43: On Minimalism and Subtle Beauty

I think about this often: how easy it is to mistake loudness for significance. How we sometimes believe that for something to matter, it must be obvious, overwhelming, larger than life.

I have decided to pull the threads of my thoughts and see how far I can pull them. So on my Apple Notes, I have a new page titled “Threads I’m Currently Pulling.” Here is one of them:

I think my desires in life are always tilting towards minimalism, hence my appreciation of subtle beauty. I find myself drawn to the quiet, the understated—the kind of beauty that doesn’t announce itself but simply exists, waiting for you to notice. The beauty of a well-placed word in a conversation, the way light filters through old windows at just the right hour, the way someone absentmindedly tucks a stray strand of hair behind their ear. These are the things that captivate me, the things that feel like enough.

There is something deeply comforting about minimalism—not just in material possessions, but in thought, in emotion, in the way we experience the world. I do not desire excess. I do not need grand gestures or extravagance to feel something deeply. A small, meaningful moment holds more weight for me than a spectacle ever could. A well-written sentence, a simple yet elegant outfit, a quiet morning where everything is still—these things fill me in a way that extravagance never has.

Minimalism, at its core, is not about deprivation. It is about refinement. It is about choosing what truly matters and letting go of what doesn’t. It is about allowing space for beauty to breathe, for emotions to settle, for life to be lived without unnecessary clutter—physical, emotional, or otherwise. The idea that less can be more has shaped how I think about life, how I approach relationships, how I filter through what deserves my attention.

And yet, I know that minimalism is often misunderstood. People assume it means stripping everything away until you have nothing left. But to me, it has never been about emptiness and could never be—it is about depth. It is about carefully curating what stays, about ensuring that what remains is full of meaning. The books I reread, the conversations I revisit, the people I hold onto—all of it is intentional. The goal isn’t to have nothing; the goal is to have only what adds value while letting what doesn’t fade away with the passing of time.

I think about this often: how easy it is to mistake loudness for significance. How we sometimes believe that for something to matter, it must be obvious, overwhelming, larger than life. For a relationship proposal to be considered special, it has to be witnessed by a hundred people, posted on social media, and not just posted—it has to generate millions of views, thousands of God when? comments, reach celebrity blogs and tabloids, and be talked about till market day. Excess and loudness are often mistaken for significance and value. But it doesn’t always have to be that way. It never really is.

Beauty can be in the things we almost overlook. The weight of a soft thank you spoken at just the right time. The perfect balance of white space in design. The way a lady ties her scarf. The way she wakes from a nap and sleepily asks, What’s for dinner? The way night arrives gradually, never all at once. The way the moon and stars shine—not with the fiery violence of the sun, but with a quiet, steady glow. The way someone chooses kindness on the bus. The way they respond to ignorance online with patience instead of sarcasm. The way a team lead can be gentle, even as they let you go.

We don’t need to carry out grand, sweeping gestures to create beauty. It exists in the smallest, most intentional acts. And subtle beauty has a way of lingering longer than anything forced or excessive. A fleeting glance that says everything. A quiet moment of understanding between two people. A melody so soft you have to lean in to hear it. These are the moments I hold onto. They may not demand attention, but they stay with me, shaping how I move through the world.

And so, my appreciation for subtle beauty continues to grow. I want to move through life lightly, carrying only what adds meaning. I want to see beauty in the unnoticed, to cherish the details, to live in a way that makes room for the quiet moments. Because in the end, those are the moments that last, the moments we often lose.

To borrow from Douglas Adams: “Beauty doesn't have to be about anything. What's a vase about? What's a sunset or a flower about? What, for that matter, is Mozart's Twenty-third Piano Concerto about?”

Really, what is a vase about? Beauty.

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PS: I have a podcast now. Yeah, it’s incredible. The first episode is out on Spotify and it’s basically me chatting with a Nigerian physiotherapist who moved to the London two years ago. You can give it a listen here. More on the podcast and the why later. Bye!