And while I see the attraction of these devices — I’ve been tempted myself many times — I also know that they are some of the best marketing devices ever.

Yes, they are useful. Thousands of books on one tiny reading device? Amazing, in all sincerity. I’m all for something that encourages reading and lightness at once. They can also be used for work, email, social networking, showing off family photos, watching films, listening to uplifting music, teaching kids math and reading, exploring new worlds … these are very very useful devices, I’ll admit.

But once you get one, what’s the first thing you do? You go to buy some content. Because at their heart, these are content devices, and they come loaded with a little content but not nearly enough to last a day. So you buy books, and this is Amazon’s main goal with the Kindle, and it is wildly successful. The Kindle might cost you $79 (or a bit more), but you’ll spend hundreds if not thousands of dollars on books.

And books are just the start of the buying. If you have an iPad, you’ll buy movies and TV shows and music along with the books. The Kindle Fire will get you to buy these media too. If you have an iPhone or iPod, the music is a must, but other media are also bought in bushels. Android and Nook devices are no different.

Then there are apps. Apple has sold millions of apps from the app store, which means if you have one of their devices, you are likely to buy a bunch as soon as you get your new toy.

So if someone has given you a beautiful new device, they’ve given you a gift that will cost you probably thousands of dollars, not including the cost of connecting the device (which could be just as much money if you need a data plan).

I am not disparaging anyone who has bought or received these devices. They are useful and attractive. But let’s acknowledge their true purpose. With this awareness, we can use our technology with consciousness.

We have logos or slogans or cute catchphrases on our clothing, and it shows people who we are. We have tattoos or piercings, baseball caps, accessories, smartphones, designer bags, Manolo Blahnik shoes … and these express to others who we are.

In our homes, what we have on our walls shows others who we are. What TV shows we watch, what books we read, what celebrities and blogs we follow. What brands we like on Facebook. This is our identity.

But what happens when you strip all this away? When you are left with plain clothing, a home that is empty and spare … how will you express yourself? What will you use to forge an identity? You could argue that your identity would now be called “Minimalist”, but let’s go beyond that label.

In spareness, we are confronted by a lack. It is a frightening thing if you aren’t accustomed to it. You must take a close look at that lack, and wonder, “What am I left with?”

When there is just you, and nothing else, you must look inside yourself. You have to ask who you are, and again, that can be scary. You start to question whether you are adequate as a person, and then you wonder where this sense of inadequacy comes from. You start to realize that there is nothing more possible than who you already are, that there isn’t anyone who is “more adequate” than you, but only people who are different. If you perceive them to be “better”, that’s only because you are measuring them up to a standard created by someone else. When you remove that arbitrary and meaningless standard, there is no “better”. There is only who you are.

There is an empty room, and you. And you are enough. You are all that’s needed in this room, you fill it with your light and the miracle of your being, and you now realize: the things you used to express yourself, those were just a crutch. You need none of it. You are enough.

In spareness, you find enough.

This is the buckshot approach. Buckshot spreads into many little pellets when it leaves the shotgun — most will miss the target, but that’s OK, because only some of the pellets need to hit. That’s fine for hunting, but for living, I’d recommend the rifle approach.

The rifle shoots a much more targeted bullet, with much more powerful impact. You aim at a specific target, and you don’t waste as much energy.

A friend who was going camping took a truckload of equipment and supplies, because he had no idea which equipment he’d need. A more experienced friend only needed a 9-lb. backpack, because experience told him what was necessary and what was extraneous. He was able to make a little count for much more than a whole truckload, because he knew how to target the important things.

Another friend who was launching his first online product spent hours and hours (months actually) putting a lot of effort into creating tons of bonuses, a really long sales page, a really massive product, all kinds of promotions and giveaways, and much more. He wasn’t sure what would be important, so he did everything possible, because he was afraid he wouldn’t do well if he missed something important. When I launch a product, I keep it simple, but try to make what little I do provide very valuable. I do very little to launch the product, because I’ve learned that doesn’t matter as much as creating a great product and having readers who trust me. I do less, but I know what matters, and focus on that.

Fear of missing something important causes us to use the buckshot approach, and do too much. Most of what we do will miss, but we console ourselves that something will hit the important target. The problem is, we don’t know what the target is, and using the buckshot approach means we’ll never get good at finding the target, nor good at aiming.

The rifle approach means you’ll be forced to figure out what’s important. You’ll be forced to get good at aiming, with practice.

This is minimalism.

In order to better prepare you, my lovely and good-hearted reader, for minimalism, it’s my duty to point out some of the downsides. Consider this post my due diligence.

