Keeping Up with the Joneses, Lisa-Style

 When I was a kid, I felt like I needed an invisible friend. I didn’t actually want an invisible friend— my sister Mary was around all the time, and my brothers were usually up for some sort of game— but it seemed like all the kids in books and movies had invisible friends, and I’d met other kids who had invisible friends, so having an invisible friend just felt like some sort of societal obligation at that point.

50 Ways to Celebrate Buy Nothing Day

Black Friday (or, increasingly, Black Thursday, because Thanksgiving just didn't have enough commercialism trying to eradicate it) is looming. And while there is nothing inherently more wrong with buying something on that day as opposed to any other day, it's still a "holiday" worth protesting. If Thanksgiving is the last struggling survivor against the wave of consumerism, Black Friday is its evil twin: a symbol of everything wrong with how we buy stuff. 

Aside from the obvious problems such as people trampling each other, Black Friday glorifies our global-industrial trade of cheaply-produced goods that exploits and endangers workers, pollutes our planet, and crowds our landfills. And while these ethical concerns are going to exist any day of the year, Black Friday is an unashamed frenzy celebrating this destruction.

This is where Buy Nothing Day comes in. Founded in 1992, it is an international protest against consumerism, an alternative to Black Friday. It can be as dramatic as going to a protest or as simple as opting out. There are endless ways to celebrate it! My standing tradition since I was 17 is to spend the day after Thanksgiving at my Christmas job, bringing magic and fun to people in historic St. Charles (packing my own lunch, of course), but since that's not widely-applicable, here are 50 ideas to get you brainstorming. Enjoy!

1. Go for a hike.

2. Have some friends over to swap clothing, household goods, books, or anything else!

3. Watch a movie or play a video game you already own on a device that you already own. Invite some friends over to join.

4. Volunteer at a local food pantry.

5. Read one of those books on your shelf that you've been meaning to read for ages but haven't.

6. Bake some cookies and bring them to a neighbor.

7. Sit down and write an old-fashioned letter to one or many people. Tell them how much they mean to you, or a fun memory you have of them, or what you've been thinking about lately.

8. Be happy about how much you're saving by not buying anything.

9. Forage some acorns, autumn leaves, or interesting-looking branches to make an indoor decoration.

10. Take the money you would've spent on buying something for Black Friday and donate it to a charity. A monthly commitment is even better: steady income is one of the greatest needs for any nonprofit. 

11. Spend all day at the library— ours has all sorts of reading nooks, a fireplace to curl up, and endless magazines, books, movies, video games, and music!

12. Learn how to gift-wrap without using disposables. 

13. Find a Buy Nothing or Freecycle group in your area, and if there isn't one, start one!

14. Read poetry aloud.

15. Do a house project that you keep putting off.

16. Invite some people over and teach them a skill that you know, or ask someone else to teach you. 

17. Meditate.

18. Sit down and think about what you want your holiday season to look like. Set intentions so you don't get swept up in it all. 

19. Make use of a public area: a park, library, beach, hiking trail, historical site, or free museum. 

20. Use the Thanksgiving turkey bones to make broth.

21. Sit down and really listen to some music.

22. Rearrange your furniture to make your space feel fresh and new.

23. Take a long bath. 

24. Clean out your pantry and figure out a creative meal to make with the items you already have. Invite some people over to make a clean-out-the-pantry party!.

25. Take a slow walk around your neighborhood. Notice little details and take joy in them.

26. Find a place to volunteer. Invite some friends to do it with you!

27. Learn how to make something that you would normally buy, anything from salad dressing to dog toys to chairs. (The Internet is your friend for learning this kind of stuff!)

28. Think back to what you enjoyed doing when you were eight, and do one of those things today. 

29. Challenge yourself to use up, freeze, or give away all your Thanksgiving leftovers.

30. Get lost in one of these awesome anti-consumerist blogs: Zero Waste Chef, Polly Barks, Litterless, New Dream. 

31. Do something nice for a retail worker you know. Cook a nice meal or put together some snacks from your pantry and a couple bucks for a movie rental. Give it to them as a surprise.

32. Declutter your house. Make a huge "donate" pile. Post the most interesting stuff on Freecycle or the Buy Nothing Project.

