# Home Is Where the Red Phone Is

Source: https://www.theminimalists.com/home/
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2024-06-12
Author: Joshua Fields Millburn

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I don’t enjoy traveling as much as some people.

Unless I’m [touring](https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.560696864000430.1073741829.108420932561361&type=3) (which I’m doing at the time of this writing, and which I enjoy because the people are amazing) I tend to avoid extensive travel, opting instead to stay in my home town most of the time.

All my clothes likely fit in a single suitcase, but I don’t enjoy living out of a suitcase. I find value in traversing the globe, in discovering new cultures, in learning more about myself in the process—but I truly enjoy living in a home, a place I can call my own.

The problem with homes, however, is once we establish a long-term dwelling, it’s easy to accumulate a bunch of junk we don’t need.

I built my first house when I was 22—a feat that seems ridiculous now—but its size was even more ridiculous: it contained three bedrooms, even though only my former spouse and I lived there; it had a huge basement, which was a great place to hide last month’s discarded new possessions; it featured not only a gigantic living room, but also an “entertainment room”—which is just a fancy way to say, “room with a too-large TV and expensive surround-sound system.”

We think we must fill all our space—we must cram every corner nook and hidden cranny with supposed adornments. We believe if [a room is nearly empty](https://www.theminimalists.com/quiet/) it is underutilized. So we buy stuff—silly stock paintings, decorative thingies, and IKEA furniture—to fill the void. What we’re doing is attempting to establish the place in which we live as *our* home, an extension of ourselves. And so the logic goes: the more I buy, the more this place is my home.

The problem with this line of thinking is it’s circuitous. Your home is your home for one reason: you call it your home. The stuff doesn’t make it your home—*you* do.

If you need a reminder, do what I do: find one thing, something unique, and display it somewhere prominent. For me, it’s a red phone—a relic from my twelve years in the telecom industry. It’s a simple, beautiful design that stands out (the same phone is in the Museum of Modern Art), and whenever I see it, I know I’m home. For you, your red phone could be a one-of-a-kind painting, a photograph, a child’s framed drawing. When you have a single reminder of home, everything else begins to look superfluous—even silly.

What is your red phone?

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