In recent weeks I
repeatedly found myself shopping for gifts and stocking stuffers.
More than once I roamed the aisles of discount stores that
specialize in out-of-fashion, out-of-date, not-quite top-shelf
merchandise. You know, not the Salvation Army, but definitely not
Target. I was not alone.
The stores were crammed with
shoppers looking for bedroom slippers, waffle irons, luggage,
T-shirts, and whatever else fit the bill at discount prices. The
checkout lines were 15 deep. All of us were striving to meet
expectations, keep up tradition and consume our way to holiday joy
without going broke in the bargain. It struck me, especially in the
lower-end stores, that more and more of us are walking that
bittersweet tightrope between holiday cheer and bankruptcy.
Those of us with money to burn probably resemble the
television commercials that feature stylish homes and sweater-clad
grownups quaffing eggnog as they pile packages under the tree.
Those without that fiscal cushion do our best with a discount
version of holiday achievement. If we’re lucky, we’ll
be able to pay the bills come January.
The holidays may
be particularly perilous, but they simply focus the broader
syndrome of a culture that adores having too much. But the gap
between those who reach consumer Mecca and the rest trailing behind
is both deepening and widening. And by definition, it is
unsustainable. As writer Ed Abbey put it, “Growth for the
sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.”
What about an alternative way of life, one lived under the banner
of abundance? It sounds positive, optimistic, and measuring
abundance is refreshingly different than ranking affluence. This
isn’t my idea. I came across it in a speech circulated on the
Web, given by a minister at an environmental conference. He
addressed environmental woes, but consumerism was the heart of his
speech. He suggested that buying efficient light bulbs is all well
and good, but it won’t get the job done. All it does is tweak
the juggernaut. It doesn’t replace the juggernaut of our
driving habits, our houses that grow ever plumper, our desire
always for more.
Celebrating the abundance we already
enjoy responds nicely to that tired argument, the one that asks:
“Do you want to go back to the Stone Age?” Abundance
doesn’t sound like retreat, or like anything primitive. But
how do you measure it? And will it be satisfying the way the new
radial arm saw is?
Here’s what you get once you
back away from the mall-shopping frenzy: The core elements of
meaningful life, including family, friends, good food, gathering in
celebration, singing, taking walks, going skiing and skating,
enjoying our surroundings.
We exist on a planet full of
life, within a system that hums along with remarkable efficiency
and grace, so long as we don’t gum up the works. What about
just celebrating that? Then, when the holidays are over, we keep it
up. It’s interesting to note that when surveys poll the most
important ingredients of happiness, nobody says it’s their
big house or the latest BMW or diamond rings. Overwhelmingly, the
response focuses on family, relationships, health and a clean
environment. You might call it an abundant life.
I know,
it isn’t easy. The consumer steamroller is inescapable. It
overwhelms everything with its din. Our kids clammor for it. We
feel the craving for something spiffy and vaguely affirming. The
latest and greatest — we have to have it. Only, as soon as we get
it, take it home and hold it, the luster fades away. Almost
immediately it’s just another thing to maintain, pay for and
store. Then, it’s on to the next mirage-like shimmer on the
horizon.
Think about it. Instead of falling deeper into
the pit of endless purchase, what about reordering our priorities?
What if, instead of enslaving ourselves to the latest
phone/music/internet gizmo, for example, we cook something
wonderful, plant a garden, hike or ski in the mountains, take up
music, spend time with our kids, read a book, or be still. Just be
still. Now there’s a concept.
It’s not that
we won’t need to work or that we’ll never buy anything
again. But if we slow down the buying and consciously change our
priorities, maybe the impulse will fade and ownership will become
less compulsive. Things might fall into a more sane order.
It’s worth a try. It could do us all good and feel, well,
abundant. Not to mention that we’ll be able to pay the bills
next month.
Alan Kesselheim is a contributor to
Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News (hcn.org). He
writes in Bozeman, Montana.
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