I didn’t know what to title this post, but as I start to write this, it’s just clocking over to the last month of 2025. I didn’t expect this year to end the way that it has. Things feel… things are different now. And, maybe that’s okay. Anyway- I have made so many posts here over the years about minimalism, about all the items I’ve loved and lost, saved and sold. But then, I just.. stopped.

I stopped writing, and for a long while, I didn’t call myself a minimalist. The trend died down and all of a sudden it wasn’t cool anymore. I wasn’t any less a minimalist, I know that now, but there was, ironically, always someone who ‘did it’ better. Consumers always compare how much stuff they have to the next person. They want more and more and more.

I wasn’t like THEM. Gosh no, I couldn’t possibly be anything like them, right? Because how could I be? I’m a minimalist.

But there were people, who owned less than me. who were able to live and thrive in a smaller home than me. Who had less social medias than me. Who had less time on their screen than me. And all of a sudden, I didn’t feel enough.

But, wait… Isn’t that exactly the feeling I wanted to escape? Isn’t that the whole point of minimalism?

Yes. So, I stopped.

I was in love. And it’s sad talking about this love in past tense. I never thought I would have to talk about her in past tense. Because, whether she believed it or not, she was my reason. We all had one. You know, why we became minimalists.

To be healthier, to be wealthier, to save money, to save… ourselves. There was always a reason. And, she was mine. I didn’t need all this stuff. I just needed her. I needed the money, the mental strength, to get to her. And I did it. I did it.

And I held onto it. Every last scrap. Because, I knew, deep down, it couldn’t have been forever. Not logistically, not realistically, not financially. So I did the one taboo thing in the world of minimalism- I saved every single little piece of it. The memories, the mementos, the key-rings from the souvenir store, the 300+ photos I physically printed out.

And then, it was gone. I awoke one morning, over three years after my first adventure, it was early October 2025, I had in fact not heard anything from her in over six months. I wasn’t really too sure why, and I don’t think I will ever know. And that’s okay.

I was moving my night stand out of the way on my usually Spring-Cleaning-Saturday and out fell my brown Adventure Book. A book full of every boarding pass, drawing and photograph. And there I sat, cleaning cloth in one hand, this overly heavy book in the other, and I don’t wish to state how long I cried for that afternoon.

But, it’s not gone. Is it? I did it. And that will always remain true. Places change and people change. Trees grow older and people do too. But they also grow stronger. And I did too. We all have. Minimalism, at its roots (no pun intended), is about…

Letting go.

So, that’s what I’m doing I’m trying to do. Not because I want to, but, because I needed to. I needed to let go, for my sake, and for hers. But, if she ever reads this- and I know she will. It may not be today, or tomorrow, but one day- I hope she finds her reason. Her reason to keep going. And I’m sorry that reason couldn’t be me.

Most of this year has been saturated with hospital rooms and mental health assessments. Things did get bad, as things stand, my psychiatrist heavily suspects bipolar disorder. Something that runs in my family, something my mum has suspected in me since I was a very young teenager.

There are a few other things too, but I don’t wish to talk about them here, yet. But, that, along with my diagnosis of a dissociative disorder in early 2022 by a neurologist I saw, has made not only keeping track of my mental state almost impossible, but my day to day life, too.

I’ve spent a good chunk of my twenties trying to be ‘normal’- trying to fit in enough to get by. I’d stay up long into the nights watching YouTube videos on how to master small-talk, just so I didn’t seem standoffish to neighbours. I’d practice these conversations with myself in my long black mirror, looking like a total idiot.

I’ve felt so isolated for so many years. Some nights I’d go out and ride the bus at the 5pm rush-hour, just to feel like I’m a part of something. Just to feel like I’m… normal.

But, does normal even exist? Not to get deep, but, what would you classify ‘normal’ as? Someone who worked a 9-5 career? Someone who was married at 25? Someone with kids? These have all been scenarios whizzing around in my head for a number of years now.

I, again, didn’t feel enough.

The normal we have grown to think of is not so much normalcy as it is societal expectation. And I may not be up to the societal expectations of a 26 year old, but, for all intents and purposes, I am… normal.

Lately I have had to let go of this idea of ‘fitting in’, of being at the same point as others, or being the same as everyone else. Because I’m not the same, I’m Alex.

And one day, I will feel enough. That is something I am, slowly but surly, working on. I’ll one day feel enough for someone. For the world. For myself.

One day.

But, as all minimalisms know, to let go mentally, the first step is letting go physically. So, here is that scrapbook. Filled with every drawing, receipt, memory, memento, photograph, sticker… Just to name a few.

I’m scanning every page, and they will live neatly tucked away in a folder on my laptop. They will always be there. As proof to my past self that I did indeed make my dream come true, even for just a little while. And proof to my future self that I really can do anything I set my mind to. I’m strong and I’m capable.

And… I’m normal.

But the physical weight of the book is weighing heavy in my heart. So, it must go now. I documented every aspect of my dream for a decade, so it would have felt wrong to do this in secrecy.

Holding onto this book doesn’t make the memories any more real, and holding onto this book doesn’t mean I can get those memories back. They’re real, and they live in me, not some paper.

It meant so much more to me than any paper ever will.

But, I wasn’t collecting things. I was collecting proof.

Proof I loved that deeply, proof I crossed oceans, proof that… I didn’t imagine it.

You can see a flip-through of the whole scrapbook HERE. Faces have been blurred.

So, like the trees letting go of their leaves, this winter I need to let go too. So when life starts to feel warmer again, the trees, and myself, will have room to… start again.

I’m going to take a break for a while. No shocker there, little miss ‘I only post once a year’… But, one thing I’ve learnt this year is we shouldn’t make promises we can’t keep.

So, I can’t promise when I’ll be back. But I will be back…

One day.

Goodbye, for now. Goodbye, you. x