33. Draw, paint, make music, or otherwise create art— just for fun.

34. Start your very own sourdough pet with the flour that's sitting in your pantry.

35. Have a post-Thanksgiving potluck— everyone brings their leftovers and trades them!

36. Learn origami.

37. Dress up in your fanciest clothes, including any jewelry that you never wear because it's "too nice," and break open that special thing you've been hoarding for a special day (chocolate, wine, a fancy tea that your sister-in-law gave you last Christmas). The special day is today!

38. Talk to your family about Christmas presents. 

39. Invite some friends and neighbors over to help you pick up trash in your neighborhood.

40. Light a candle, pick up a journal, and write down your thoughts and reflections.

41. Offer to babysit someone's kids for free.

42. Play board games you already own.

43. Exchange back rubs with a friend.

44. Get a bunch of $10 bills and randomly give them away to people.

45. Do yoga or exercise using YouTube videos.

46. Take a nap.

47. Learn about mindful eating and start practicing it. 

48. Try some sort of needlework using stuff you already have on hand: crocheting, knitting (use two sticks), embroidery, mending, etc.

49. Learn to identify birds and take a bird-watching walk.

50. Take joy in the world you've been given, and keep that Thanksgiving spirit going. 

~~~

The Greener Year Challenge: Rebel Against Consumerism (November)

With the average American exposed to 4,000-10,000 ads per day, it's no wonder that we are wired for consumerism. Buy this gadget. Watch this TV show. Eat this junk food. Skim this inflammatory news article. Get this car so you can take this vacation. If you don't consume, then you're a grinch, a bad parent, a bad American, a workaholic, or someone who is depriving yourself of "self-care" (for only $19.99 per month, plus shipping). These messages are far too easy to internalize, especially this time of the year.

Aside from the moral implications of outsourcing our happiness to material goods, our consumerism is one of the biggest reasons that the planet is getting into trouble:

1. Consumerism prioritizes a constant stream of new and cheaply-made goods. These are usually manufactured in an unethical way in countries with laxer pollution restrictions, and often break or wear out in a few months, ending up in the landfill. The energy use (not to mention the human rights violations) are serious.

2. It trains us to be dissatisfied, always reaching for the next thing rather than helping us appreciate and care for what we already have (such as the Earth).

3. It makes us believe that we should get what we want, when we want, regardless of seasonality, availability, or environmental cost.

4. It is based on the idea of infinite growth, which is simply unsustainable in a finite world. 

If we want to live within the bounds of the planet we've been given, we need to dial back our buying in a powerful way. While we are consumers by nature— we all gotta eat, after all— we should also be creators. Here are some ways to question the consumerism in your life.

BEGINNER: 

Wild sunflowers we saw on a walk one day

Buy less stuff. This is really one of the most important things you can do for the planet— ignore anyone who tells you that we can buy our way out of this crisis. You can start by never purchasing anything on impulse, and by carefully considering whether the problem an item is intended to fix can be solved in a different way. (Many items are unnecessary in the first place, or can be borrowed, made, swapped, or thrifted.)

Consciously appreciate what you already own. Contentment is both a skill and a habit, and it must be exercised in order for it to stick. I find it helpful to make a list of things I enjoy that don't require buying anything new: taking a bath, hiking through the woods, reading a book, crocheting, visiting the library, drawing, foraging, building something out of found materials, cooking something from the garden or the pantry… Take a good hard look at all the things that bring you happiness that have little to do with what you buy. Focus on including them more in your life, and come back to them when you think you need to buy something to make you happy.

Prioritize creation over consumption. Everyone is capable of making something— drawings, meals, poems, flower arrangements, knitted scarves, beautiful photos, interior decor, music. Creating things is a rebellion against the culture that says everything must be monetized and gulped down.

Rethink what you consume. Consumption isn't bad in and of itself, but that all consumption has to be at the cost of environmental destruction is another lie of our modern culture. Consume library books, long walks, free knowledge, interesting videos, foraged and garden foods, swapped goods with friends, laughter, and conversation. 

INTERMEDIATE:

Celebrate Buy Nothing Day. This holiday takes place on and in direct rebellion to Black Friday, and can be celebrated by doing anything that's not shopping— hiking, eating cake in your bathtub at home, doing anti-consumerism performance art in a mall… the sky's the limit. Learn more about it here. 

Do a spending freeze. Fasting can be an effective way to look more closely at your consuming habits. Set an amount of time— a week, a month, a season— and don't buy anything but basic food and consumables (soap, toothpaste, gas for the car, etc.) during that time. Write down anything you want to purchase, but don't buy it. What does this list tell you about your priorities? How many of the things could you put off buying, or obtain in some other, more creative way? What do your consumption habits tell you about your impact on the planet?

Avoid advertisements. See my post "How to Combat Brain-Hacking" for specific tips. 

Repair and repurpose goods you already own. Do you know how to mend a tear, do minor repair on an appliance, sew a button, polish wood, fix a leaky faucet, or replace a zipper? Learning these skills helps you extend the life of your belongings, keeping them out of the landfill. 

Foraging is a wonderful skill to learn

Make something instead of buying it. Do you find yourself often buying ceramic figurines, maxi skirts, scented candles, or fancy cheeses? What if you tried making them instead? Think about something you regularly consume and commit to trying your hand at it yourself. You'll have a much easier time knowing its environmental impact when you're the one making it.

ADVANCED: 

Invite your friends to do a spending freeze with you. Solidarity can be fun! See if anyone else wants to tackle the problem of the planet by defiantly not buying stuff for a while, and use social media or other channels of conversation to spread the word.

Create opportunities in your community for people to share. It's your job to show that life is better when everything doesn't come with a price tag. Encourage people to visit the library with you. Give people opportunities to learn your knowledge and skills, and learn from others. Set up a tool or toy library, organize a swap meet, or ask neighbors with fruit trees if you can pick apples in exchange for making them applesauce. The more accessible we make these alternative options, the more people will take them, and we can lighten the burden on the earth.

Systematically develop a skillset that will start to free you from consumerism. Which skills, if learned, will help you avoid buying new things and further stressing the planet? If you learn how to alter and tailor garments, you'll never need to buy a brand-new dress again. If you learn candle- or soap-making you'll have a lifetime supply of gifts for your friends. If you learn how to entertain yourself, no one can sell you expensive distractions. Commit to figuring out the skills that will help you live more lightly on the planet, and tackle them one at a time.

Which of these challenges would you like to take on this month? What would you add to the list?

