A Reaction To Minimalism

I tried to embrace minimalism, I really did. I was jealous of those San Francisco types who can put all their belongings in a backpack and move across the country. It was at the moment when I was considering throwing away a stack of comic trades and graphic novels that I realized, "I'm doing it wrong." Minimalism, or to be more precise, the subset of minimalism that believes happiness only comes with the purging of all your belongings, doesn't actually lead to life enrichment. Instead, it leaves you with an empty room.
I love minimal design, that's why I have Macs. But I love collections. That's why I have little lead figures of The Flash and his enemies. And I love art, original art. I can't scan my original Amanda Conner doodle and let it live on my iPad. I'm not getting rid of the stuff I like.
But I do need to cut back on my overindulgence. I am way too impulsive with purchases and am in constant battle with clutter. So, what I'm going to try to do is find a balance. I'm going to buy the stuff I like, but only if I really love it. I desperately need a side table, but I refuse to settle. If I wait to get one I truly love, it'll be more fulfilling, in the way material objects can bring you some happiness.
But, at the end of the day, these are just things. They are enjoyable and distracting at the same time. And if I lose 'em, so what? The way I see it, if I lost everything in a fire, I have to be okay with that. I have to be able to move on. I can't let it weigh on me.