In Praise of Subtraction

When Less is More

Photo by Daniel Salacious on Unsplash

Abundance is a blessing – except when it isn’t. More is not always better.

Starbucks has begun to recognize that. The new CEO is trimming its menu, cutting the overload of choices that I mocked last fall. Those thousands of offerings slowed service: Baristas can make an ordinary latte out of sheer habit, but an Iced Elderberry Oat Milk Latte takes time and attention. It takes extra ingredients, too, which makes the supply chain vulnerable.

For those reasons, the new CEO shaved the company’s offerings. He saw that fewer choices could improve customer satisfaction, that less can be more.

Simple as it is, that fact can be hard to recognize. We’re inclined, possibly hard-wired, to add rather than subtract. Asked how to improve a recipe, or a Lego tower, or a room, most people will suggest adding something. Artists usually know better: “If in doubt, leave it out.” But for many of us, the impulse is to add.

An overstuffed life

Sometimes my life feels too full. Almost everything in it – every activity, possession, and friendship – gives me pleasure. But the sum total can feel like a burden. I want to simplify.

Not everyone feels that way. For one thing, I have friends with more energy at 75 than I had at 25. Their energy needs an outlet! And for some, the desire is moot: If you’re raising children and have a full-time job, take a deep breath and hang in there. Savor the joys, gut through the hassles, and carry on. Similarly, those who live in a war zone can’t create the space they need.

But when life provides more flexibility, I have some suggestions.

First, recognize that having and doing less -- subtracting -- creates space, creates possibility. Less of one thing allows more of others. When I first retired, a sense of spaciousness filled me. With work obligations gone, I was free to try new things. I could pay more attention to the world outside my office; I had more time to think and to feel.

In time that sense of spaciousness faded. Perhaps I was greedy; I was free to do so much, and I took on a lot. So lately I’ve taken the second step in unstuffing my life: I consciously clear things away. I’ve cancelled some subscriptions, leaving me (almost) enough time to read the rest. I’ve cleared shelves and closets. I quit one book group when I joined another. I chose some political activities and left the rest. After a car crash (slow speed, no one injured, but my fault) I kept my car radio off.

I’ve aways kept a to-do list, and check things off it at the end of the day. Partly the habit is useful, a reminder of what I want to do. Mostly, though, it’s a way to soothe my anxieties: I accomplished something today! What a relief! But I’m learning to ask, occasionally, the opposite question: What have I subtracted from my life? But I haven’t put “subtract something” on my to-do list. As a columnist recently noted, to-do lists are essentially about controlling one’s life; they implicitly assert that productivity is what matters. In contrast, subtraction is about relaxing control, about treating each moment of life as valuable in itself, not just for what it produces.

Some caveats

I’m not claiming that every cloud has a silver lining. They don’t. Nor that for every door that closes, another opens. It doesn’t. These platitudes would be more honest if they were less absolute: Many clouds do have silver linings and it’s worthwhile looking for them. Just know in advance that they might not be there; some losses are just losses. Even when silver linings can be found – blindness has its gifts, for instance – they may not outweigh the losses.

Nor am I arguing for stasis. To be alive is to change. But doing less can allow us to experience change more fully, see it more clearly, act more wisely.

I’m arguing only that less can be more. To put it another way: The absence of one thing is often the presence of another. On a recent flight the attendant announced an “absence of fullness.” In other words, there were empty seats, a disappointment for the airline. But what a pleasure for the passengers! Every row had an empty middle seat.

Similarly, a friend, born and bred in the Midwest, came back from a trip to San Diego amazed at “the absence of flatness.” (He wondered how anything could be built without level ground.) But to me, born and bred in the mountain west, Michigan has an absence of hills, let alone mountains. Gradually, though, I’ve come to appreciate what it has instead, the spacious sweep of fields and sky.

We may be born with a tendency to add – more things, more activities, more friends. Or possibly that’s an especially American mind-set. Certainly capitalism encourages it. But if the CEO of Starbucks can see the advantage of clearing away, so can I.

Anyone can comment, but it’s easier for subscribers. Subscriptions are free. They bring each post directly to your inbox.