(Not So) Delayed Gratification

Is delayed gratification meaningful? Is gratification supposed to be meaningful, or merely just gratifying? Before I embarked on my little journey of self-prescribed depravity, I conveniently ordered some stuff online - clothes, tiny earrings, and a very lovely Tiffany ring, therefore delaying gratification. Before anyone gets in a twist about that shiny Tiffany word, I bought it used from Real Real, a great website for used high-end clothes, jewelry, etc. I justified the need part of this purchase by telling myself it was my birthday present to myself, and it was very reasonably priced, I swear!

I conveniently purchased these items knowing they'd be delivered in January and I'd be able to milk my shopping jones a little bit longer. The last delivery of clothes-I-don't-need came last week and as I was putting things away (moving my shit around), I thought about how I'll feel when the only packages I'm getting in the mail are mouthwash, hairspray or my replacement toothbrush head. So flippin' exciting. I love getting the mail, always have. I used to steal it when I was a kid. Sorry, Mom.  Before I unlock my mailbox, I have a flutter of excitement about what's inside. Even if it turns out to be bills and fliers, I still enjoy the potential that a gift of some kind might be included. Knowing that the various and sundry boxes from retail locations far and wide will no longer be sitting on my stoop as I pull into the driveway, well, the thought kinda makes me sad.

One question before me is why is buying new things somehow exciting? What am I not doing while I'm buying some new, and a lot of used, shit? Most of which I really don't need. The next time I get a shopping itch, should I note it and think about something useful I could be doing instead? When I don't see the box of fun sitting on my stoop at the end of the day, should I conjure my bank account in my head and pat myself on the back for saving some cheddar? Where's the gratification in that?

A dear friend brought up something over the weekend that I'm pondering, and that I think has some merit. She's worried about why I feel like I need to deprive myself. Like, when I challenge myself, I have to somehow deprive myself in the process in order for it to really be a challenge. Interesting, huh? Trust me, I've spent some time going without, so I'm not unfamiliar with the sensation, but why am I trying to recreate it? Is this challenge somehow indicative of a larger existential crisis? Maybe crisis is too strong, maybe an existential, thought provoking idea to think about, while I wait at the mailbox.