The Moment I Realized I Had Too Much

How It All Began

I didn’t discover minimalism through a documentary, a book, or any kind of challenge. It started in a quiet, almost forgettable moment—one I didn’t think much of at the time. Looking back, it was the beginning of a slow shift in how I saw my life, my habits, and the things I surrounded myself with.

It was a regular weekday. I had just come home, tired and distracted, and I went looking for a charger. I opened a drawer I had opened a thousand times before, but this time something felt different. Inside was a small avalanche of things: tangled cables, old receipts, two headphones I no longer used, pens that didn’t work, notes from months ago, and objects I had kept “just in case.”

I ended up emptying the whole drawer onto the floor. And for a moment, I just sat there.

The Weight I Didn’t Notice

It wasn’t the mess that bothered me. Mess is normal. Life gets busy, things pile up, and eventually we deal with it. But this time I felt something else—a quiet weight. It wasn’t the physical clutter; it was the realization that I had been carrying this mental clutter for years without noticing.

Every object on the floor felt like a tiny unfinished task. Something I had forgotten to fix, organize, or let go of. It reminded me how often I moved through life on autopilot, letting things accumulate—not just in drawers, but in my schedule, my habits, my thoughts.

For the first time, I asked myself a simple question:

Why do I keep all of this?

Not just the objects, but the noise. The pressure. The routines that didn’t serve me. The way I filled every open space with something, as if emptiness was something to avoid.

A Quiet Beginning

Nothing changed dramatically that day. I didn’t throw everything away. I didn’t declare myself a minimalist. I simply became curious about how my life might feel with less.

Over the next few days, I noticed small moments that usually passed unnoticed: the way clutter affected my mood, the way certain spaces made me feel overwhelmed, the way I avoided certain areas of my home because they reminded me of things undone.

So I started small. One drawer. One shelf. One tiny corner of my life at a time.

Not with a goal of perfection, but with one intention: to understand what I actually needed.

Minimalism didn’t appear as a grand change. It appeared as a shift in how I paid attention. I started asking a different question:

Does this add anything to my life today?

Sometimes the answer was yes. Most of the time it wasn’t.

Choosing Less, Slowly

Each small decision made my days feel a little lighter. I slept better. I felt calmer. I felt more in control of my space, and more in tune with my own thoughts. Removing physical clutter quietly removed mental noise too.

Minimalism became less about objects and more about clarity. Less about restriction and more about relief.

I began choosing slower mornings, fewer commitments, more intentional purchases, and more quiet moments. Empty space became something meaningful, not something to fill.

Why I Started Notes on Less

This blog didn’t come from expertise or from trying to teach minimalism. It came from that one quiet moment on the floor—surrounded by things I no longer needed—and the realization that my life had been heavier than it needed to be.

Notes on Less is simply a place to keep those observations: the small shifts, the subtle lessons, the moments of clarity that come from choosing a simpler path.

I’m not aiming for perfect minimalism. I’m not counting objects. I’m not following rules. I’m just paying attention.

And if any part of my experience mirrors something you’ve felt, then maybe you’re beginning your own version of that moment.

A Calmer Way Forward

You don’t need a dramatic transformation to feel lighter. You don’t need to overhaul your life.

You just need one quiet moment of noticing.

Welcome to Notes on Less. A calmer way forward.