I was emotionally at the point that I thought it was incredibly important to discover minimalism for yourself: I was full, absolutely supersaturated. I had hoarded, eaten, more and more and more until I was overwhelmed by the masses I had accumulated. They didn't please me anymore, they made me - on the contrary - aggressive and depressive. The number of books made me uneasy. The very things that I once loved each one of threatened to take me now - in their own power. Every time I was confronted with them, I was helpless: I liked them so much! And they were my acquisitions - I had acquired them! And - quite honestly - they made the room so beautiful and let themselves be demonstrated so well even before a visit.
Wow, these are many books! Have you read them all?!
Random visitors
That caresses the ego, we have to be honest about that. Then the proudly embarrassed answer afterward: Not all of them yet. But I have read much more than that, hihi. My goodness. When I think back to it now, I feel terribly wrong. Wrong in the sense that I couldn't think of anything else but to define myself and my intellect by the number of spines in my living room. And then to be proud of it.
Of course, it is a great thing to have read many books - and I certainly belong to those people who have read very, very many. But meanwhile, I don't carry this fact like a gold medal anymore. I am happy - but not because of the number of books read, but because of the beautiful stories, I was allowed to experience, the great information worth knowing that I could take with me.
And by carrying out this mental turn, I had created the basic prerequisite for an individually successful book cleaning: I had freed myself from the object of the book. By freeing myself from what that thing with the printed pages there meant to me as taking in the hand - or (more likely) standing on the shelf - my head was free to act. And that action was concretely to separate me from the books. Around the corner, there is one of the famous bookcases, which I find one of the most wonderful facilities in the public space: a bookshelf that stands somewhere in a square and that is filled with works by private individuals and where other private individuals can use when they want to read a new book. In return, they put one or two books in it the next time they visit, the day after next, or at some point. The concept thrives on trust in the community and the individual.
And the strange thing is: it works. Doubtful of the goodness of mankind, I had assumed that such a concept would be doomed to failure from the outset and that everyone* would only take out books anyway, but would never put them in themselves.
But it turned out that I had applied my standards wrongly - I had transferred my own to the rest of the world. And because I would never have voluntarily released one of my treasures, I thought others would have to do the same.
Far from it - the bookcase has been full for years - sometimes more, sometimes less. But there are always books.
And after I had successfully overcome my emotional separation from the book as an object, I was one of the people who played a major role in keeping it that way: We sometimes arrived with whole trunk loads full of books and in the end, had trouble getting everyone into the cupboard without squeezing too much.
Apart from the fact that an unimaginably large load fell from my shoulders, it also made me incredibly happy to give the books away. Because there was always someone (sometimes obviously, sometimes rather embarrassed and hidden) standing around and waiting patiently for us to finish putting them away - to take a closer look at the new treasures.
There's nothing better than sharing one's own with others who appreciate it. At the very latest then I knew that this was exactly the right thing to do. My treasures would give other people a few happy hours, perhaps enrich another life - what could be nicer to know?
My new rules for living with books. The fact that the cleaning out was so successful (and it hasn't been finished yet!) is partly due to the fact that I set myself a few rules to protect myself from relapsing into old behavior patterns and to find the motivation to implement my plan consistently.
Rule number 1: You only keep books you really love.
And I really do. So hot and intimate. Only those that you open and that make you smile immediately when the story comes back to your mind. And believe me: That will be very few - at least in comparison to those you could theoretically keep because you got them from Grandma Heidi as a gift or because you connect other valuable memories with them.
Rule number 2: Everything takes time.
There's no point in wanting everything all at once and then failing because the spirit didn't really get along in the end. That means: If I throw everything away now in a fit of mucking-out delusion and perhaps regret it later, I might try to satisfy the seemingly created hole of loss through new consumption - and that's exactly what we don't want. We want to have permanently less and be satisfied with less, not temporary. Such a project takes time - and you should take that time. And if that means sorting out a book every day. Or a few weeks none at all - and then three bags again. It takes as long as it takes.
Rule number 3: Regulation of re-buying - only as much in as out.
Of course, my consumption of books has not dropped from 100% to 0% overnight. Strictly speaking, that only works if you stop all reading forever - and that's out of the question, at least for me. And I don't think so for many others either.
But apart from the fact that libraries are mutating into the preferred place to go for books, it still happens regularly that I see a great antiquarian copy in a particularly beautiful bookstore and know: it becomes one that has the potential to be loved.
And you know what? The thought of cleaning out didn't hurt at all anymore. On the contrary: it was suddenly so urgent that I wanted to start immediately and could not get rid of enough books at once. A unique clearing out action began, and as a result, I reduced my book stock from over 3000 copies to several hundred. I gave them away without exception.
Of course, I thought (but only for a short time) about getting money for it (and maybe selling it on platforms like momos or eBay). But on the one hand, used books usually bring in only cent amounts (unless they are especially high-quality non-fiction books or limited editions) and on the other hand, the administrative effort for the sale of things that I myself had received at a ridiculous price was too high for me. Apart from the fact that such a course of action personally also morally contradicted me. Recently, these were Umberto Eco's notes on The Name of the Rose (which I will also be able to use quite practically, as I intend to study it more closely), books for study in general (German studies and so on) and Simone de Beauvoir's memoirs of a daughter of a good family (borrowed from the best of all friends).
Providing oneself with new food for thought is also absolutely and unconditionally important. And it's also not bad if new old books move in - as long as, at least that's my last rule, in return at least the same number of books leave the house again. Otherwise, it won't take long under guarantee and you're back to the point where the whole manure removal process actually started. And that wasn't a pretty one, was it? In the ideal case, even more, books leave the house than have migrated in - in the current example I have exchanged the four arrivals (actually only three and one temporary) for 25 departing ones.
A wonderful feeling, I tell you!
The result: facilitation and quality improvement
As I said, I can't claim to be at the end of my sorting out - I have to clean out a few more books until I really only have those at home that are very, very important to me. (Apart from the fact that - as mentioned above - I need a good basic equipment for my studies alone in order to be able to work sensibly).Actually, theoretically, in order to live the decoupling from the object book in full consequence, I should have no problem with handing over these last copies as well. I would no longer be bound to the book as such - and I have the content of these works in my head anyway. But then the last remnant of irrational love takes hold: "I am definitely not that far yet. I also don't know if it will ever be me - and if it's so bad at all. Because at the moment my personal book dung and minimalization goal is reached when I have my compendium of high-quality works together.
Who knows - maybe I will be one step further in my mind and have no problem with the last hurdle?