Some downsides to minimalism:

• You get to know Craigslist, Goodwill and other charities all too well as you clean out your clutter.
• You have to figure out other things to do with yourself besides shopping and browsing shopping sites.
• If you travel lightly for a few weeks with only a small carry-on, customs officers might get suspicious — who travels with almost nothing, besides maybe a terrorist? My friends Corbett Barr and his wife Jessie recently had this experience going into Europe with a small bag each — officials didn’t believe they were really traveling for three weeks without luggage.
• People will tease you about which of your two shirts you’re wearing today. I don’t mind this — there are worse things to be teased about.
• If you are a well known minimalist and happen to shop at the Gap or the Apple store, you worry that people will see you and judge you for hypocrisy.
• If you give up your cable TV, you have to find other things to do. I like to read or exercise. Also, you aren’t aware of non-Internet pop culture — I had to Google Jwow recently (didn’t know who she was) and was shocked at how much I’ve apparently been missing.
• Family will harass you about not buying gifts. They will live. So will you.
• You don’t get as good a workout walking around with a light bag instead of one laden with lots of stuff. I put weight plates in my backpack if I want to compensate for this.
• People online will accuse you of being “trendy” because you’re a minimalist. People who aren’t online as much will wonder what the hell a minimalist is.
• Your one pair of jeans will go from being dark and dressy to faded, frayed, and more welcome in an Occupy camp than in nice restaurants.
• When family comes to visit, you’ll be confused as to why they have so much stuff with them, even if they’re just there to visit for a few hours.
• When you go to other people’s houses, you might start mentally fantasizing about getting rid of their stuff for them.
• People will ask you, almost non-stop, how you can be a minimalist with so many kids. If you don’t have any kids, they’ll roll your eyes and say, “Of course you’re a minimalist — you’re a bachelor!”
• People will always, always try to point out the hypocrisy of being a minimalist and something else about you — your articles are too long to be a minimalist! You have 25 books — that’s not minimalist! Etc.
• Others might feel threatened by you, because your minimalism will be seen as a criticism of their lifestyle. They will live.
• You will get weird looks when you turn down free “schwag” at sporting events, conferences, parties. Who doesn’t want a bunch of free promotional junk?
• People will give you pitying looks when they see you have a simple dumb phone, and can’t play Angry Birds or use Instagram on the train like they can.
• If you don’t have a car, people will think you’re poor, even if you are wealthier for not having the car. And healthier, and time rich.

People are finally pushing back against the incredible influence that corporations have on every aspect of our lives. People are finding a voice for the frustrations of being powerless against the corporations.

And that’s a good thing. Corporations have taken control of our economy, our jobs, our political system, our environment, but much more than that: they now tell us how to entertain ourselves, how to spend time with others, how to show love for friends and family, how to look good and feel good about ourselves, how to communicate, how to educate our kids, how to spend our spare time, how to be in public spaces together, how to create and enjoy music and art.

Every minute of our lives is now spent with products of a corporation, and we are never alone.

How can we find our non-corporate voices? How can we protest against this?

We can take a stand.

The minimalist might protest simply by not buying corporate products. Don’t eat at corporate restaurants, or buy corporate coffee, or buy corporate clothes. Don’t have logos on everything you own. Don’t watch corporate entertainment — make your own! Find non-corporate ways to spend time with people. Find non-corporate ways to celebrate Christmas. Find non-corporate music to listen to, or create your own.

It’s possible. We still have our humanity. We can still breathe, but first we must create some breathing room.

It’s incredible how much people rely on these things, actually, and have come to think they’re necessary.

But they’re not. Consider your grandparents — did they have these luxuries? Did they survive without them? Were they fairly happy without them?

Only after we’ve grown used to these things do we think they’re necessary, but that’s because we’ve bought into the marketing. These things are no longer luxuries — they’re required.

If our grandparents could live without them, and be happy, so can we.

Some things our grandparents lived without, that are really not necessary:

• microwave
• dishwasher
• SUV
• Luxury car
• food processor
• smart phone
• iPad or other tablet
• flat-screen TV
• refrigerators with ice makers (or perhaps refrigeration at all)
• air conditioning
• central heating
• dryers
• Roombas
• hair dryers
• workout machines
• Kindle
• toaster oven

That’s just a start.

I would argue that the computer is the one exception. It is incredibly empowering. The rest are less necessary.

I’m not arguing that you should never get any of these devices. I’m only offering a reminder that it’s not absolutely necessary, and most can be eliminated.

Many of you have seen the video and reviews of the new iPhone 4S, and yes, it looks great.

Don’t rush out to order it. Here’s why: you don’t need it.

True, it is sleek and sexy and full of great features like a great camera and personal assistant and a better screen, etc. But you don’t need it today any more than you needed it yesterday, or 5 years ago.

Yesterday, without the new iPhone, your life was good. Some of you were happy and content and were actually able to do your work and get on with your life without the new iPhone.

Today, Apple announces its newest device, and the press and tech bloggers swoon. We all have to get the latest device, or we’ll no longer be hip, we’ll no longer be part of the “in” crowd.

And yet, is it really that essential? I’ve wanted an iPhone for almost 5 years now, but haven’t bought one because I know I don’t need it. Will it make my life a bit more fun? Sure, possibly — but so will a walk in the park with my kids, or a hike with a friend, or a free book at the library. I don’t need to spend $199 plus thousands of dollars on a 2-year contract to make my life a bit more fun.

