My Year of No Shopping. February 2023.
I traveled to L.A. in February. It used to be a yearly affair, a ritual. Dear friends to visit, work meetings to be had. Timed in such a way that I had something to look forward to in the dead of winter. (Seasonal Affective Disorder! Hello darkness, my old friend.)
But a baby was born some seven years ago, and then a fun career disappointment knocked me down for a moment. And, of course, lest we forget: a global pandemic occurred.
In any event, the ritual waned. But global pandemic or no, life went on. Dear ones had birthed babies and bought houses, and I missed them. (And - more shocking than all my loved ones’ updates - I returning to putting pen to page and actually have reasons to set up meetings again. Miracles happen.)
Anyway, I bought two books to gift to a few very special young people. Yes. I shopped. I decided to take a page from Ms. Patchett’s rules: 1.) books don’t count (as long as they are gifts) and 2.) I prefer not to arrive empty-handed as a guest in a home. If sharing the Andrea Beaty’s books is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.
But while in L.A., stopping in CVS to grab travel toothpaste (one must always forget one necessary item, am I right?), I saw a tray of cheap massive-eyed stuffies (you know the ones), and the thought occurred to me that I needed to get my daughter a gift. I always get her something when I travel alone.
I honestly forgot that such an act was shopping.
Then I remembered. And while my friend and I walked the aisles looking for toothpaste, I tried to justify the stuffie.
Fear not, dear reader, in the end I just bought the toothpaste. Instead of buying the stuffie, I just low-key worried that I’d arrive home and my child would look at me hopefully for a gift. (OK! So one of my love languages with my daughter is giving! I see it now. Let’s agree not to attach morality to this.)
Soon, the worry dissipated as I got wrapped up in seeing and talking and being with old friends.
When I returned home from California, rejuvenated, filled to the brim with the love and companionship of old friends that know me in a way that only they can —
— I wanted to get rid of all my clothes. This happens from time to time. Especially upon re-entry. I spend a period of time with only what can fit in a bag; I return home to find drawers and closets of stuff I don’t wear. Much of these clothes are in good condition. So, instead of wearing them, I re-organize them.
Lately, I daydream about turning old denim into baskets and rag rugs. Tearing them into strips then buying some online course that’ll teach me how to turn those strips into baskets.
I won’t buy that course this year (but I listed it in what I wanted to buy in January). But I will buy that course in the future. Or, oh my gosh, guys, OR I’LL FIND A LIBRARY BOOK THAT’LL TEACH ME. (This no-shopping is starting to rub off on me.)
This time, instead of re-organizing, I cleared out everything in my closet that I didn’t adore but was ‘of good fabric’ and stored it in a chest in the basement. Clothes I will repurpose, one day, into rag rugs, coiled baskets, yes, but also quilts.
My wee closet has space to breathe. The clothes I love are easy to see. The collection represents me as I dress today; not as I dressed throughout the decades.
I’m relieved and, reminded that I end up liking about 15% of the clothes I actually acquire. And, that the style I so loved 13 years ago (think Jenna Lyons’ J. Crew heyday) has now provided me with great fabrics to make my first patchwork quilt.
Later in the month, the bin I use to gather items for resale - especially a certain kiddo’s grown out clothes - started weighing me down. It was overflowing and I wanted it gone. But - where I use to tackle this task with gusto - the effort to list the items and track payments felt exhausting and futile. I had a looming writing deadline and a new job to juggle. Both of which I love. Reselling for some measly amount felt like a waste of time. To prioritize the necessary and fulfilling over the busy work felt like a triumph. Patchett had promised me more time; now I was using it wisely.
I divided up the clothes, the dress up shoes, the flashcards and children’s jewelry between two little girls we know and love, and passed them along. I felt 20 pounds lighter.
Now that the closet was spacious and the resale bin empty, my eye turned to toiletries. In the summer, I ditched the hair dye (growing out silver hair is a story for another time), and proceeded to buy shampoo that would wash out the temporary dye I’d been applying for 15 months. Turned out not to be temporary. (Like I said, story for another time.). Now those 3 shampoo bottles taunt me. I’m using them up but it’s taking ages. I dream of a simple shampoo bar. I even know which one I’ll get.
Likewise, the toothpaste that promised to solve all my dental problems, I now hate. Every time I brush, I wish the tube was empty so I could go buy my tried-and-true.
While I was in L.A. my daughter, left to her own devices for a few minutes in the bath one night, squeezed out the entire contents of her conditioner tube. Took a bit of elbow grease to scrape that slimy stuff off the tub, but I’m jealous of her. I’m jealous of the clean slate. Which leads me to see that I still believe shopping (for new shampoo, for toothpaste) will solve my problems.
But what if I hate that shampoo bar, too? What if it’s not about the toiletries at all? What if I just live with general annoyance and frustration, and I don’t know what to do with it, so I direct it onto things? Or, maybe I’m just pisssed that I fell for the marketing, the products didn’t deliver on their promise, and now I feel like a fool. But if that’s true - when this year of no shopping is done - how will I avoid the pitfalls of marketing?
I’ve been chewing on this. And I think the answer is to continue to avoid shopping. To purchase when I run out of staples, yes, but to stop looking for something newer and better and brighter and shinier. Instead of shop, just replace with the tried and true items that I know work.
It’s humbling, being me. To further demonstrate this, my time on the internet still produced desires to acquire. I list them below:
Statk May yoga mat
Pockyball 2.0
Rev-A-Shelf 4WDB-1522SC-1 14 Inch Single Wooden Drawer Pull Out Shelf Kitchen Storage Organizer with Soft Close Slides for 15 Inch Base Cabinets
Wildwood Market’s Closing Garage Sale
Flexor’s Silicone Brush
Intention Design Work station (standing desk)
HoldOn Compostable Trash Bags
Pilates Bar
Skims tops (judge not)
Niki’s Face Yoga (it was 50% off, ppl, and she’s a queen)
Dental Pod for retainers & mouthguards
Smileactives Whitening gel (good thing we’re not shopping because it’s looking to be a big year for dental work…)
During the second half of my L.A. trip, I stayed in a hotel. When I first came to my room, I saw the little hotel notepad and pen. I was swept back to my childhood. My father always returned from trips with freebies from the conference he’d attended. Notepads and pens, mostly. We received these items with delight. So, I acted like my dad and brought the pad and pen home for my daughter. She’s a notepad and pen collector, as much as she is a stuffie collector.