~~~

Previous posts in this series: 

Getting Started

Celebrate Biodiversity (April)

Optimize Energy (May)

Eat Your Leftovers (June)

Curb Your Trash (July)

Find Earth-Friendly Food (August)

Move Beyond Cars (September)

Green Your Home (October)

A Picture of Contentment

(I discovered this in my “to post” folder, long neglected because of computer drama. The weather has been much cooler since, and our hiking much more pleasant.)

One Sunday, despite the predictions of a heat index of 104ºF, Zach and I decided to go hiking. I had been longing to take a trip to my favorite hiking place— Pere Marquette State Park— for a while now, since we hadn’t been out there since January. The thought of the scenic drive there— a quiet two-lane highway wending between corn and soybean fields, past fruit stands with homemade signs saying PEACHES, through the tiny towns of West Alton and Grafton, and between the limestone bluffs and the glittering waters of the Mississippi River— sounded like it was worth it, even if the hiking was too hot.

As we scrambled to get our packs together, it occurred to me that we’d need dinner. Since we’re doing an Uber-Frugal Challenge right now, I figured that we shouldn’t cave and get Taco Bell on our way out. But I didn’t have any of the normal fixin’s for making a proper picnic dinner— no cheese, no olives, no tuna, no hummus. The idea of getting Little Caesar’s pizza crossed my mind. Five bucks for a whole pizza isn’t much, and then we’d have pizza! But when I ventured this idea to Zach, he said, “Don’t we still have some bread left? We can make peanut butter sandwiches.”

I balked. Sure, it was good homemade whole wheat bread, but I think it’s best when it’s fresh from the toaster, not eaten out of a backpack. I just wanted a pizza. Was it too much to ask to buy a pizza? Fortunately, there were no Little Caesar’s directly on the way, so it helped make it easier to assent to Zach’s idea and start making sandwiches. I put a ton of honey on mine, packed it up in Tupperware, threw it along with some trail mix into our packs, and we headed out.

The drive was everything I hoped it would be— I stared at the fluffy clouds through the rows of corn flickering by, spotted snowy egrets hunting for fish in shallow water, and smiled as we plunged through a brief rain shower. The hike was hotter than I expected it to be, with sweat dripping from every pore as I struggled up the hills after Zach. We slapped mosquitoes and dodged poison ivy as we hiked through the breeze-less forest, our conversation about the predominance of pawpaws in the understory punctuated by spluttering and smacking as we ran into yet another spiderweb.

