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!

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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! 

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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.

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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?

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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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What Is Contentment?

This topic is obviously far too complex to cover in a single blog post. However, the concept of contentment keeps on coming up in my life, so I thought I’d share some of the ideas that I’ve been wrestling with over the past few months. My thoughts about contentment are deeply rooted in my particular perspective of the world; someone with a different personality type probably views the subject in a different way. I’d love to hear your thoughts about this topic as I discuss it in the next couple posts. 

“But godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that.” ~1 Timothy 6:6-8

If you’re a Christian, you’ve probably heard this verse a hundred times. Contentment is well-known virtue extolled in Christianity. Almost everyone can see the value in being grateful for what you have, rather than constantly clawing your way toward the “next best thing.” Most people, if asked, would say that contentment is a worthy virtue.

However, very few of us actually act as if it is.

In the past few years, but especially the last couple months, I’ve been examining myself with a closer eye, and realizing that while I spout pretty words about contentment, I have had a very small, compartmentalized version of it in my head. “Be thankful for what you have. Live within your means. Don’t covet what other people have.” Check. But what about the more subtle signs?

There are many indications of discontentment in my life I’ve ignored simply because they’re the cultural norm. For instance:

“My jeans got a hole in them, I need a new pair.”

“I have to get a set of matching dishes.”

“I feel restless today— I should go buy another houseplant.”

“I wish Zach wasn’t working that night so we could go to that event.”

“Ugh, this weather sucks.”

“Why don’t my students ever turn their stuff in on time?”

“Man, I wish I could go on long trips again.”

“He makes me so angry!”

“I should have had a baby by now.”

All of these statements appeal to a higher sense of what “should” be— as defined by my personal perspective of the universe, with me at the center. And while I certainly believe in high standards (turn your papers in on time, kids!), I am beginning to realize that for me, discontentment rises up when I try to force my view of what should be onto the world. That fantasy world, in which everything conforms to my particular standards, grows bigger and more detailed every time I compare it to reality. And the messy, non-self-centered real world gets less and less appealing the more I feed that fantasy should-be world. The further I go down that road, the more I feel that I can be content... but only when things are as they should be. 

There’s nothing wrong with having imagination for something different than the present reality; that’s what inspired me to start traveling years ago, one of the best decisions of my life. But all too often, I use that imagination to create a parallel reality, one that I can control, rather than turning inward and understanding that it’s not my job to construct a gold standard for every aspect of life.

For me, contentment means rejecting my fantasy world. The verb transforms from should be to is. What is happening, right here, right now? God asks us to be content in all circumstances— which is easy for me to grasp in a theological sense, or even in extreme cases, such as when my mom was in the hospital for a month. It’s the day-to-day issues, the little things that I feel I can control, that get me into trouble. I like my fantasy world! It’s just the way everything should be! Why shouldn’t I judge everything against these wonderful ideals? 

But God has been nudging me, a little at a time, reminding me that I don’t have to fit everything in my universe into the neat little boxes I’ve created. I am not God— my standard for the world is not the authoritative one.

That is hard for me for me to accept and practice. Really hard.

I work on it in baby steps:

“My jeans got a hole in them. I wonder if I should get a new pair?”

“I would like a set of matching dishes, because I think it looks nice.”

“I’m restless today and feel like buying a houseplant to cheer myself up. Will that really cheer me up? What’s the deeper issue here?”

“I could go to that event without Zach, but it wouldn’t be fun, so I’m going to stay home.”

“This weather sucks, but it’s just a season.”

“I wonder why this student forgot to submit her paper.”

“Sometimes I miss traveling a lot. I appreciate that season in my life, but I’m in a different season now.”

“I feel angry when he talks like that. Is this something I should talk to him about, or am I just trying to control him and hold him to an arbitrary standard?”

“I’m sad that I don’t have a baby, but I know that right here, right now, is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Living out this shift in perspective is a daily discipline, and a very counterintuitive one. But letting go of my fantasy should-be world is a breath of fresh air, an unclenching of my fists, a kind of waking up. 

Being content doesn’t mean twiddling your thumbs and never taking action. Contentment is a basic state of being, a deep kind of peace that keeps you rooted as you make decisions about what you are going to change. In my next post, I’ll talk more about how I’ve been practicing contentment with my possessions.

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The Beauty of Repetition

Several weeks ago, I stumbled upon a wonderful blog post by Logan Wolfram at The Art of Simple. It summed up an idea that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately: the importance and beauty of repetition. 

This isn’t a new revelation— I’ve blogged about it before. But especially with my new story as a person rooted in one spot, I’m realizing in sharp focus that my life is full of repetition— and that’s a new opportunity to see things in a different light.

Although I’ve fallen out of the habit lately, for most of the winter I took a walk every day through the wooded riverside park near my house. I take the same route every time, striding down the side of the busy street, across a gravel lot, over the Katy Trail, through a parking lot (often full of trucks hauling boats or jet skis) and onto the little trail that winds through a thicket of cottonwoods and honeysuckle bushes. Every day, I emerge at the same clearing, with a view of the green 370 bridge and the brown railroad bridge beside it. I look at the swath of trees on either side of the bank. I watch the river shimmer with the reflections of trucks roaring across the highway. Sometimes, in the distance I see smoke rising from a factory off to the north.

I’ve always thought this view was pretty, but seeing it every day has made me love it like never before. Each day, I wonder what detail I’m going to notice. Each day, I find something different to marvel at, whether it’s the song of a cardinal, the rhythmic passing of a train, or the green smell of new honeysuckles. It’s not the dramatic gorgeousness of ever-changing locations, but the quiet beauty of the same horizon, with changes so subtle you can’t see them unless you slow down and watch.

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