Five years ago, the iPhone didn’t exist. It wasn’t a need in your life. You were able to live perfectly without it. And now that it does exist, all of that is true.

It’s Apple’s marketing that has worked on us, and we’re fools for it.

The same, of course, is true of all other technology and sleek consumerist products. It’s just that Apple is better at it than most.

Don’t give in. Fight the marketing, by noticing and letting go of the urges that marketing creates in us. Find contentment without products. You’re better than that.

Also: Why I gave up my iPhone

Those people are lying.

Unless you’re a certified Zen Master, you never move beyond wanting stuff (and even the Zen Masters have their temptations, I’m sure). We’re humans, and we have desires. When the new iPhone comes out, I lust over it just as most technophiles like me do.

I don’t, however, buy the iPhone. I’ve lusted after the iPhone since it first came out in 2007, and for more than four years, I’ve resisted getting one. Not because I like torturing myself, nor because I think I’m too cool for an iPhone, but because I don’t want to give in to the lust. I know I don’t need the iPhone, and I know my brain has been tricked into wanting it.

When we want things that are beautiful, cool, sexy (yes, we have semi-sexual desires for objects, and yes that’s weird) … we have been tricked. Not tricked because we’re ignorant, stupid, foolish, but because we’re human. Corporations have become good at tricking us, at tapping into our desires, and as a result we lust for and then buy their products.

Apple is one of the best at this, and it has done such a good job that when I tweeted a small observation about Steve Jobs, I got Hate Tweets for my stupidity, blindness, retardedness, pretentiousness. All those words and more. Because I suggested that Apple’s marketing has worked very, very well on us (myself included).

Apple is not the only one, but it’s one of the best examples. We lust over other brands, including shoes, laptop bags, jeans, coffeemakers, hamburgers and more. The advertising has worked on us.

But don’t be disappointed with yourself. There is no way to stop wanting, but there are ways to reduce the desires.

Stop going to malls and other places designed to get you to buy things.

Stop watching so much TV (or at least block all the ads) because it’s designed to get you to buy stuff.

Stop reading magazines full of ads designed to get you to buy stuff.

Stop reading catalogs, which are just ads.

Stop going to online sites that are full of stuff you might want to buy. Stop going to online shopping sites so much.

Stop looking at the things other people have, online and off, and learn to be happy with what you already have.

And when you do notice yourself wanting something (awareness is everything), pause. Pause some more. Put it on a 30-day list. Wait. The desires go away with time.

Some take more than four years though.

(Thanks to Jeremy Barth for the post idea.)

If you want to start cycling, kayaking, yoga, climbing, adventure racing … one of the first things you do is look to buy the gear that’s required.

I’m not immune to this. I’ve done it a thousand times.

I’ve learned to be wary of this urge to buy new gear.

Thoreau once wrote, “Beware of all enterprises that require new clothes.”

He suggested that if we want to try a new enterprise (or hobby), we do it in our old clothes first. This is good advice.

Want to run? Try it in the clothes you already have. Same thing with yoga, with cycling, with climbing. Try it in your old clothes.

You might need some gear: ropes, a helmet. Borrow or rent them at first. After awhile, if you’re sure you want to do the activity, see if someone is giving it away on Craigslist or Freecycle.

Wait until you’ve changed yourself before you change your clothes and gear.

When you inevitably try something else, don’t get new clothes or gear right away. And when you do find free gear for the new activity, give away your old stuff.

Also consider whether you really need to add a new activity to your life. Can you meet the same needs more simply? When I think about new hobbies, I realize that I can get everything I want by walking, running, playing in the park, going on hikes, reading library books, writing with the tools I already have, spending time simply with family and friends. These require no equipment, no new clothes.

(Thanks to Chris Stott for the post idea.)

Can you be a minimalist in NYC?

You can be a minimalist anywhere. All you need to do is reject consumerism, and learn to be content with little.

New York City seems to force people to have small apartments anyway, but many seem to try to cram years of shopping into the apartment. Instead, allow the constraint of space become a positive thing: have only the essentials, and empty these small spaces of clutter. Learn to make the most of a small space.

Shopping here is an art. But there are other arts to be pursued: the public library here is one of the most amazing tributes to learning I’ve ever seen, for example. The art of reading can be practically free. The art of listening, of being still, of being present with a friend, of walking aimlessly … these are all free.

Fashion seems at the forefront of the minds of many, but that’s all in the mind. I’ve walked around in second-hand jeans and simple T-shirts all day, and no one seems to care. Reject the conformist values, and force people to judge you on your talent, your voice, and your contributions, instead of your clothes.

You can be a minimalist anywhere, because it is a mindset. We are influenced by our environment, but we also create our environment, and we always have a choice. You can slow down, be content with little, and value doing and being over buying.