730 things — Day 88 of 365

 Mostly, in writing this blog, I've posted only when I have something to say — a sensible discipline, as I'm sure you will agree.

But having rashly leapt (with no preliminary thought) into posting for an entire year about disposing of two things a day, I am now subjecting you (sorry) to whatever ramblings are passing through my head from day to day. I console myself with the reflection that you aren't actually forced to read here, so I hope it isn't too much of an imposition.

Yesterday, while out for my morning walk, a new thought began to dawn, emerging hesitantly and slowly taking shape. There is a connection between what I wear and what I eat. They interact, and in both these areas of my life there's a minimalist potential.

I realised it because there are two main types of clothes I habitually choose, different from each other. One category has garments that are either rustic (like medieval/anglo-saxon re-enactors' clothing) or belong to world/traditional clothing (Arabic, Indian, Amish etc). This clothing involves lots of fabric — modesty, long skirts, voluminous trousers with long tunic tops, and so forth. The other category is a simple, pared-down style: straight-leg trousers and crew-necked or collared cotton tops, with a sweater or cardigan. 

My problem feet require uncompromising sandals (Birkenstocks), so my style starts there. Footwear is a component of a look, and if a particular type is mandatory it affects how the rest develops. Either of my two looks (rustic/world or pared-down) goes fine with Birkis. 

But I was getting frustrated with my habit of havering between one style and another, acquiring and getting rid of clothes. I couldn't understand why I didn't just stick with one type of outfit. But I realised yesterday, it's part of my tendency toward a prepper mentality — because I gain and lose weight very easily. A carb junkie, I have all my life taken refuge in carbohydrate from life's inherent difficulties. I've used carbs to keep me going, cheer me up, help me find the strength for things that seemed too much, soothe me when I got home from doing them . . . Over time, it made me ill. My cells started to show signs of insulin resistance, and I had to make a change. But I find it hard to stick to. I eat as I should for a while, then give up and get ill, then go back to it and recover, then give up and get ill and have to start again. It's made harder by all socialising organising around carbohydrate. 

As an inherently low-energy person (it goes with the flimsy vascular system), I have always relied on carbohydrate as a kind of personality — someone whose energy I could borrow to get me through. But this is physically inadvisable in the long term; it creates deficits and accumulations, problems for the adrenals and the gall bladder and liver, widespread inflammation. As I've discovered for myself.

And, in a sort of epiphany, I realised that what I've been doing is prepping for getting fatter or thinner by re-stocking my wardrobe accordingly when I change my eating patterns. Now that's dawned on me, I have good hope I can break that expensive and wasteful cycle. Because I suddenly saw how minimalism can make a bridge between what I wear and what I eat — a similar discipline of simplicity applies to and connects both.

The food I eat to be well, is plain — delicious but not exciting. It requires discipline to stick to it. If I eat that food, my body stays in its natural physique — which is kind of bendy and willowy and fairly slim. That body does well with the simple and pared-down tops and trousers kit. 

But if I revert to the carb-fest of my preference, I gain a lot of weight fast and become much more substantial; at which point the voluminous tunic and long flowing skirt and patiala salwar and North African abaya suddenly acquire a powerful appeal.

So I realised the minimalist food and minimalist clothes go together. They merge into a consolidated minimalist practice which takes up very little space and effects health. They mesh. And as there is very little in my life except food and clothing and thought, that looks promising to me. 

I cannot account for why I didn't ever think of that before. Now I have it seems so obvious. I think it will stop my mind roving in a blind search for solutions to a situation doomed to endless fluctuation.

I hope I'm right. 

Leaving my life today are two kapps — simple cloth hats that I made out of old tea-towels and dyed. I found them very useful for keeping my hair out of my eyes when I was growing it, but I'm going to stick to keeping it short now because that means I can use a shampoo bar without problems, instead of having to buy plastic bottles of liquid shampoo.

I hesitated about disposing of these — as you do when you actually have to make them yourself — but in the end decided their sun had set.