<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/"><channel><title>Minimalism on Laura J. Frantz</title><link>https://laurafrantz.com/tags/minimalism/</link><description>Journal of a reflective life.</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 21 Jul 2026 08:26:36 -0400</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://laurafrantz.com/tags/minimalism/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>kenosis</title><link>https://laurafrantz.com/posts/kenosis/</link><pubDate>Tue, 10 Mar 2015 00:00:00 -0400</pubDate><dc:creator>Laura J. Frantz</dc:creator><category>Minimalism</category><category>Thoughts</category><guid>https://laurafrantz.com/posts/kenosis/</guid><description>Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly. – Epictetus
I’m shedding clothing that I’ve kept for decades, things that I’ve held dear. A race t-shirt from 1990. A tailored, pinstriped suit from 1998. A black backless gown with beading along the hemline, the one that used to turn heads. I pull it all from the closet, sort it into piles for consignment, donation, and cleaning rags.
What is left? Only what I really need. Two shirts. Four skirts. A pair of jeans. All are of the dust, and all turn to dust again, does it really matter all that much what we wear on our bodies? I know myself and adorn myself accordingly: I am a caretaker, a breadwinner, obedient to divine ordinance, pushing deeper into the closet toward the back wall and emptiness.</description><content:encoded><![CDATA[<p><em>Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly. – Epictetus</em></p>
<p>I’m shedding clothing that I’ve kept for decades, things that I’ve held dear. A race t-shirt from 1990. A tailored, pinstriped suit from 1998. A black backless gown with beading along the hemline, the one that used to turn heads. I pull it all from the closet, sort it into piles for consignment, donation, and cleaning rags.</p>
<p>What is left? Only what I really need. Two shirts. Four skirts. A pair of jeans. All are of the dust, and all turn to dust again, does it really matter all that much what we wear on our bodies? I know myself and adorn myself accordingly: I am a caretaker, a breadwinner, obedient to divine ordinance, pushing deeper into the closet toward the back wall and emptiness.</p>
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