By the end of the multi-mile hike, we were ready for some air conditioning. Fortunately, the park features a historic Civilian Corps lodge, and we had confirmed on a previous visit that you’re allowed to hang out in the great room and even eat your own food. Sweat literally dripping from us, we stepped into the icy room and found some seats by the window. We pulled out our sandwiches, Zach said grace over them, and we began to eat.

I had never tasted a peanut butter sandwich so delicious. It was warm and sticky, full of honey, with crispy edges because I’d toasted the bread. I ate slowly, gazing out the window at the Illinois River floating by in the near distance. The lodge’s great beams rose above our head, decorated with tapestries depicting the wildlife in this region. I looked at Zach’s glasses and saw the trees and the river reflected in them. We didn’t talk, concentrating on how delicious our food tasted.

When we finished eating, and just sat in our seats, looking out at the river, I was almost staggered by how content I felt. Just a few hours ago I had been whining because I wanted pizza, but now I had been stunned to silence by the perfect simplicity of a peanut butter sandwich, eaten with my husband in a beautiful place. How many other moments like this had I missed in my quest to find something to make me happy?

We drove home along the same scenic route, listening to Steely Dan and still enjoying the air conditioning. It was a perfect day.

~~~

The Benefits of an Un-Hacked Brain

Belted sweaters are an optional benefit.

(Read Part 1, Part 2. Also see a similar post from Through My Lens talking about benefits of frugality.)

Let me begin this post by clarifying that I am not some sort of higher-plane anti-consumerist guru who never buys clothes or craves name-brand pizza. I see ads, and I react to them, just like everyone else. However, I do see a huge difference between how I used to respond to advertising and how I do now. Instead of wanting an item, then feeling martyred when I don't buy it, my standard reaction now is to think, “They’re trying to hack my brain!” and laugh it off, feeling a surge of pleasure that the system can’t control me. Un-hacking my brain has been a journey, but the benefits have already become clear. Here are just a few:

Contentment. Things don’t make you happy; experiences can’t even make you happy; contentment makes you happy. If I’m constantly chasing the next thing to consume, I can’t take pleasure in where I am right now.

Extra cash. I’ve heard people argue that little purchases don’t add up, but they really do. I’ve written about this before— people wondered how we were able to take three months of work to travel last summer, but the answer was simple: we’re frugal in some areas of our life so we can splurge on the things that really matter to us. Less eating out, more murdering our lawn to create a fruit tree paradise.

Clarity. When you tune out the advertisers’ voices, you gain greater clarity on what you actually like, what you actually need, and what you actually enjoy. For instance, I realized that I bought books just because I thought I needed to prove that I liked books, even though I’d much rather spend money on good homemade food (because you can’t borrow food from a library). 

Self-awareness. On a similar note, when you stop consuming on autopilot, you start understanding yourself better. One day I was feeling listless and depressed. A couple years ago, I would’ve gone thrift-shopping for records, bought a house plant, or gone out to eat. Since we don’t do those things much anymore, I just took a walk instead. I looked at the violets growing in people’s front yard, listened to a mockingbird run through a repertoire of songs, and watched the clouds floating over the city. I came home feeling happier than I would have if I had gone out and mindlessly consumed. 

Creativity. Advertisers want you to think that buying something is the only way to gain something or solve a problem. However, when you don’t go straight to money when a need arises, you open yourself up to a world of possibilities. Do I really need to buy a new book, or could I pick a book off my shelf that I haven’t read, go to the library, or ask to borrow a friend’s book? Do I need a new phone, or do I need to learn how to optimize and take care of the one I already have? Do I need to buy dinner and flowers for my mom for Mothers Day, or should I make a homemade meal and plant zinnia seeds for her instead? 

Deeper enjoyment. When you’re in the habit of responding to ads on autopilot, buying whatever will make you happy in the moment, you quickly grow numb. On the other hand, if you break free of that treadmill, you’ll find yourself more deeply appreciating the things you do buy. Dinner out, a movie at the theater, or a new shirt are much more interesting if you don’t indulge in them frequently! (The Center for the New American Dream posted a great excerpt about this from The Art of Frugal Hedonism.)

Freedom. It’s a giddy feeling to realize that you’re an adult and you don’t have to do what anyone— least of all advertisers— tell you to do. You don’t have to drive a fancy car. You don’t have to change styles with the seasons. You don’t have to go out to dinner for entertainment, or buy waxy chocolates and a stuffed bear made in China for your sweetheart on Valentine’s Day. Once you feel the freedom of not getting brain-hacked, you won’t want to go back!

