Not Buying It
This morning I read a review of "Not Buying It; My Year Of Not Shoppin" - who knows, I might even buy the book or, imagine, read it.
A woman and her husband, tired of feeling manipulated by the consumer culture, decided to stop buying stuff, at least stuff they didn't absolutely need. They did it for a year and, apparently, with only a slip or two, which would be a good record even for a recovering alcoholic.
She writes that it was incredibly hard. The hardest part wasn't doing without what they didn't buy - that really was mostly a relief - but turning down their friends when they suggested going for a cup of coffee or dinner out or a movie. They had no idea how much of their social life revolved around spending that kind of money.
I bet most of us, if asked if we would prefer life with illusion and distraction or life without them, with only what we sometimes call nevessity and reality, would piously answer that we like life straight on, without the beer ads and promises for losing weight.
But in fact it is those illusions and distractions that not only smooth the hard edge of reality, but give us the endorphin rush that creates what we like to call optimism, good feeling. Even if it is illusion.
The trick is how to live a life of sufficient discipline so that we can choose our distractions and illusions, knowing we are choosing them, rather than be run by them so we come to think they are necessary.
There is an old theological distinction between the esse and the bene esse, what is essential and what is nice to have.
The woman who wrote the book discovered that keeping one's head clear about which is which is pretty hard in this culture which has raised creating appetites to a fine art form.
Spening time in a developing country is perhaps the fastest way to get in touch with the fatness of our land. When we lived in Zimbabwe in 1984, we left out tennis rackets behind when we left because they couldn't buy them there. When we went to the mall to buy new ones, we faced a huge wall displaying scores of different rackets. We looked at each other and then fled the store, unable to cope with such abundant choice.
Do you suppose a clever government could use the same techniques to sell us something more consequential, like a war?
Turns out very few of us have the courage and self-discipline not to buy.
A woman and her husband, tired of feeling manipulated by the consumer culture, decided to stop buying stuff, at least stuff they didn't absolutely need. They did it for a year and, apparently, with only a slip or two, which would be a good record even for a recovering alcoholic.
She writes that it was incredibly hard. The hardest part wasn't doing without what they didn't buy - that really was mostly a relief - but turning down their friends when they suggested going for a cup of coffee or dinner out or a movie. They had no idea how much of their social life revolved around spending that kind of money.
I bet most of us, if asked if we would prefer life with illusion and distraction or life without them, with only what we sometimes call nevessity and reality, would piously answer that we like life straight on, without the beer ads and promises for losing weight.
But in fact it is those illusions and distractions that not only smooth the hard edge of reality, but give us the endorphin rush that creates what we like to call optimism, good feeling. Even if it is illusion.
The trick is how to live a life of sufficient discipline so that we can choose our distractions and illusions, knowing we are choosing them, rather than be run by them so we come to think they are necessary.
There is an old theological distinction between the esse and the bene esse, what is essential and what is nice to have.
The woman who wrote the book discovered that keeping one's head clear about which is which is pretty hard in this culture which has raised creating appetites to a fine art form.
Spening time in a developing country is perhaps the fastest way to get in touch with the fatness of our land. When we lived in Zimbabwe in 1984, we left out tennis rackets behind when we left because they couldn't buy them there. When we went to the mall to buy new ones, we faced a huge wall displaying scores of different rackets. We looked at each other and then fled the store, unable to cope with such abundant choice.
Do you suppose a clever government could use the same techniques to sell us something more consequential, like a war?
Turns out very few of us have the courage and self-discipline not to buy.
posted by Blayney at 2:56 PM
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