Over decades, surgically, sometimes with force, I've naturally edited out all sorts of things—
I've always loved the process—the results too, mostly.
Maybe it comes from a desire to connect to an idyllic childhood, growing up on a hill station without much?
(But one that had an abundance of the right things.)
Maybe in a world of more, less feels like a balanced, yin-yang reaction?
Maybe my brain's too small?
Fewer—golf clubs, subscriptions, friends, colleagues, younameit—forces you to make the most of what you have.
You dig deep.
Find the funny.
Beer tastes better, but the constant search for zero, to nothing, feels as dangerous as the desire for many, for everything.
There's an abyss at both ends.
PS Speaking of, I hate loose ends.
On my bags—golf, tennis, soccer, office, daily—I tie off the flapping straps into neat bows or tuck them into bands.
I burn off loose plastic threads with a lighter.