~~~

How to Combat Brain-Hacking

As I said in my last post, the more I learn about advertising’s effect on people and culture, the more amazed I am at how deeply entrenched their grip is on my brain. Still, it’s no cause for despair, only a call to action: time to take back your brain! Here are several things I’ve done that have helped me.

Notice advertisements. Awareness is the first step in breaking free of the brain-hacking. My parents taught me to do this at a young age, and it’s been helpful throughout my life: I’m always asking, “How is this advertisement trying to manipulate me? What are they saying their product will bring?” From identifying the marketing angle in a commercial to understanding the way items are arranged on a grocery shelf to encourage you to buy name-brand, you’ll be able to respond more like an autonomous human being and less like a 1970’s mind-controlled android if you take time to notice what’s going on.

Intentionally seek out voices that run counter-culturally. You’ll find plenty of “5 Weird Tricks that Milennials Use to Save Money on Amazon— #4 will BLOW YOUR MIND!” on the internet, but few writers will actually suggest that we jump off the consumerist treadmill. You need to find the people willing to break the mold: they will keep you motivated and help you feel less alone. I’m often inspired by my friend Emily’s blog, and also enjoy the kick-you-in-the-pants cult website Mr. Money Mustache. The Frugalwoods are also awesome, and Becoming Minimalist has a lot of heart and substance (even though it’s clearly geared toward middle class people who think that driving a 2008 Honda is a sacrifice). Also good: Simplicity Voices, Zen Habits, and The Art of Simple. 

Get your friends on board. Advertising can affect you by proxy: if everyone else thinks that the best way to spend time together is to go to a bar and buy several $7 cocktails, that makes a negative impact on your life. I’m fortunate to be friends with with people who are frugal (either by choice or necessity), which means everyone agrees that potlucks and board games at people’s houses is the best way to hang out. However, if you run in circles where money flows more freely, you can push back against the assumptions created by advertisements without being a jerk. See the Frugalwoods blog post about this.

Limit your exposure to ads. If you still have a TV, mute those commercials and take the time to do something else. Ditto with Netflix or YouTube. Ignore the billboards and avoid clicking on Internet ads.

When you do see an ad, come up with a phrase to break yourself out of the trance. Mine is, “This ad is trying to hack my brain.” It’s a bit odd to think this every time I see an advertisement, but this silly phrase helps me remember the truth about what’s going on here. Again, awareness is everything!

When you feel discontent or insecure after reading an ad, try to get to the root cause. Are you drawn to buying this salt lamp because you feel like it would make you more of a cool hippie? (Um, totally not speaking from experience here.) Do you want to buy that shirt because it would make you feel more confident? Are you interesting in upgrading your cell phone because it would make you feel less self-conscious about the ancient model you’re carrying? When you put it to yourself this way, you can disconnect a bit and remind yourself that you don’t need anything to make you confident or less self-conscious. These things may help— and you may still choose to buy them— but don’t let the advertisers make that decision for you.

Don’t purchase anything on impulse. Clicking “Buy Now” on Amazon, grabbing a candy bar at the checkout line, picking up a cute jacket because it’s on sale even though you hadn’t really thought about buying a jacket until this moment— these are all responses to the siren song of advertising.

Don’t ask, “Do I want this?” Of course you want it! Although I could argue that deep down you don’t actually want it, it’s hard to tell apart our own desires from the advertisers’ without a lot of self reflection. My friend Emily posted a great list of questions to ask instead. Pro tip: the more you intentionally break the habit of buying stuff, the easier it gets to keep going. 

