I watched my favorite cup as if it were in slow motion, falling down and cracking into a million pieces. I mourned a bit until I realized it’s just an empty cup.

Attachments are funny things. What started out as an old cup I picked up at the thrift store became a welcome site at the end of the day associated with tranquility and dependence on ritual. In the evolution of my ownership of an object never did I imagine that I would become so attached, but to what?
This was a stoneware cup that had no mate or saucer even. It wasn’t marred but it wasn’t exactly pretty by any standard. It was sturdy with great lines but elegance was not in it’s character. Often I would look at it and realize that it really had no place in my minimalist house, yet I couldn’t give it up until the day I had to choice but to let go as it became dust.
That night I searched online for an exact replacement for a while until I quietly admitted that it was silly to spend such money on a cup that I didn’t need. In my cupboard sat another cup, more plain, but with just as much purpose.

My new favorite cup was there all along silently waiting for the chance to serve and to be seen in all it’s real red glory. Now I use just one cup, washing it with reverence at the sink each time it’s used, knowing that minimalism isn’t about acquiring an exact replacement.

Minimalism is sometimes about falling in love with what you have…