greedy greedy gumdrops
the onward march of capitalism, etc
With Halloween out of the way, Christmas has descended upon us, or at least that’s what the marketing world would have us believe. Every store in America seems to be running a sale on fake trees with fake snow despite the persisting heat keeping even the midwest hovering around 70 degrees. As Santas line shelves and commercials scream about either the upcoming election (friendly reminder to vote next Tuesday!!) or premature Black Friday deals, I find myself slipping back into my natural state: consumed by wanting.
Wanting is not a new topic for this newsletter, because yearning seems to be my default state. I’m a dreamer, what can I say? But as the year rolls to a close, my usual lazy daydreams of someday are replaced with an urgent greed of today, right now. My familiar desire to do more, to be more, morphs into a not entirely welcome desire to have more. Greed is an ugly feeling and I’m ashamed to admit to it, but shame, as I keep having to relearn, keeps us from growing. And so I’m admitting to it today.
While writing this, I stopped to check my junk email and became convinced that I desperately needed a mug that my favorite superfood-drink-mix brand is selling for a limited time. The pressing deadline creates urgency, a tactic I know well but still fall victim to more often than not. A limited-time offer never fails to increase my perceived need for whatever is being slung my way. It is taking all of my self-control to come back to writing this newsletter instead of clicking add to cart.
Throughout my childhood, every August would bring a familiar reminder from my mother to stop buying myself things in preparation for my birthday at the beginning of October. Instead, she instructed me to compile a list of the things I would have purchased for myself, to give to her as my birthday and Christmas wish lists.
Through this practice, I realized how many things I would have bought for myself that I didn’t care enough about to ask someone else to buy me when my birthday and Christmas rolled around. What seemed exciting in August was rendered inconsequential by the time October arrived. A realization that should, in theory, provide reason enough to stop shopping so obsessively only serves, in practice, to add urgency; in a few weeks, I may not want the thing I want now, so I convince myself that it is not a want but rather a need. That I’ll still love it and use it and require it in a few weeks if I already have it.
Items that find their way onto my mental shopping list throughout the year, often remaining there undisturbed for months at a time, seem suddenly pressing when October slips into November. The life I had lived without the items thus far no longer holds the same luster it once did. Even when I find the original object of my affection to be sold out or back-ordered, I frantically seek out a replacement, even if it doesn’t excite me the same way the original did. I am more inclined, this time of year, to settle for something I like less, just to get a hit of dopamine. Just to have something new to change the way I look at myself.
Just as the pertinence of each item on my mental wish list increases, the list itself seems to be ever-expanding, with each new item becoming instantly as important as the last, which is to say seemingly necessary if I am to continue trudging through the duration of my life. I find myself wanting so much so fast that I can’t keep up with myself. I can no longer keep track of the shopping list that existed casually in my mind throughout the earlier months of the year.
In normal months, things tack themselves onto the list and fall off of it in relatively similar quantities. Only in the space between Halloween and New Year do the items on the list begin to multiply so rapidly that it becomes impossible to recall a single one of them. Whether provoked by capitalism or desperation for dopamine, I am unsure, but this time of year always leaves me wanting more.
Wanting which in the moment is so urgent eventually leads me to wish I had better self-control. When I do intermittently give in to my greed, it inevitably ushers in more. For years, I have been searching thrift stores for a set of brass candlesticks. Last month, upon finding and purchasing some, I allowed them to sit empty and waiting as I searched for the right candles to give them purpose. Buying one thing from my list only to immediately replace it with another. Just yesterday I found the right candles and already I am thinking about which color I will replace them with when they burn out. A want is not like a need, disappearing once filled. Wanting begets more wanting; the more we get, the more we desire. Neither these candles nor the ones that come next will put an end to my cycle of acquiring.
The overwhelm I feel at my own wanting comes not from quantity alone, but from the source of the desire: the items that find their way onto my wishlist this time of year are not things I truly want, I finally realized after taking a step back to evaluate. Rather, my mental list of desires this time of year is filled with that which I am told I should want, whether by real figures in my life or by the ones that the media paints to look perfect enough that we can’t help but crave what they have. No, the desire that manifests itself as the wanting of physical objects masks a longing for something deeper.
My own perceived inadequacies seem to be highlighted this time of year, increasingly evident to me as the days creep by. I become convinced quite easily that if I had whatever one thing I am fixating on at the moment, my entire life would be better. More throw pillows aren’t going to change anything about the prevailing quality of my life and yet I have an urgency about finding just the right ones, despite having little to no plan for where they’ll live once I do. When I opened my email earlier today, it was not the mug itself that excited me, but the idea of how my mornings could feel — the perfect balance of peaceful and productive — if I drank my coffee from it.
Each item that makes its way into my metaphorical cart holds within itself an image of who I could be if I owned that thing. If I had a new yoga mat, maybe I would be a more creative and confident teacher. If I had a laptop that worked without being plugged in (kind of famously the point of a laptop), maybe I would be a more captivating writer. If I had throw pillows in just the right fabric, with just the right plushness, maybe I would be a better host and a more entertaining friend. If I had a mug with a cute frog on it, maybe I wouldn’t be so reluctant to wake up. I can’t help but worry that if the limited-time offer ends and I miss my chance to buy whatever I’ve loved and latched a piece of my identity onto, I will have missed my chance at becoming the person I want to be.
My birthday has passed and Christmas is seeping into every crevice it can find until Thanksgiving leaves us and it can take over. There is nothing on my Christmas list so far. I keep pulling out my credit card and then putting it back when I recognize that there doesn’t seem to be anything I want badly enough to ask for it and wait. Or maybe I’ve finally realized that the things I want most can’t be purchased and gifted, but need to be pulled from within.
in a coffee shop again
I had to have the barista
remake my drink can someone
tell me why I’m the one
that’s close to tears
and debating risking diarrhea
from the wrong type of milk
to avoid confrontation
ginger snap
today is gloomy and I finally feel alive
the smell of onions from the sub shop
cuts through the thick sheet of rain
does anyone know what day it is?
I’m trying not to keep track anymore
the squirrels know what’s up
despite my best efforts
I don’t feel different
today than any day before
remind me again, how is it
that they define insanity?
Someone please tell me I’m not alone in, like, desperately wanting every single thing I see that strikes me as even a little bit cool this time of year. In other news, I cleaned the outside of all of my windows this week and it has given me a new lease on life. Shout out to those unexpected 70-degree November days. How is November treating you so far? What is your favorite thanksgiving food? What would your favorite color be if you were a leaf on a Tuesday? Do let me know, and I’ll see you next week.
PS find me elsewhere on the internet @serenakuj if you’re so inclined. I’m not very interesting, but I’m there.
I am convinced i need it all, all the time. and have to force myself to close tabs. I am humbled usually by my bank account and need to fuel my car but the battle in my mind to justify stupidity is never-ending