Enjoy the benefits of being in control of your own brain. More on this in my next post! 

~~~

The Problem of Brain-Hacking

Sorry to say, your brain has been hacked. So has mine. It’s an inevitable part of living in modern culture, alarming but universal. I’m talking, of course, about advertising.

The average American is exposed to a few thousand advertisements every day. Whether these are billboards, commercials, online sidebars and and banners and pop-ups, branded t-shirts or sponsored products, in the modern era we are absolutely bombarded by demands for our attention and money.

You know the feeling: you’re not even hungry, but you see a billboard for Steak n’ Shake and suddenly you want ice cream. You buy a cleaning product labeled “eco” and feel a surge of moral pride. You’re at a ball game and instantly crave a Coca-Cola. You see an ad for whitening toothpaste and suddenly feel self-conscious about your off-white teeth. You think you hate skinny jeans when they first come out, but after five years you find yourself wearing them. These are all examples of the subtle (and not-so-subtle) manipulations of our brains that advertisers have spent thousands or millions of dollars carefully cultivating.

Advertising isn’t bad all the time— sometimes it matches a genuine need/desire with a place to fulfill them. For instance, I follow a couple farms and seed companies on Facebook because I want to know when they get in a new shipment of chicken feed or start offering pepper plants. Several of my friends own small businesses, which I’m all in favor of supporting. And if I ever publish a book, I’ll definitely be advertising! 

But, with all that said, I still think that advertising, the majority of the time, only creates negative effects. For instance: 

It breeds discontentment. Ads make you want stuff, even if— or especially if— you don’t need it. This is their whole job.

It encourages insecurity. Almost every advertisement is meant to play on some insecurity— the way you look, your social situation, the way people perceive you, whether or not you’re a good parent/significant other, how well you fit into the tribe of people you view as your “own,” etc. Of course, all these insecurities can be swept away if you just buy the product! 

It advocates the idea that consuming = activism. Advertisers, noting that environmentalism and social justice are now trending, have made several attempts to tap into those markets. Some of them have done so clumsily, but others have succeeded in subtler ways, such as stating that a (tiny) percentage of your purchase goes to support xyz cause, or that items are “eco-friendly” because they have slightly less plastic or different chemicals than the hot-button-issue chemicals. Although some of these offers are in good faith, most of the time you’d be much better off just donating money to cause in question.

It gives us a false sense of what is “normal.” Even if we don’t want what that specific advertisement is touting, we may get the sense that “normal” people buy stuff like that, so this other unnecessary thing we want to buy is worth it because normal people don’t deprive themselves, so why should I?

It encourages waste. The constant search for more creates a huge problem of wasted resources. Most modern products are made cheaply in poor conditions, only to break and end up in a landfill. 

The more I learn about advertising, the more I feel despair of having any sort of aesthetic or opinions of my own— we are deeply shaped by the marketing that presses on us every day. Still, I think it’s important to put up a good fight, to stand up to the cultural norms, and to try to shape our own identity. In my next post, I’ll share some of the steps I’ve taken to try to lessen advertising’s hold on my life.

~~~

Further Reading about Contentment

Here are a few articles that have shaped my perspective in the past few months. All of these blogs are well worth following, too!

All You Need, You Already Have by Zen Habits. The practice of gratitude that he suggests has been life-changing for me.

Owning Less Is Great. Wanting Less Is Better. by Becoming Minimalist. This sums up the perspective shift that’s essential for contentment. (Also, Joshua Becker’s book, The More of Less, is really good! I like the way he defines minimalism not as “getting rid of stuff,” but as living a life focused on what is most important.)

Have You Missed Your Life’s Calling? Probably Not. by The Art of Simple. A great reminder to combat worry by living the life we’ve been given.

Take a Walk Around the Lake by Be More with Less. A wonderful post about focusing on the gifts of life that are right at our fingertips.

