This is not a status symbol. ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

A full calendar is not a status symbol.

Today's essay explores time as a luxury good.

Then, a podcast episode about curating collections.

But first: we extended our Private Podcast offer one more day. Join our All-Access MORE tier on Patreon for $10 today and get full video episodes, monthly Zoom calls with me and Ryan, 100+ minimalist home tours, and our entire private library. Tomorrow, the price increases to $25 for new members, but you keep the $10 price.

Luxury Time

Joshua Fields Millburn

The streets of Cincinnati are apocalyptic at this early hour.

I pull into the concrete parking garage on East Fourth Street at 5:27 AM, haul my overcrowded briefcase across the skybridge into a glass tower, grab a large coffee and orange scone from the Starbucks nestled inside the atrium, take the third elevator to the fourteenth floor, beeline past a sea of cubicles to my corner office.

Somehow I’m not the first person here.

In preparation for the impending onslaught of meetings, I am seated in my ergonomic office chair by 5:45 AM, plugging numbers into spreadsheets before the sun has risen.

Not that I’ll see the sun today.

After a few hours of prep work, I find myself landlocked with two dozen co-workers in a windowless conference room on the eleventh floor, all of us slow-roasting under fluorescent lights in ties and shirtsleeves. The carpet is the same hue as Thousand Island dressing. Dry-erase markers and top-shelf cologne potpourri the recycled air.

The year is 2007. Today is “Meeting Monday.”

The first meeting of the day—our 8 AM Operations Meeting—is followed immediately by a Sales Meeting and then a 30-minute Marketing “Pre-Meeting” that borders the real Marketing Meeting at 10:30 AM. That one runs late for no good reason, making me late for my OpEx Meeting, wherefrom I depart early for a Lunch Meeting with my boss. (Because who wants to eat in peace?)

At least a calendar this full makes me feel important.

After wolfing down half a sandwich, my afternoon is swallowed whole. Our weekly CapEx Meeting, from which several people played hooky, is flanked by a new “Planning Meeting” (whatever that means) and a Customer Retention Meeting. Toward the end of the latter, I glance at the Rolex on my wrist just in time to realize I need to be on the seventh floor in three minutes for a 4 PM standing meeting that just says “Meeting” on my calendar.

I finish the other half of my sandwich in the elevator and return to my office at 5:34 PM, ready to finally get some work done.

None of this is made up.

For years, every Monday was brimming with the same chaos. The ostentatious watch on my arm measured each passing second with mechanical precision, but almost none of those seconds belonged to me.

Segal’s Law says that a man with one watch knows what time it is, but a man with two watches is never sure. So I guess I didn’t stand a chance.

I had several expensive timepieces, but no time peace.

Today, I don’t own a single wristwatch, but I have something much more luxurious: my own time. No longer is my calendar pointillated with pointlessness.

A spacious calendar is my new favorite luxury item. There’s room to pandiculate between obligations. Room to breathe and wander and eat lunch without turning it into a meeting. Room each day to step outside and see the sun.

—JFM

P.S. In less than two weeks, I’ll be in New York for the How to Let Go Tour on October 18.

THE MINIMALISTS PODCAST

"A collection is intentional; an accumulation is accidental."

Read 6 new maxims in the show notes

EP. 558 | THE COLLECTION

This week, we talk about how to curate an intentional collection, what to do with antique clutter, seven items minimalists avoid keeping in their living rooms, and more. Listen on Apple, Spotify, YouTube, or Patreon.