicated life can be. When we’re out in nature in the van, I remember what it’s like to get good sleep, eat well, and live slowly.
We don’t need much. Yet every time we return home, I become more aware of just how much we have. The more we embrace this slower, simpler way of living, the more I find myself wondering: What would it look like to start letting some of it go?
George Carlin said it best in his famous routine about “stuff.” It’s funny because it’s painfully true.
Loving My Home While Longing for Less
Here’s the paradox.
I genuinely love the home we’ve lived in for nearly twenty years. We’ve worked hard to make it beautiful, collected meaningful pieces, and built a life here. But we’ve also been carrying things for far too long.
Letting go won’t be easy, which is exactly why I think it’s time to begin—with plenty of runway.
A nomadic lifestyle is appealing for all the obvious reasons: seeing new places, meeting interesting people, and trying foods from somewhere you’ve never been before. Those are the things everyone imagines.
What isn’t talked about as much is the quiet freedom that comes from not being weighed down by possessions.
Of course, van life isn’t always idyllic. There’s unpredictable weather, mechanical breakdowns, and sharing a tiny space where even the smallest annoyances can feel enormous. And yet, from where I’m sitting, the simplicity outweighs every inconvenience.
Lately, it feels like the right time to begin the slow process of purging—not because I have to, but because I want to experience more of that freedom.
The Reality of Being Childfree by Choice
Part of this realization comes from a practical place.
The truth is, we don’t have children to leave our belongings to. The people we’ve chosen to receive what’s left financially after we’re gone probably won’t treasure our sentimental possessions the way we have. That’s simply the reality of being childfree by choice.
A few years ago, when I started my business, someone encouraged me to start “adulting” by finding a financial advisor. It was one of the smartest decisions I’ve ever made. That advisor eventually connected us with an attorney to create our wills.
For childfree couples, planning what happens after we’re gone isn’t always as straightforward as people assume.
Loving My Home While Longing for Less
More than anything, I don’t want to burden the people we’ve named in our will with sorting through decades of accumulated belongings. The things that hold deep meaning for me won’t necessarily hold meaning for them. They’re not my children.
And honestly, even if they were, I’m not convinced they’d want the responsibility of carrying my things. This generation seems far better at releasing material possessions than mine ever was. There’s something admirable about that.
It's Never Just About the Stuff
Of course, knowing all of this doesn’t make letting go any easier. In fact, it’s terrifying.
I suspect I’ll eventually hire a coach to help me navigate this process because I honestly have no idea where to begin.
Because this isn’t really about the stuff.
It’s about the memories.
The identities.
Plus the security.
The stories we’ve attached to ordinary objects.
Scarcity, Survival, and Growing Up Gen X
Scarcity is one of the hardest mindsets to outgrow.
Like many Gen Xers, I was raised by Depression-era grandparents who rarely threw anything away. While their habits frustrated me at times, I deeply admired their resourcefulness and their ability to survive difficult circumstances.
My parents carried that same practical wisdom. They were intentionally frugal, worked hard, provided everything I needed, supported me through school, and ultimately built a retirement they deserved. For that, I’ll always be grateful.
Then came my rebellion.
Working in big tech with a generous and reliable salary, I embraced experiences—and, admittedly, a lot of stuff.
I don’t regret the experiences. Not for a second.
But I do regret how freely I spent money on possessions that no longer matter.
Who I Am Now
Maybe that’s part of why letting go feels so difficult. Today I earn a much more modest income, but I also have something I didn’t have back then: better mental health. My income fluctuates. I’m far more intentional with money than I’ve ever been. Perhaps that’s why every item suddenly feels harder to release.
The Closet That Fought Back
The day I started writing this, I truly believed I could do it. Surely beginning with my closet would be easy. I have plenty of clothes that someone else could genuinely use. It started well enough.
Underwear? Easy.
Socks? Done.
T-shirts? Surprisingly satisfying—especially letting go of shirts from companies where I’d worked years ago. Then I opened my closet. The clothing rod is so overloaded I sometimes wonder if it’ll collapse. I grabbed one shirt from a clothing swap that never really felt like me. Easy. Then another I hadn’t worn in years. Still okay.
And then…
I froze.
Fear showed up.
The fear of letting go of clothes I’d worked hard to buy. Fear that I’d never be able to replace them. A quiet rebellion against the entire process.
I gathered what I’d managed to part with, sealed it in a donation bag, and immediately put it in my car so I couldn’t change my mind. Then I walked away.
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