What articles/books/blogs would you add to this list?

~~~

Finding Enough

Whoever loves money never has enough;

whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income.

This too is meaningless.

~Ecclesiastes 5:10 

At what point do I have “enough?”

In my journey to discover contentment in a deeper way, this is a question I keep running up against. What defines “enough” for me, and what does that look like on a practical level? 

Trying to address this issue is hard for me, because aside from a brief stint in my teenaged years, I’ve never spent much money on material goods. I don’t try to “keep up with the Joneses” in obvious ways. I’d rather run my shoes into the ground than get a new pair. I make do without, and would rather think about buying stuff than actually buy it. I’m a utilitarian at heart— I don’t enjoy owning things, only using them.

As such, I don’t often identify with blogs about materialism or greed because they don’t specifically address the way I feel about material goods. A couple years back I learned that I have a strange brand of materialism— I defined myself by what I didn’t buy instead of what I did, thus drawing my identity from stuff. I’ve been keeping an eye on that part of my personality, but in my journey toward greater contentment, I realized that a more normal, straightforward kind of attitude about material goods is so deeply ingrained in me that it took me this long to notice it.

As I was talking about in my previous blog post, the root of this issue is comparing what is to what should be— and letting cultural norms define what should be looks like.

For example, for a long time whenever people would ask if I was buying such-and-such expensive thing, I’d just laugh and say, “No, we’re poor!” Or, when we moved into our 830-square-foot house, I battled feeling like we didn’t have enough space because the house was smaller than “normal.” I’ll often look at something I want to buy and think, with a martyred sort of attitude, “We can’t afford that.” 

Buying the house was one of my first wake-up calls— I was shocked by how pouty I felt, even though it was obvious that this was an awesome house we were blessed to own and my standard was completely arbitrary. It’s uncomfortable to feel greedy emotions when your logical side can clearly see that you’re being ridiculous. But it’s a good sort of uncomfortable. It makes you think.

And so I cycled back to the question of “What is enough?” This is where it gets tricky, because everyone has a different definition. Is “enough” being able to pay your bills without draining your bank account? Is it having enough cash to visit the doctor for a check-up every other year? Enough so that you can buy a new couch or take that cruise you’ve been talking about for ten years? Does “enough” mean that you can afford a smartphone, organic tomato sauce, medical insurance, takeout pizza every Friday, a trip to visit your family in Oregon, a root canal for the tooth that’s rotting out of your head, a cup of nice coffee, a date at the dollar theater, a set of matching dishes, more than two pairs of jeans, a remodel of the moldy bathroom, Christmas presents for everyone, craft beer, nice athletic shoes, a set of essential oils, a Coach purse? 

The answer is different for everyone, and in thinking about this question, it’s essential to focus on ourselves instead of judging other people. The moment you start dragging other people into this problem, you’re grappling with that fantasy “should be” world again, which is less than helpful. Forget about other people— what is enough for you?

As a North American with no debt and a steady source of income, I began to realize that I was telling myself an untrue story by thinking of myself as “poor” compared to other people. Zach and I are low-income by North American standards, but we are definitely not poor. We live happily, and quite comfortably, on our income. I realized that my vocabulary and my perspective had to radically change.

Here are some practical steps I’ve been taking to find “enough” in my life.

Say “I’d like” instead of “I need.”

This one is harder than I thought it would be. Usually I use the phrase offhandedly— “I need another pair of jeans.” “I need to pick up some milk.”— or humorously— “I need a phone like that!” “I need a vacation!” But words subtly shape our thoughts, and this is no exception. Your brain moves nonessential things from wants to needs, and that creates a mindset that is not suited to contentment. Changing my vocabulary is very important: saying “I’d like” instead of “I need,” even for items that seemed perfectly normal to “need,” such as eggs, another bookshelf, or a pair of tennis shoes to replace my broken ones, is powerful.

Treat everything like a luxury.

I’m honestly not sure how well this would work across the board, but for me personally, it’s been a game-changer. It happened pretty naturally after we got off the PCT— after five months of living with only food, water, basic shelter, and one set of clothes, I became extremely grateful for running water, chairs, fried food, and a host of other luxuries that I took for granted before. Whenever it rains (especially when said rain gets in the way of plans I’ve made), I try to always say, “I’m so glad I’m not hiking in this,” or “I’m so glad I have a roof instead of a tent over my head right now.” Drawing my attention to this simple contrast helps me to remember the luxury that I live in every day.

Cultivate gratitude.

Yes, you know. Everyone says this. Gratitude is the cure for greed, “Create an attitude of gratitude,” other corny sayings, etc. etc. But it’s a cliché for a reason. When I was struggling with depression over the winter, I took a walk along the river almost every day and wrote down what I saw that was interesting or beautiful (“Today, a cold breeze stirred the frozen sand, blowing the grains like a tiny desert storm”). Every day, I’d read over my previous entries and remember what I had seen each day. Again, a gratitude journal sounds trite, but noticing the little things you’re thankful for really does start to shape your perspective over time.

Change your definition of “enough” to fit what you already have.

Honestly, not everyone has the basics they need. But the vast majority of North Americans, myself included, can look around themselves and see that they have enough. More than enough. I have beans and rice in my pantry, books on my shelves, a nice walking trail nearby, a roof that doesn’t leak, friends and family, a dresser full of clothes, a jar full of change. Right here, right now, without changing anything, is enough. The key to this shift in perspective, though, is truly believing this on a gut level. It takes practice and determination. But this new view on life is definitely worth the work.

For me personally, this year has been an exercising in learning that I really do have everything I need, and so much more! This practical contentment has made me feel much more rooted and solid, not to mention more grateful— not only for my possessions, but for my life in general.

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